Six months and six days after sending off my forms, the British Council have finally given me the go-ahead I’ve been waiting for:
‘I am pleased to inform you that you have passed the eligibility and quality assessment stage for applications to Spain and that we will now be proposing your application for a post.’
Hallelujah. Three nail-biting hours spent sitting in the armchair in the living room with a neglected Persian verb table lying open next to me and we have news! And good news, too. They go on to reiterate that it’s not a guaranteed post, just as they have in every email they’ve sent yet, and even though there’s still nothing on a location – nor will there be until the end of the month – it’s still made my day. Next year is now that little bit more certain. And how’s that for an ego boost! Expect a dearth of sarcastic posts for a time. I blame the latent advent of Hip-Hop into my music taste. And myself, of course. Heck, no, not today. I’ll be having none of this self-critical stuff today. Nuh-uh. Today’s about victory. I’m going back. Where exactly is anybody’s guess, but that’s not what matters. I’m going back. A whole eight months’ work in Spain, speaking Spanish, teaching English and freshly-squeezed orange juice. Did somebody say churros? Oh yeah! I’m not going to let an early morning countryside sortie hold me back this time. Not with eight months in the seat!
Of course, it’s all admin from here on up. Admin and exams. So much subtle admin in the wings that I’m a little worried I might overlook one or two of the little tasks. Best to keep your head screwed on for the time being. Anyway, I’d better get back to the Persian revision for the time being, I think. Priority number one for the next eighteen hours!
Khoda hafiz, folks x