The cult of self-improvement

It’s autumn, which means it’s once again time to embark on my ongoing training policy (or pursuit of personal excellence, if you will), the sole motive of which is to provide made-to-measure service that satisfies the needs of even the most demanding customers.

I have therefore decided to learn Tibetan, a language which nobody with an eye on success can really afford to be without. Class No. 2 took place yesterday evening. The Tibetan alphabet only contains 30 basic consonants and 4 vowels, which I just about have off Postman (Pat). However, distinguishing the differences between consonant sounds is another kettle of cold-blooded vertebrates with gills and fins. Although these differences are glaringly obvious to our teacher, Ngawang, they are beyond me (for now).

As Ngawang seems to teach most of the class in Spanish, it will probably take me until I’m 150 to be able to say "It wasn’t me, honest it wasn’t". Still, the time will pass anyway and teachers of Tibetan are few and far between in Barcelona. I should therefore count my fortunate celestial bodies