The Pointless Lesson

Tuesday 21 June 2011- It’s Italian lesson day again, so off I pootle to Castel Frentano to the library. Now we’re an odd group really, two Brits, one German, a couple from Uzbekistan and man from Bangladesh, who speaks perfect Italian, as he’s lived her for ten years, however he can’t read or write it.

As we wait for the teacher, an Australian woman, I walk around the library, I reach the children’s section, with it’s lurid green walls decorated by purple plastic flowers. I look out of the window and watch as two young boys kick a football about. I take a few more snaps as our teacher’s car arrives.

The lesson today concentrates on making a money transfer at the post office, so for two hours we are shown how to fill in certain forms, and how to transfer cash into an uncles account and how to ask for proof of posting etc. To be honest it’s a waste of time, as none of us will ever need to do any of these things. It makes me wonder how out of date is the teachers manual, as modern banking deals with these things efficiently without ever having to be present. Oh the joys of direct debit.

I come home and chat to my neighbour, she tells me she often hears me singing, I’m about to apologise when she says she likes to hear it, and I must be happy. I thank her and tell her that I am happy.

I cook my dinner singing along to My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion. (Camp I know, but what can you do when you’re living a life on shuffle?)