While Marina and I are away for the week, we’ve turned over the blog to veteran Notes from Spain contributor and guest blogger Gary Child, who was recently let loose for a fortnight in Barcelona. In this fourth instalment, Spanish overload…

So, I’m half way through the second week of my fortnight’s Spanish course in Barcelona. The mornings continue to be excellent, 90 minutes grammar followed by 90 minutes conversation. Different teachers this week but, looking at the logistics of organizing a new crop of students each week and jigging the groups to match the teaching talent, this is neither surprising nor, it transpires, a detriment.

This week we have Rosina for grammar and Daniel for conversation. Both are good at what they do and the lessons are well planned, with good photocopied resources, and well executed.

WOAH! Heaven forfend that this should turn into some kind of clandestine OfSTED report on an unsuspecting language school somewhere in Barcelona - back to the gossip…

In a previous post I explained how I intended to dip the pm session in school. After a long weekend – the 15th of August is a national holiday in Spain – my batteries are re-charged and I decided to give it another shot. The star-crossed lovers have shuffled off (to quote Bill twice). Things are better, so I’m still on board.

Yesterday was a hard day:

Up at 7.30, school for 09.00, three ninety minute sessions, home for shower and a Skype* session with the Grandchildren, the Metro to Sant Andreu for an intercambio til 18.30, Metro back to Urgell for a second intercambio, 21.45 - breakfast.

It’s my own fault I arranged all this and I know now that the morning sessions and one intercambio a day is probably enough.

Until just before this afternoon’s intercambio today was going to be the same, and tomorrow, and Thursday. Then, like manner from heaven, my Thursday evening cancelled, followed swiftly by this evening’s cita. Cue huge sigh of relief! When I do this again I’ll know better, but for now I had been let off the hook…

I am told that the people of Barcelona are quite reserved and more difficult to engage than Madrileños. Ten days in and glimmers of recognition are beginning to occur in the places I frequent. When I was ordering desayuno last night the waiter tipped me the wink that the draught beer was warm and that I ought to order una mediana, which is local twang for a 33cl bottle, in this case Estrella.

This morning I arrived at my usual coffee spot, sat myself down and took out my deberes. ‘Last minute Charlie, as usual’, as my mum would say, but the teacher would never know when it had been done. Actually, that’s not strictly true as half way through my ‘letter of complaint to the alcalde’ about the state of the streets she plonked down at the next table with her colleagues. No matter.

Prior to their arrival several minutes had passed and there was no sign of a waiter. This week is the ‘Fiesta de Gracia’ - someone had clearly joined in and overslept. As my caffeine debt ticked over into unbearable, without a word being spoken, the jefe appeared, personally, sporting a tray with my usual café Americano, hot water and a Magdalena. Wow, that’s service! He did the same for the bloke with the shaky hands with whom I now have a nodding acquaintance. Jamon de jabugo y una caña in his case. Hence, I presumed, the shakey hands - then I remembered that I had beer for breakfast yesterday, albeit after nine o’clock at night.

As usual this morning’s session began with the ritual listing of what we’d all done after school yesterday. It’s like the language school version of stretching, scratching and rubbing ones eyes. I chipped in that I’d had two intercambios and sat back, thinking ‘That’s my bit done’.

Serves me right for being smug, my ace serve was met with a vicious top-spin return. “…and what did you learn?” It took a second before it registered that Rosina was talking to me. I was on the spot, like a bloody job interview where you’re racking your brains to think of an answer that won’t make you look a prat. On top of that it had to be in Spanish.

It was in this moment that I understood why every schoolchild in the world when faced with the perennial paternal inquisition, “What did you do at school today?” invariably comes back with “Nothing”, thus negating all supplementary questions. In the end I did what came naturally and jibbered on for a bit whilst Rosina nodded and feigned interest.

I have never been so happy to hear a ‘Bueno’, as I was when she smiled moved on to the next victim.

Having been awarded this evening off and had time to think about all the things I could have, or should have said, and at the risk of sounding poncey, the intercambio is to the language class what Georges Seurat is to Rolph Harris.

The grammar lessons and the conversation class are like a four inch brush, they cover huge tracts of canvass quickly with broad brushtrokes; the intercambio allows you to get into the detail, one point at a time. You can pick into the fiddley little details, the nuances that have always puzzled you or that fly by without a mention whilst banging on with a lump hammer about tenses and moods in the first session and saving the planet in Spanish after the break.

¡Ten cuidado! – ‘the devil is in the detail’ as they say and ‘you can have too much of a good thing’. Ten hours a day in a foreign tongue is exhausting.

Better to build in time to reflect as the educationalists would say (to continue the OfSTED theme). To raggy lads like yours truly this translates as ‘Make sure you kick back, relax, watch the world go by and do bugger all for at least half of your waking hours…”

Un saludo, me voy…

*footnote: (In deference to Bridget Jones) ‘Note to self : Skype is a difficult concept for a two year old to grasp.’ - he’s still not sure whether or not grandad is trapped in the computer.

When not living it up in Barcelona, Gary Child works on great Free educational resources for the Primary classroom.