And not in the fun sense of the word!
I feel that all of what I've been doing for the past weeks is opening boxes, unpacking flat furniture and endless screwing, I even have a couple of blisters on my fingers to prove it.
But despite everything, one has to marvel at the ingenuity of the designers at Ikea. From the minimalist packages to the pre-drilled holes, the furniture is actually easy to assemble if you follow the all draws no words booklet of instructions. It's amazing what they can do with such inexpensive furniture. And the flat is starting to look good!
It's such a lovely, warm feeling this process of actually making a home... despite the fact that we're totally tired all the time.
Now, let's do a quick re-cap of the days that I was far too busy to be able to write this blog. Sorry.
The day before the last day of the year I had a job interview.
This a bit of networking on "the husband"'s part, he told everybody that I'm looking for a job and some coach at P's rugby club mentioned that another coach (British) has a business teaching English as a Foreign Language in one of the major local banks and that he'd have a word with him.
I didn't think much about it until I've got a call asking for "P's mum" (I love it when people call me that!). His name is Steve and in a very posh voice asked me if I was still looking for a job to go and meet him and his (business) partner. He lives just a block away from us and he usually gives P a lift to the rugby club on Saturdays.
So, I went and meet the two guys (the other one, whose name I cannot recall has the strongest Mancunian accent that I've ever heard) and they grilled me. Truly grilled me. One the toughest interviews ever. They asked me about my nationality, background, my education, job experience and so forth and so on, all in English of course.
All went well until the partner told me that it was ok but that I didn't have a "proper certificate". That surprised me and I said "but... I have a BA, in a British university". He, totally patronising, told me that was ok but that he meant a certificate in EFL. I then had to explain that my degree was precisely EFL and Spanish and that a certificate usually takes, how long? 6 months? And that I studied for 3 whole years to get it. And that I've got a 2:1 and a the prize for the best essay of my year.
I had no modesty whatever, but in my mind I was thinking:
yeah...with THIS English...???
you must be joking!!!
Anyway, I may speak (and write) funny, but at the end of the day I do have the proper qualifications.
I feel that all of what I've been doing for the past weeks is opening boxes, unpacking flat furniture and endless screwing, I even have a couple of blisters on my fingers to prove it.
But despite everything, one has to marvel at the ingenuity of the designers at Ikea. From the minimalist packages to the pre-drilled holes, the furniture is actually easy to assemble if you follow the all draws no words booklet of instructions. It's amazing what they can do with such inexpensive furniture. And the flat is starting to look good!
It's such a lovely, warm feeling this process of actually making a home... despite the fact that we're totally tired all the time.
Now, let's do a quick re-cap of the days that I was far too busy to be able to write this blog. Sorry.
The day before the last day of the year I had a job interview.
This a bit of networking on "the husband"'s part, he told everybody that I'm looking for a job and some coach at P's rugby club mentioned that another coach (British) has a business teaching English as a Foreign Language in one of the major local banks and that he'd have a word with him.
I didn't think much about it until I've got a call asking for "P's mum" (I love it when people call me that!). His name is Steve and in a very posh voice asked me if I was still looking for a job to go and meet him and his (business) partner. He lives just a block away from us and he usually gives P a lift to the rugby club on Saturdays.
So, I went and meet the two guys (the other one, whose name I cannot recall has the strongest Mancunian accent that I've ever heard) and they grilled me. Truly grilled me. One the toughest interviews ever. They asked me about my nationality, background, my education, job experience and so forth and so on, all in English of course.
All went well until the partner told me that it was ok but that I didn't have a "proper certificate". That surprised me and I said "but... I have a BA, in a British university". He, totally patronising, told me that was ok but that he meant a certificate in EFL. I then had to explain that my degree was precisely EFL and Spanish and that a certificate usually takes, how long? 6 months? And that I studied for 3 whole years to get it. And that I've got a 2:1 and a the prize for the best essay of my year.
I had no modesty whatever, but in my mind I was thinking:
yeah...with THIS English...???
you must be joking!!!
Anyway, I may speak (and write) funny, but at the end of the day I do have the proper qualifications.
Finally they asked my why did I want to work with them, to which I, boldly replayed (yes, I did split the infinitive, another rules go to waste with me) that I didn't know them yet, that I was just looking for a job and that the real question was why should they hire me. Yes, I really said that!!! And then went on and explained that I'm the ideal teacher of English for beginners because they need to learn the foreign language through their own language and my Spanish (at least) is flawless (not true either here) and that I've been there, done that and got the t-shirt and I know exactly where the problems will be and how to address them.
Well... with that pitch I really got their attention. Now let's hope that they do have loads of students who are really beginners and that they liked me enough to hire this lady with a funny, although very idiomatic and colourful, English. AND, I didn't even mentioned that I'm dislexic!!!
New Year's Eve.
We spend the whole day trying to empty the rented flat so we could start the year by sleeping on our own beds. Hard work.
Plus I had to put together some side dishes for dinner at a friend's flat. So, when it was time to go, around 8pm (they live by the sea, an hour drive away), I was already knackered and the ready made beds were soooo inviting... But we're not the sort of people who
'd turn down a party so, off we went.Dinner was really nice and we've got to meet some new people as well, which I always appreciate. (they have a corner shop in which they sell all sort of Argentinean goodies,, good to know).
We're wearing the same clothes than in the Christmas' eve party because that's all we got out of the boxes.
Here New Year's Eve is called "nochevieja", the old nigh, and at the stroke of midnight and the dawn of the new year, everyone has to eat 12 grapes, one for each chime, for good luck for each of the incoming 12 months.
It's been said that the ER people hates the tradition because every year they have loads of people who chockes badly. This is akin as people getting burn on the UK with Guy Faulks' bonfire. There's some recommended techniques about how to eat the grapes, my favourite was to store them all in your mouth and they eat them all together, not an easy task; "the husband" said that that was like cheating and he managed to eat them all one by one. We'll see who's the luckiest this year.
I drove home after the party and the motorway was pretty empty. The police, however, stoped us once with breathalysers at the ready; (the practice of taking points off your driving license has been implemented just a few months ago). I was very exited to had a go to the breathalyser, never done it before, but they just saw me all smiling, "the husband" looking tipsy but not driving, and P's asleep on the back seat and they just waved me away.
I think that in the same spirit of the points taken if you commit a fault, they should give extra points to us who are goody two-shoes, at least a t-shirt "I don't drink and drive", that'd be nice.
Now I'm off to sleep. good nigh and good luck.
(yes, I love George Clooney and the movie was great)
It's been said that the ER people hates the tradition because every year they have loads of people who chockes badly. This is akin as people getting burn on the UK with Guy Faulks' bonfire. There's some recommended techniques about how to eat the grapes, my favourite was to store them all in your mouth and they eat them all together, not an easy task; "the husband" said that that was like cheating and he managed to eat them all one by one. We'll see who's the luckiest this year.
I drove home after the party and the motorway was pretty empty. The police, however, stoped us once with breathalysers at the ready; (the practice of taking points off your driving license has been implemented just a few months ago). I was very exited to had a go to the breathalyser, never done it before, but they just saw me all smiling, "the husband" looking tipsy but not driving, and P's asleep on the back seat and they just waved me away.
I think that in the same spirit of the points taken if you commit a fault, they should give extra points to us who are goody two-shoes, at least a t-shirt "I don't drink and drive", that'd be nice.
Now I'm off to sleep. good nigh and good luck.
(yes, I love George Clooney and the movie was great)
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