The Spanish ante-natal system has now clutched me to its starchy white-clad bosom and my overriding feeling is that it's a good job I'm the one carrying the baby and not Theo. I'll come back to that in a moment.
Our first appointment with the obstetrician in our local clinic was best characterised as perfunctory. No leisurely hour-long chats with a friendly midwife here - at least, not yet. We were given a list of matronas and we assume we choose one, but we're still a tad confused about that part. Anyway, with minimum hanging around we were ushered into the consulting room where the obstetrician and nurse worked as a team. While the obstetrician asked questions and took notes, the nurse busied herself taking my blood pressure, weighing me, then ushering me round a screen and motioning me to bare my midriff. Once I had done this, the obstetrician came in, slapped on a load of cold gel and proceeded to scan me with breath-taking efficiency. Theo hovered at the back and managed to get a glimpse of our unborn daughter, but I wasn't so lucky. After less than a minute, the obstetrician nodded and gave me the briefest half-smile (she was far too business-like for a full rictus), said “Todo bien” (“Everything fine”) and handed me a tissue to mop the gel off my tummy. Apparently we would have to wait another three weeks for a full scan before we could take a proper a look at what was in there. When I asked Theo how she was looking, he replied, “A bit fat,” which was slightly worrying. Maybe I should cut down on the chocolate biscuits.
A few minutes later we were dismissed with a sheaf of forms, a pregnancy advice booklet and strict instructions to go to the medical centre at San Blas the next morning before nine with a urine sample and absolutely no breakfast (me - Theo was excused that part).
When we arrived at a quarter to nine prompt, we found the waiting room choc-a-bloc with a numbering system policed by a dour looking male nurse who periodically barked out the next five numbers and shooed their owners through a door. We never saw any of the patients come out again, which was slightly worrying. As an “embarazada” (pregnant woman) I was excused the queueing system and was instead told to wait until I was called. While perching on a moulded plastic chair I noted a number of other women with assorted tummy bumps and urine sample-shaped pots wrapped in various bags or bits of foil. Clearly I wasn't the only embarazada at this party.
“Embarazadas!” called out the dour nurse and about twelve of us heaved ourselves out of our chairs and crowded round the door. The nurse herded us into an ante-room where another medic gave us a brief lecture about what we could expect. From what I could understand we would be subjected to various tests, the last of which assessed us for possible diabetes and involved a wait of an hour and an absolute prohibition on eating or drinking anything except water. We were each given a sheet of numbered labels and bidden to queue up at the reception desk in another room full of tables with white-suited medics waiting expectantly behind them. While we waited our turn, the dour nurse abruptly changed demeanour and started cracking jokes, which I smiled at dutifully, despite a total lack of understanding of the punchlines.
When my turn came, an orderly took my urine sample and stuck my stickers on a bewildering variety of colour-coded vacuettes, handing them to me and motioning me to one of the waiting nurses. I sat down and watched in growing amazement as she rapidly took one blood sample after another out of my torniqueted left arm. I counted twelve. When she had finished, she wound on a compress and sent me back to the ante room where I waited, feeling the teeniest bit faint from lack of blood and exchanging glances with the other embarazadas, who were also looking slightly shell-shocked by the experience.
Once we were all assembled, another nurse came in and started handing out plastic bottles full of a suspicious-looking orange liquid. This we were instructed to drink - all of it - and then return to the waiting room. It tasted like a fizzy vitamin drink, only twice as sweet. Spanish people have quite a sweet tooth, but most of the other embarazadas grimaced a bit as the full sugary force of the glucose drink hit their taste-buds. Obediently, we all swallowed the bottles' contents and were released back to the moulded plastic chairs.
Throughout, Theo had been waiting patiently for me having foregone breakfast in a gesture of solidarity. It was a good job he hadn't been invited into the sampling room as I dread to think what effect a room full of medical blood-letting would have had on him. He was also astonished at the amount of blood taken and wondered aloud whether the medical centre was actually a front for a local detachment of vampires. We settled down with some marking to pass the time.
When the hour was up, there was another call for embarazadas and we all trooped back into the testing room. Numbers were called out and as ours came up we were sent to another of the tables and ordered to bare an arm - the other one this time. Thankfully, we only had to give a single sample and I was jabbed, blotted, told to go home and have breakfast, then sent packing again in the space of about ninety seconds. By now feeling somewhat light-headed from a combination of blood-loss and hunger, I gratefully returned to my dutiful husband and we did exactly as I had been told.
So that's that, for another few weeks. We've been informed we'll be notified about my next appointments by post or telephone and in the meantime, we aim to do a bit of research about the business of finding a midwife and choosing a hospital for delivery. On the language front, I'm pleased with myself at having managed a bit of pregnancy chat with some of the other embarazadas, including how far along we were and who was having a girl or boy - or twins in one case - and possible names. It made me feel like a little less of an outsider. Language barrier and unfamiliar systems aside, we are all in the Bump Club.
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Thursday, 29 October 2009
Sam and Stu´s wedding
The modern world is quite amazing. Friday evening we set off on this crazy metal tube 20 metres underground, that hurtled across Madrid and deposited us at Barajas airport. Then, with Kate clutching her little bottle of Valium, we climbed into another metal tube thing which whisked us up into the sky at 500 miles per hour back to Bristol for the weekend and the wedding of our good friends Samantha and Stuart. It's amazing what you can do these days!!
As the soon to be wed couple had met and befriended my sister Hermione and her betrothed Richard at Kate and I's stag and hen dos, we were going to have company at the wedding and the comforts of their hospitality over the weekend. Richard was meant to be chauffeuring the bride to the ceremony and the freshly married couple afterwards in his newly valetted BMW (Valerie). However, Stu had managed to flood the engine the night before and the AA went to the wrong address, so Sam was slightly surprised to have a hired Merecedes and driver turn up instead.
Still all was more than well. It was a lovely wedding, full of tears and laughter. A civil ceremony at the Bristol registry office, which brought back floods of memories for Kate and I, and then a short bus ride to the beautiful Circomedia building in St Paul´s square. (We felt slightly sheepish at this – Kate and I had just left people to make their own way to the reception!) My sister Hermione´s fingerprints where everywhere, from the bridal jewellery to the floral arrangements, and she and Richard got a special, tearful thankyou from the bride and groom. We ate, danced, chatted, blew bubbles, drank absolutely nothing (Kate´s pregnant and I was on antibiotics) and, best of all, played air guitar! A lovely weekend!
As the soon to be wed couple had met and befriended my sister Hermione and her betrothed Richard at Kate and I's stag and hen dos, we were going to have company at the wedding and the comforts of their hospitality over the weekend. Richard was meant to be chauffeuring the bride to the ceremony and the freshly married couple afterwards in his newly valetted BMW (Valerie). However, Stu had managed to flood the engine the night before and the AA went to the wrong address, so Sam was slightly surprised to have a hired Merecedes and driver turn up instead.
Still all was more than well. It was a lovely wedding, full of tears and laughter. A civil ceremony at the Bristol registry office, which brought back floods of memories for Kate and I, and then a short bus ride to the beautiful Circomedia building in St Paul´s square. (We felt slightly sheepish at this – Kate and I had just left people to make their own way to the reception!) My sister Hermione´s fingerprints where everywhere, from the bridal jewellery to the floral arrangements, and she and Richard got a special, tearful thankyou from the bride and groom. We ate, danced, chatted, blew bubbles, drank absolutely nothing (Kate´s pregnant and I was on antibiotics) and, best of all, played air guitar! A lovely weekend!
Monday, 26 October 2009
a post about the weather
Madrid´s weather is consistently consistent. It´s not that it´s always perfect - though it usually is - but rather the great thing about the weather here is that it lasts all day. So if you wake up and it´s bright sunshine and clear skies, you know it´s going to stay that way and you can leave the house in just shirt sleeves without risking a drenching later. Similar, if it starts off windy and rainy, it´s going to stay that way - you wont end up sweating as you lug a jacket and jumper around when the sun comes out. When it rains, it rains all day.
Saturday, 17 October 2009
The Kindness Of Strangers by Kate
So here we are back in Madrid and suddenly I've been promoted on the Metro. In the last few days complete strangers have been giving up their seats in crowded carriages and inviting me to have them instead. This is both touching and gratifying and one of the best bits so far about my abdomen sporting a now unmistakeable bump.
Spaniards - generally speaking - are very much in favour of children, babies and pregnancy and I'm just starting to appreciate that fact. It doesn't help us insert ourselves and our potential new Madrilena into the Spanish ante-natal system (they're chocka and trying to book ourselves to have our now overdue anomalies scan is proving to be a bit of a struggle) but it does bathe things like Metro journeys in a benevolent glow.
So back to the beginning for a quick recap. Theo and I abandon contraception at the beginning of the year and get on with business as usual. Just as the weather gets seriously hot I start feeling unusual. Alcohol and caffeine are suddenly unattractive to my taste buds, my breasts feel a bit strange and I keep getting ravenously hungry, but just don't fancy eating anything. I break out in the type of acne I only get when there is extra progesterone in my system (experience with previous contraception). I can't remember when my last period was, but I start feeling suspicious and report the symptoms to my experienced sister (four children). She admits they sound fairly classic, but counsels against any over excitement about the situation just yet. I don't actually feel excited anyway, just a tad queasy.
Theo has gone off to a residential camp for a week. On the phone I tell him about my suspicions. He forbids me to self-diagnose until he gets back. I pass the next six days feeling disinclined to eat or drink anything sweet. How did I get this virtuous?
Theo returns and we do the pee stick. The line flames up positive even before I have a chance to pull my knickers back up. Theo is very excited about the prospect of suddenly probable parenthood. I feel justified.
The next few weeks pass in a heat haze and Theo is highly solicitous, dealing patiently with my new found fussiness about food and giving me lots of back rubs and foot-massages. I milk it.
We get back to England to see friends and family, lie to the NHS about our current address and book ourselves in to see a midwife and radiographer in Bristol.
The first scan seems fine, as far as these things do. We suddenly realise there really is a living thing in my belly, not just a collection of physical symptoms. We also realise we're two weeks further on than we thought. A bump - still smallish - obediently appears below my midriff. I scour Bristol's charity shops for roomier clothes. The midwife takes lots of blood out of my arm and nods approvingly when I tell her I don't drink or smoke and I fully intend to breast-feed. Theo doesn't watch the blood extraction part.
First hitch when we are told we have a high risk of our foetus (now christianed Fosbury) having Downs Syndrome. This is upsetting news. I calm down a bit when I realise that a 1 in 65 risk still means it's less than 2 per cent. Nevertheless, we opt to have amniocentesis and thankfully that all goes fine.
“Look out for its feet!” says Theo at one point during the procedure.
“Oh, I've stuck loads of needles in babies, don't worry about it,” says the consultant cheerfully. He doesn't on this occasion, thankfully.
A few days later we are back in Spain and the initial news from the amnio is good. The three chromosomes which are affected if Downs Syndrome is present are normal. Phew. Two weeks later we learn that in fact, all the chromosomes are normal and we are growing a female. We change the foetus' name to Fosbella.
Which brings us up to date as, having registered with the Spanish health system, we wait for our next scan (although most possible anomalies were checked at 17 and a half weeks and nothing untoward was seen then, so we're not hugely anxious). Anyway, it seems like a good plan to get it done as soon as possible, so we are considering paying for a private scan or pulling strings to see if we can get one done when we are back in Bristol for a wedding.
Meanwhile, I am busy committing foetal-related words in Spanish to memory. Luckily, being medical, they are largely the same as their English equivalents, just pronounced in a more Spanish way. Disappointingly, “scan” is not “escano ultra-sono”, as we had hoped. Never mind. In the meantime, I will keep on enjoying my new Metro privileges.
Spaniards - generally speaking - are very much in favour of children, babies and pregnancy and I'm just starting to appreciate that fact. It doesn't help us insert ourselves and our potential new Madrilena into the Spanish ante-natal system (they're chocka and trying to book ourselves to have our now overdue anomalies scan is proving to be a bit of a struggle) but it does bathe things like Metro journeys in a benevolent glow.
So back to the beginning for a quick recap. Theo and I abandon contraception at the beginning of the year and get on with business as usual. Just as the weather gets seriously hot I start feeling unusual. Alcohol and caffeine are suddenly unattractive to my taste buds, my breasts feel a bit strange and I keep getting ravenously hungry, but just don't fancy eating anything. I break out in the type of acne I only get when there is extra progesterone in my system (experience with previous contraception). I can't remember when my last period was, but I start feeling suspicious and report the symptoms to my experienced sister (four children). She admits they sound fairly classic, but counsels against any over excitement about the situation just yet. I don't actually feel excited anyway, just a tad queasy.
Theo has gone off to a residential camp for a week. On the phone I tell him about my suspicions. He forbids me to self-diagnose until he gets back. I pass the next six days feeling disinclined to eat or drink anything sweet. How did I get this virtuous?
Theo returns and we do the pee stick. The line flames up positive even before I have a chance to pull my knickers back up. Theo is very excited about the prospect of suddenly probable parenthood. I feel justified.
The next few weeks pass in a heat haze and Theo is highly solicitous, dealing patiently with my new found fussiness about food and giving me lots of back rubs and foot-massages. I milk it.
We get back to England to see friends and family, lie to the NHS about our current address and book ourselves in to see a midwife and radiographer in Bristol.
The first scan seems fine, as far as these things do. We suddenly realise there really is a living thing in my belly, not just a collection of physical symptoms. We also realise we're two weeks further on than we thought. A bump - still smallish - obediently appears below my midriff. I scour Bristol's charity shops for roomier clothes. The midwife takes lots of blood out of my arm and nods approvingly when I tell her I don't drink or smoke and I fully intend to breast-feed. Theo doesn't watch the blood extraction part.
First hitch when we are told we have a high risk of our foetus (now christianed Fosbury) having Downs Syndrome. This is upsetting news. I calm down a bit when I realise that a 1 in 65 risk still means it's less than 2 per cent. Nevertheless, we opt to have amniocentesis and thankfully that all goes fine.
“Look out for its feet!” says Theo at one point during the procedure.
“Oh, I've stuck loads of needles in babies, don't worry about it,” says the consultant cheerfully. He doesn't on this occasion, thankfully.
A few days later we are back in Spain and the initial news from the amnio is good. The three chromosomes which are affected if Downs Syndrome is present are normal. Phew. Two weeks later we learn that in fact, all the chromosomes are normal and we are growing a female. We change the foetus' name to Fosbella.
Which brings us up to date as, having registered with the Spanish health system, we wait for our next scan (although most possible anomalies were checked at 17 and a half weeks and nothing untoward was seen then, so we're not hugely anxious). Anyway, it seems like a good plan to get it done as soon as possible, so we are considering paying for a private scan or pulling strings to see if we can get one done when we are back in Bristol for a wedding.
Meanwhile, I am busy committing foetal-related words in Spanish to memory. Luckily, being medical, they are largely the same as their English equivalents, just pronounced in a more Spanish way. Disappointingly, “scan” is not “escano ultra-sono”, as we had hoped. Never mind. In the meantime, I will keep on enjoying my new Metro privileges.
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Birthday Weekend
Last weekend was not only my Birthday weekend - I reached the grand old age of 28 - but was also, rather awesomely, 4 days long. Thanks to the fact that we don´t work on Fridays and that Monday 12th was a holiday here in Spain for some reason or another, I had plenty of time to relax and enjoy myself.
Our first guests at our new flat arrived on Friday - my old school friend Dom and his Lithuanian girlfriend Justinia - and we quickly dashed to IKEA to buy a couple more chairs so we´d all have somewhere to sit. There had hitch-hiked and bussed their way to us from Braganza in Portugal where her sister is studying, and it was really nice to host them for a couple of days. A night out together on Friday featured all our favourite haunts - El Gato in Pueblo Nuevo, La Solea Flamenco Bar in La Latina and Choclateria San Gines - punctuated with in-depth political discussions; Dom and I have similar masters degrees (International Development and International Relations respectively) but different views. As Kate and I largely agree with each other in the political sphere our conversations on the subject rarely challenge us to justify our views, whereas Dom and I were still good-naturedly going at it when we dropped them at the airport on Sunday morning!
In between we hosted our first fiesta at our new flat, inviting a few friends over for drinks and tapas on Saturday night - I wanted to avoid the hideous Spanish tradition of the person whose birthday it is having to pay for everything - to warm the flat up. Rather stupidly we completely neglected to take any photos. Kate gave me a series of useful presents; shirts, a juicer and a hand blender - though she rather hilariously decided to start things off with a couple of kilos of oranges which left me rather perplexed, until the next present provided the rationale. A wonderful bottle of Venezuelan Rum from David and Nataly, some very fine wine from Cesar and Belen, a bottle of port from Dom and Justinia and some lovely scented stuff from Jero and Jose has helped make our flat even more homely.
Our first guests at our new flat arrived on Friday - my old school friend Dom and his Lithuanian girlfriend Justinia - and we quickly dashed to IKEA to buy a couple more chairs so we´d all have somewhere to sit. There had hitch-hiked and bussed their way to us from Braganza in Portugal where her sister is studying, and it was really nice to host them for a couple of days. A night out together on Friday featured all our favourite haunts - El Gato in Pueblo Nuevo, La Solea Flamenco Bar in La Latina and Choclateria San Gines - punctuated with in-depth political discussions; Dom and I have similar masters degrees (International Development and International Relations respectively) but different views. As Kate and I largely agree with each other in the political sphere our conversations on the subject rarely challenge us to justify our views, whereas Dom and I were still good-naturedly going at it when we dropped them at the airport on Sunday morning!
In between we hosted our first fiesta at our new flat, inviting a few friends over for drinks and tapas on Saturday night - I wanted to avoid the hideous Spanish tradition of the person whose birthday it is having to pay for everything - to warm the flat up. Rather stupidly we completely neglected to take any photos. Kate gave me a series of useful presents; shirts, a juicer and a hand blender - though she rather hilariously decided to start things off with a couple of kilos of oranges which left me rather perplexed, until the next present provided the rationale. A wonderful bottle of Venezuelan Rum from David and Nataly, some very fine wine from Cesar and Belen, a bottle of port from Dom and Justinia and some lovely scented stuff from Jero and Jose has helped make our flat even more homely.
Monday, 5 October 2009
our new flat
Our new flat is awesome! It was the last one we looked at - we saw five in total - and though it immediately became our first choice, we'd kind of forgotten how good it was until we actually moved in.
It's pretty large and very well equipped; for a flat to be 'furnished' here in Spain clearly means it comes with plates, pots and pans in the kitchen, meaning that much of the stuff we dug out of our parents attic is largely redundant.
The spacious bathroom - many of those we saw were little more than corridors with a shower at the end - comes with both bath and bidet, while our sofa could easily accommodate any guests that don't fit in the spare room. We've got air conditioning, central heating and ceiling fans (none a given in Madrid, despite the massive range of seasonal temperatures) and a view out of our bedroom's covered terrace that looks like it came straight off the set of West Side Story. 
Even the decoration is good - prints of Dali's and van Gough's and a nicely toned down wooden floor - and at the least to obligatory sideboard is painted the same as the wall so doesn't dominate too much.
Almost better than the flat is the barrio, the surrounding neighbourhood. Mendez Alvaro, where we were living before, was great for public transport links and parks, but not much else - there was no atmosphere to the area. Here in Cuidad Lineal our quiet little street (free parking) is just round the corner from shady avenues lined with useful shops and atmospheric bars. We're a mere 5 minutes walk through pretty streets to the bustling Calle Acala, with it's miles of shops and metro stops. While we may technically be further away from the centre here, we definitely feel closer to the heart of Madrid.
It's pretty large and very well equipped; for a flat to be 'furnished' here in Spain clearly means it comes with plates, pots and pans in the kitchen, meaning that much of the stuff we dug out of our parents attic is largely redundant.
The spacious bathroom - many of those we saw were little more than corridors with a shower at the end - comes with both bath and bidet, while our sofa could easily accommodate any guests that don't fit in the spare room. We've got air conditioning, central heating and ceiling fans (none a given in Madrid, despite the massive range of seasonal temperatures) and a view out of our bedroom's covered terrace that looks like it came straight off the set of West Side Story. Even the decoration is good - prints of Dali's and van Gough's and a nicely toned down wooden floor - and at the least to obligatory sideboard is painted the same as the wall so doesn't dominate too much.Almost better than the flat is the barrio, the surrounding neighbourhood. Mendez Alvaro, where we were living before, was great for public transport links and parks, but not much else - there was no atmosphere to the area. Here in Cuidad Lineal our quiet little street (free parking) is just round the corner from shady avenues lined with useful shops and atmospheric bars. We're a mere 5 minutes walk through pretty streets to the bustling Calle Acala, with it's miles of shops and metro stops. While we may technically be further away from the centre here, we definitely feel closer to the heart of Madrid.
Sunday, 4 October 2009
Kate´s first Madrid gig
Kate's first gig in Madrid predictably went down a storm and resulted in the venue manager asking her back to play another concert; this despite the fact she only played two songs during the interlude between the main act's first and second sets!
Back when we first moved to Madrid, Kate replied to an ad placed by a guitarist in 'In Madrid', the English language what's on magazine. Through him she met Owain, with whom she's written a couple of songs, and through Owain, Jean-Bruce, a Gabonese singer-songwriter who immediately co-opted her into the fluctuating line up of Jean-Bruce and the Fangs.
Sadly, having been away for a couple of months, Kate had missed all the rehearsals but Jean-Bruce invited her to play a couple of her songs in between sets at a tiny little place called Pipo Cultura in Lavapies. More like a large sitting room in a crustie's flat than a bar, the tiny space was rammed - a big advantage of coopting lots of friends into a performance, it means you get a bigger audience! Jean-Bruce's sets were excellent, his songs easing from folk to soul, switching between English, Spanish and his native Fon. Kate picked a newish song 'Smile' and the old classic 'Dirty Bitch Tango', both of which went down really well with the mostly Spanish crowd despite the rather dodgy 'pa' (a guitar amp!). Here's to the next one.
Back when we first moved to Madrid, Kate replied to an ad placed by a guitarist in 'In Madrid', the English language what's on magazine. Through him she met Owain, with whom she's written a couple of songs, and through Owain, Jean-Bruce, a Gabonese singer-songwriter who immediately co-opted her into the fluctuating line up of Jean-Bruce and the Fangs.
Sadly, having been away for a couple of months, Kate had missed all the rehearsals but Jean-Bruce invited her to play a couple of her songs in between sets at a tiny little place called Pipo Cultura in Lavapies. More like a large sitting room in a crustie's flat than a bar, the tiny space was rammed - a big advantage of coopting lots of friends into a performance, it means you get a bigger audience! Jean-Bruce's sets were excellent, his songs easing from folk to soul, switching between English, Spanish and his native Fon. Kate picked a newish song 'Smile' and the old classic 'Dirty Bitch Tango', both of which went down really well with the mostly Spanish crowd despite the rather dodgy 'pa' (a guitar amp!). Here's to the next one.
Friday, 2 October 2009
new beginnings
This weekend heralds something of a fresh start for Kate and I in Spain. After nearly two weeks of job-less, home-less limbo enjoy the wonderful hospitality of our friends Kirsty and Juanmi in Vaciamadrid, we are about to move into a new flat and start new jobs.
We exchanged contracts on a lovely 2 bedroom apartment in Cuidad Lineal earlier this morning. Our new landlord and landlady are an elderly couple who live on the floor below, the flat used to be their son´s and their duaghter lives directly below us. Very much a family affair! It´s got everything we need, is reasonably close to the Metro and the surrounding area seems to be quite quiet while still hosting several lively looking bars and lots of amenities. Ironically enough it´s very close to the academy I was teaching at last term though, while I was very happy there, I´m glad we´ve moved.
The advantages of switching academies were immediately apparent when we recieved our timetables. Knocking off at 9pm rather than 10pm makes a huge difference and the kids classes last 50 minutes instead of 1 hour 20, which is going to be a hell of a lots more bearable. As the students will be drawn from the poshest barrio in town (Salamanca) they should also, theoretically, be better behaved than the monsters I was marshalling last term. In addition much of the lesson planning is done for us in advance; we just have to fine tune the plans provided to suit our own styles. However, the biggest benefit of our new posts is the 3 day weekends we get every other, we share two staurday classes with another teacher and never work fridays. We´re already thinking about some weekends away in Delilah...
We exchanged contracts on a lovely 2 bedroom apartment in Cuidad Lineal earlier this morning. Our new landlord and landlady are an elderly couple who live on the floor below, the flat used to be their son´s and their duaghter lives directly below us. Very much a family affair! It´s got everything we need, is reasonably close to the Metro and the surrounding area seems to be quite quiet while still hosting several lively looking bars and lots of amenities. Ironically enough it´s very close to the academy I was teaching at last term though, while I was very happy there, I´m glad we´ve moved.
The advantages of switching academies were immediately apparent when we recieved our timetables. Knocking off at 9pm rather than 10pm makes a huge difference and the kids classes last 50 minutes instead of 1 hour 20, which is going to be a hell of a lots more bearable. As the students will be drawn from the poshest barrio in town (Salamanca) they should also, theoretically, be better behaved than the monsters I was marshalling last term. In addition much of the lesson planning is done for us in advance; we just have to fine tune the plans provided to suit our own styles. However, the biggest benefit of our new posts is the 3 day weekends we get every other, we share two staurday classes with another teacher and never work fridays. We´re already thinking about some weekends away in Delilah...
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