A couple of weeks ago, I found myself pompously pronouncing that my blog was single-minded in purpose. What superb nonsense! I wouldn't quite go so far as to say that nothing is further from the truth but it wasn't very truthful. Although I suppose that you could argue that it depends only on how you define the purpose.
The point is that I have deliberately refrained from annotating here my graceless progress with beginners ballroom dancing. (Part of my attempt to broaden my horizons after a one dimensional year of Theatre Stuffs in 2010.) But I don't know if I can refrain from one brief observation about my first foray into the language of the Spanish this evening. That's nonsense too as I made a first foray seventeen years ago or thereabouts with a weekly Spanish class at university. But as with most things, it's since drained from my head so I thought I'd try to stuff some of it back in.
The class which I have chosen takes place in a school. So our classroom is papered with glorious posters such as "be sure to place your jotter and pens on the desk at the start of every class". We're in a maths classroom (it's a secondary school) so have alternate geometric designs - presumably the attempt to impress the very young with the wonder of maths - and posters with complicated looking diagrams and equations on them.
There isn't any signage - I've just been told that I'm in room 3.09. So I peer round the door with trepidation but satisfied, on enquiry, that I'm in the right place, I prowl to my seat. And then the most comic fifteen minutes. We're all grown people. But for this fifteen minutes, we seem to regress. Slouched in our seats like proper teenagers, one man gazes endlessly into the distance. A couple of other people fiddle nervously with pens. The teacher busies herself quietly, purposefully, silent as a cat, at the front of the classroom. It's incredibly quiet. The quiet stretches out. The minutes slide by. As they slide, now and again a tentative face will appear at the door, we'll usher them in and then lapse into our adolescent silence.
We were provided with instructions prior to the class commencement, suggesting that we bring paper and writing implements. The teacher - Angelica who is the most adorable bundle of bouncy chic and youthful fun - dutifully checked at the outset that everyone was adequately provided for. Now take a second to note that this class is full of grown people. The youngest participants are a beautiful pair of sultry lovers who are possibly early in their twenties. The oldest is considerably older. Class of 12. Grown adults. One man had managed to come without paper. He "borrowed" a few pieces from his deskmate. And another had come without a pen.
But after the Silence Of Dread Awkwardness, the gathering of the stationery to fill the gaps and a bit of general footering about, Bundle of Fun announces that we're all to tell each other why we're learning Spanish. So we have:
I could have gone to at least 9 other classes to this one. The University runs one every evening. The council (the poor man's alternative) also run them most weekday nights. But I chose this one and - extraordinary - Mini Me.
I think it's a sign. That new "hobbies and interest"s are good.
The point is that I have deliberately refrained from annotating here my graceless progress with beginners ballroom dancing. (Part of my attempt to broaden my horizons after a one dimensional year of Theatre Stuffs in 2010.) But I don't know if I can refrain from one brief observation about my first foray into the language of the Spanish this evening. That's nonsense too as I made a first foray seventeen years ago or thereabouts with a weekly Spanish class at university. But as with most things, it's since drained from my head so I thought I'd try to stuff some of it back in.
The class which I have chosen takes place in a school. So our classroom is papered with glorious posters such as "be sure to place your jotter and pens on the desk at the start of every class". We're in a maths classroom (it's a secondary school) so have alternate geometric designs - presumably the attempt to impress the very young with the wonder of maths - and posters with complicated looking diagrams and equations on them.
There isn't any signage - I've just been told that I'm in room 3.09. So I peer round the door with trepidation but satisfied, on enquiry, that I'm in the right place, I prowl to my seat. And then the most comic fifteen minutes. We're all grown people. But for this fifteen minutes, we seem to regress. Slouched in our seats like proper teenagers, one man gazes endlessly into the distance. A couple of other people fiddle nervously with pens. The teacher busies herself quietly, purposefully, silent as a cat, at the front of the classroom. It's incredibly quiet. The quiet stretches out. The minutes slide by. As they slide, now and again a tentative face will appear at the door, we'll usher them in and then lapse into our adolescent silence.
We were provided with instructions prior to the class commencement, suggesting that we bring paper and writing implements. The teacher - Angelica who is the most adorable bundle of bouncy chic and youthful fun - dutifully checked at the outset that everyone was adequately provided for. Now take a second to note that this class is full of grown people. The youngest participants are a beautiful pair of sultry lovers who are possibly early in their twenties. The oldest is considerably older. Class of 12. Grown adults. One man had managed to come without paper. He "borrowed" a few pieces from his deskmate. And another had come without a pen.
But after the Silence Of Dread Awkwardness, the gathering of the stationery to fill the gaps and a bit of general footering about, Bundle of Fun announces that we're all to tell each other why we're learning Spanish. So we have:
- Two people who'd been to Cuba, loved it, wanted to go back, wanted some of the language
- One girl who shrugged and said "I don't have a reason, I just wanted to do it"
- Another who's planning a trip to South America
- A boy who might move out to Spain to be with his girlfriend
- A man who is frustratingly flitting from part-time to part-time job so is moving to Spain to start making a little more progress
- The sultry young couple who look like they should be Spanish. Perhaps they find the ritual comforting.
- A boy doing a phd that requires the study of some sort of documentary evidence in Spanish. He knows none. His supervisor suggested he seek out a course.
- And several "just thought it would be good to do something different"s, this usually delivered in a soft insipid voice.
I could have gone to at least 9 other classes to this one. The University runs one every evening. The council (the poor man's alternative) also run them most weekday nights. But I chose this one and - extraordinary - Mini Me.
I think it's a sign. That new "hobbies and interest"s are good.
posted by Claire at 11:03 pm
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