Spanish class

I take a beginners Spanish class most Monday evenings. I walk in at five to five, and take a place around the table.

Nobody talks.

In between the hesitant "Donde vives?" and "Como estas?"'s, silence reigns, thick and heavy with hours worth of unspoken words. Eyes are glued to the whiteboard or our tutor, as if we live in fear of illicit eye contact or, god forbid, genuine conversation.

When the 10 minute coffee break arrives, some dash off for the toilets, some outside to escape the boiling community centre room and stand about in the crisp evening air. Most sit in their chairs, staring intently into their phones, making silent, virtual conversation. Can you please get the washing in? Are we gymming tonight? How was work?

As I sit back down with my herbal tea and Homebrand biscuit, dreading another hour of "Ser or Esta"'s, I look around, in the hope of catching someone's eye and starting conversation. But the odds are stacked against me, so instead I stare vacantly into my teacup. I wonder what I will have for dinner that night.