Sleepwalking to Spanish


Today I had my first Spanish class in a month: I missed one while I was in New York, and then there was a two week break while everyone recovered from a year of constant learning. Tuesday night is not wonderful for trying to stuff new things into my mind, tired as I am after a day at the office, and it became terribly clear to me that I hadn’t internalised the past tense at all. Or perhaps I was broken by walking from my office to the Spanish school, when the haze is back to being terrible again (over 100 on the don’t-go-outdoors-you-might-die index).

I felt worn out enough to take a taxi home, and as I queued up for one at the rank by the Ibis hotel, the security guard asked me where I was staying, and when I told him an HDB in Chinatown, he asked me how much I was paying, and then he offered to rent his house in Clementi to me for the same price, which would be very nice of him, but it would be in Clementi, which from Chinatown feels like somewhere on the dark side of the moon. Sure, it would be quiet, but I’d forsake my 8am commute to work and being able to see my daughter twice a day.

Still, I had to admire his enterprising nature.

Meanwhile, we continue to watch motorcycle races on the computer. We’ve got as far as Brno from this year, with five days to go to watch one more race at Brno, three each at Silverstone, Misano and Aragon, and then I think we’ll just have caught up in time to watch Sunday’s races from Motegi in Japan. By which point we’ll be sick of motorcycle racing, having binged on it so much in the last few days. Tonight’s race was a bit dull, apart from an exciting crash where a Czech rider slid off the track in a spray of sparks. All through this, our child slept peacefully, possibly dreaming of being able to play with her table tomorrow, until the race was done, at which point she gave a spirited howl for as long as it took me to go in, pick her up and put her down again. Sometimes this fathering lark really isn’t that hard.


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