Is there no end to the swearing! Some older students had to write a report on a job they had done. As most of them had never worked before they had to put some imagination into it. One boy whose handwriting leaves a lot to be desired had managed to make the word 'worker' (on account of the letter o appearing to be an a and a tendency to loop the letter r into an n ) read as 'wanker'. It got worse when I realised he was doing the same with the word' working', so there were sentences that read 'last year I was wanking in a restaurant with some other wankers', and 'if you want to wank, I would recommend you get a summer job wanking in a kitchen, you will learn lots of skills and meet other wankers who will become your friends.'

I have something in common with Donald Trump. I also suffer from Bathmophobia. A fear of stairs and slopes and falling down and breaking my brass neck.

A while ago some Spanish kids, about five years old were busy being creative, making some lovely craft for mother's day when suddenly one of them said 'what the fuck'. I decided I had imagined it, as I do with most things, when he said it again. Now I had to decide whether to say something or try not to draw attention when another kid said to me 'he's just said 'what the fuck' and what the fuck is a swear word in English and we are not supposed to saw swear words are we?' I told them that we mustn't say swear words as it is vulgar and uncouth and they all agreed and said they wouldn't say these words again. A few weeks ago one of the kids said 'Oh my God' to which another said 'you just said a swear word in English, Oh my God is a swear word and we are not allowed to say swear words'. Then another decided to chip in and said, 'Oh my God is not a swear word but what the fuck is'. I managed to get the situation under control, sealed the perimeter and all that but what the blue blazes? Where do they get these ideas?

Pablo Gargallo was a Spanish painter and sculptor and there is a museum in Zaragoza which is home to some of his great bronze sculptures. In one of the rooms you can watch a short video on the history of the building which is now the museum and there is a description of the removal of a beautiful tower which once stood next to the museum. It translates as, 'a gaping wound of emptiness and shame' which just made me think of Brexit and then Jacob Reese Mogg and then life and how to approach it. A few days later while having a book called the Autobiography of a Yogi read aloud to me I heard the words ' a cosmic empire of endless bliss', which helped to balance things out a bit. And so it was in that moment I felt the need to set up some kind of club or political group or gang called the Comic Empire of Endless Laughter. Watch this space.

Someone asked me recently what my spirit animal was and all I can come up with is Eric Cantona. 

The difference between me and James Delingpole is I can't make a living out of being a dickhead.

Unsent letters. 

Dearest,

I bought you flowers but they looked so lovely I kept them for me. I guess chocolates are out of the question, what with your fear of boxes. 

My other half just told me something weird. Something I found a bit hard to believe. So I typed in London, cocaine, River Thames and eels and you know what? He's right. 

To get home we took a taxi, then a coach, the tube, a train and a car. Then we had dinner, went to bed and got up again to complete the journey. Another car, train, bus, train and a plane and then another bus and as I waited to buy a coach ticket for the final leg of the journey I looked up at a timetable and it said Bilbao/Irun and there was something in the words that made me want to continue my journey even though I was now exhausted. My feet felt itchy and I said to husband 'let's keep going. I don't want to stop now. Let's go somewhere else'. We didn't. We went home, but something was calling me. The Basque country. 

Why would someone living in the Arab Emirates read my blog? 128 posts or page views? Really? The other week it was France. Have you nothing else better to do???!!!!

On a more serious note. The British often begrudgingly admire the way the French protest. You know, refusing to budge until demands are met and smashing the place up a bit to make sure their leaders know they aren't messing about. Recently 700,000 British people demonstrated through the streets of London to show they are not happy with Brexit and to say perhaps there should be a second vote. Did they go crazy? Did they run through the streets shouting 'we are all French now!' carrying out acts of mindless violence. No, they didn't, but perhaps they should have done. That would have really given the politicians something to take their minds off things. I say people should smash things up a bit more. Instead everyone had a jolly time and then went home to watch Strictly and have a nice cup of tea. Some minister or another says there shouldn't be a second vote. That if there is, and the 'will of the people' isn't carried out there will be violence on the streets of the kind never seen before. He says this as he looks out of his window at Westminster and sees about a hundred people wearing yellow jackets protesting. They have a list of grievances and it includes just about everything. People are now starting to argue with people they don't know on the street which is no surprise seeing as everyone has fallen out with their family friends and colleagues on the matter. The Tories have liquidated themselves. As for the other lot, well. Today is Theresa May's Big Nothing day. Everyone else is staying in because it's too cold and there's that programme where you watch other people watching programmes. Or Netflix. No one really understands any of it anymore except it all looks like a cross between Monty Python and Blackadder. What a load of old cobblers.Business as usual.

I have just seen my new neighbours. I said hello and the father completely ignored me. I said hello again and he still gave me the cold shoulder. His children, I presume they are his kids, said hello and smiled while the mother hid behind the door. I immediately felt they must be racists ( the parents) and then thought maybe they are just rude. Then I wondered if they are shy or perhaps deaf. We never know what people are going through. Now my imagination is telling me they are probably on the run.

The study is full of papers, notes, diaries. My life is one long unfinished short story. I found an old note in a box that said the following, which I presume were new year's resolutions of some kind....

Leave the theatre

Start teaching 

Live in Madrid

Speak Spanish

Art Heist.

People who don't speak other languages that think they know how people who speak other languages think and feel.