Vendiendo la leche antes de ordeñar la vaca. (Putting the cart before the horse).

A decidedly disgruntled few of us show up for Spanish today.

After the shock of last Thursday's test, the classroom is so sparsely populated, you'd be forgiven for thinking a mass boycott had been organised.
It's quite possible.
A collective decision may well have been taken over rowdy pints of snakebite in the student bar at the weekend.
None of my compadres would even have thought to let me know.
Mainly because I never speak to any of them.
The rapscallions.

Actually, I doubt they drink snakebite any more.
It was all the decadent rage in my day though.
I destroyed more than a few brain cells consuming that lethal concoction, I can tell you.
Anyway, I think most of the students at UCD are from rather comfortable backgrounds.
This is the posh part of Dublin after all.
The D4 set.
And judging by their clothes and general absence of smell, I'd say Mummy and Daddy probably give them more than enough pocket money to survive.
So I imagine they can easily afford to get off their rich-kid faces every night drinking Fat Frogs.
Whatever they are.

I am 1 of 4 out of a possible 20 sitting in the room waiting for Javier.
He walks in and gives us his usual, '¡Hola! ¿Qué tal? greeting.
We've stopped replying weeks ago.
Yet he continues undeterred.
If he senses the growing hostility that's being harboured against him by his students, he does a very good job of not showing it.
He opens the text book and asks us, in Spanish of course, to turn to page 52.
There are 3 boxes drawn on the page, each of which contains a description of a person's daily routine.
The first one describes the shift work of a taxi-driver; the second, the unscheduled life of an artist; and the third, lo and behold, the quotidian activities of a student.
It's almost word-for-word the same as the torturous section in the test that none of us was able to complete.
And the whole exercise concentrates on the reflexive and irregular verbs we had never seen before last Thursday.

Javier wants us to take it in turns to read these descriptions aloud - a regular practice in this class and a process that can be as entertaining as it can be painful due to the varying levels of ability amongst our novice group.
It's the totally-non-Spanish-and-completely-Irish-accented efforts that delight me the most.
Not that I'm proficient in Spanish by a long chalk.
I am undoubtedly picking it up quite quickly, thanks, in large part, to my existing ability in French.
French and Spanish, along with Italian, are what are known as 'romance' languages; rooted in Latin and with similar structures and rules. The knowledge of one makes the learning of another infinitely less problematic.
However, I often forget to pronounce 'v' as 'b', and I sometimes omit the requisite 'lisp' on the soft 'c' and 'z' where appropriate.
But I always at least try to sound as Spanish as I can.

There are 2 others who make such an effort.
One of them is a mature student from California.
I say 'mature' as he is more than 23 years old - the qualifying criterion for slotting into such a category - but he's still barely more than a child.
Without question I am old enough, if not responsible enough, to be his mother.
He is most certainly used to hearing a great deal of Spanish given the diverse culture in which he was raised.
So his accent is really rather good.
The other chap is the one I accosted in the Arts Café after the test.
Arguably the best in the class.
My rival.

As there are only 4 of us in attendance today, we have chosen to seat ourselves in a mini horseshoe arrangement.
As far as that's technically possible to achieve with 4 people.
I grit my teeth and flare my nostrils throughout the lesson as Javier smiles his nonchalant way through the exercise we should have studied in advance of the test.
I'm hoping he'll pick up on the fury I'm exuding on behalf of the entire class.
The steam coming out of my ears perhaps.
But he appears completely oblivious.
As the lesson ends I pipe up: 'Excuse me Javier, but shouldn't we have done this a week ago?'
Due to the 'horseshoe' seating arrangement, I can see the look of shock on the faces of 2 of my classmates.
I assume the expression on the 3rd, who is sat nearest me and whose face is out of my peripheral range, is somewhat similar.
I am initially taken aback by their surprise, but I remind myself that they've yet to have a boardroom battle and/or confrontation with an incompetent boss.
They have come straight from school and have only known unquestioning respect for authority.
Obviously, they have a great deal to learn.

Javier splutters an unsatisfactory response about how he has told us the importance of working on our Spanish in our own time.
My fellow students sit wide-eyed and stupefied.
I won't be abated.
'Well, the other class knew there was going to be a test,' I say, 'and Ana prepped them!'
Javier stares at me icily though somehow manages to retain the permanent smile.
It's clear he's not going to bother to entertain the discussion any further and his frozen grin signals the end of the conversation.
I pack my stuff away hurriedly and leave the room with the others so as not to be left alone with him.
Especially after the 'horny' incident.

As I hurry down the corridor, my classmates trot after me in a flurry of excitement.
'Oh my God!' squeals the girl with the pierced lip, 'I can't believe you did that!'
'We were all thinking it!' adds my rival, 'but you had the balls to say it!'
I'm not sure how I feel about the implication I possess testicles, but I take it for the compliment it was intended.
'Kudos!' chips in the Californian while patting me on the back.

I smile proudly at my new 'mates'.
I feel as though we have somehow established an important bond.
Despite the fact I still don't know their names.
  
©Alacoque Doyle