Breakfast at Manuel's

My alarm on my Casio 'Boywatch' (what all the boys were wearing in the 90's) wakes me at 6am most days. I say most days because my working schedule is a changing one due to the demanding life that buisness people lead and often they cancel classes. Once my alarm beeps I am panicked into motion. I'm not awake but I move. Once the cursed thing is silent I probe into the darkness for a light switch. Yes, in Spain, I get up when it's still dark. Spain is really a holiday country isn't it - ascociated with long lie ins and siestas, a vivid night life. I'm lucky if I get a nap in the afternoon before I head for my extra curricular evening shift.

Arranging some sort of order of clothing on bed, I manage in a state of half madness to get dressed. Breakfast was always in my mind a healthy affair. I pictured a classic balcony overlooking a small square, me enjoying a bowl of Special K with Soya milk. In reality I eat 'Special Form' from Dia the supermarket that never has what you want for more than a day with random what I think is Soya milk from the deduction that it is not labelled Pascual and that is often off the day after I open due to the 'white cupboard' of a fridge in the kitchen. I don't have a balcony overlooking a square - it's a sort of patio space of which half has been taken up by my extension of a bedroom. It is enclosed on absolutely every side - the doors that enter it from, my bedroom, my housemate's window to her bedroom and a concrete, holey, screen. It overlookes an inner courtyard of another few buildings, only ever used as I can gather as a fag break place at 7:30am. It leaves a rather poor view, and the sky is almost funneled. Not that a view of sorts I would enjoy, I leave when it gets light and come back when it's getting dark.

At 6:50am I leave the flat. Pressing the self-timer light switch next to the lift door, I make my way round to the central stair well. I enjoy the old banester and the inside of the building is a taste of European life. Once down to the vestibule I step carefully to avoid the cockroaches (which has goten passed the point of foreign differences but to one which I can no longer stand). I press the door switch inside the front door, without which I can not open the front door, a perfect reminder of Europeaness and step out onto the bearly light street. I have been known to walk to the train station when the street lamps haven´t even been turned off yet.

It only takes me 15 mins to walk to the Cernacias line of Piramdias station. On the way I pass a little lovely Pasteleria that if I have time and it actually isn´t too early, stop off in for a coissant and coffee. But this I have to say is a luxury. The Cercanias (RENFE train that goes underground) is actually a nice experience. Much better than the commuter trains offered by Britain and better than the rush hour on the metro as you can sit down most of the time. Sometimes I'm treated to a ride on a double-decker train which is delightful, though underground for most of the way, there is no view. I guess my feeling towards the experience on board a double decker train must be similar to that of those of the tourists who ride London double-decker busses.

My train journey takes me 20 mins before I arrive in Nuevos Ministerios and take a leisurely 10 mins to walk to my Office. God, I work in an office - I´m part of the system! I pass many a lovely shop on the way, Cafeterias with buisness men and women taking a pre-work coffee and talking about... whatever buisness people talk about. There are a few designer furniture stores including one I spot with a circlular kitchen pod in the window which I have now decided is my 10 yr goal and one day I must have. There are lots of clothes stores, designer or not and some designer maternity wear shops but there are an astonishing amount of pregnant women around - they must all gather for the clothing. I have also discovered the anti-dote to my previous obsession of Laura Ashley-fying interior spaces; Zara Home! It is the best thing to come out of Spain since, well, Zara.

My working day begins at 8am and though not an intensive morning, I generally hang round for buisness types at their offices to decide wether or not they feel like talking English today. Although the dedicated few are incredibly interesting to talk to and I´m learning alot about the country from the natives. I spend an enormous amount of money for a little satisfying snack of a lunch (apparently Nuevos Ministerios could do with a Subway) as I have not much time for a traditional Spanish lunch. Over that time I am teaching back at the school.

I finish at 4:15 and hang round til it´s time to get the metro to the edge of Madrid to teach the little girl at 6pm. I am meant to stay with her for 2 hours but past 7 - tis a struggle to keep her occupied and I spend most of the last half hour saying please get up from underneath the table. I don´t arrive back to my flat from the metro until 9pm or so. I walk passed the Spanish firemen hanging around outside their station (this is not as pleasent an experience as it sounds as none of the firemen are actually fit!) By the time I get back, scramble for my keys, curse the postman for not delivering my letter from the bank again, remember to turn the lights on so as not to step on any cockroach corpses, I´m not exactly a bundle of sociable energy. I dump my stuf in my room, collapse into bed and set the alarm on my watch for another day.