the one where I walk down the aisle in a 6 euro primark dress
You know how it is. The end of the month. Your cupboards have seen better days and for the past three nights you’ve been eating some questionable concoctions of instant noodles, fish fingers and whatever else you can ‘borrow’ from your flatmates until payday comes. As expected, this is exactly the position I found myself in at the end of my first month in Spain after overindulging in café con leches and one too many one euro tequila shots. Before moving to Spain, I knew that I would eventually need to find extra work to supplement my part-time teaching hours and it seemed as though that time had arrived. Therefore, one evening, after another dinner of instant noodles gone wrong, I wrote a post on Facebook detailing my job experiences and posted it into multiple different Facebook groups; ‘Expats in Alicante,’ ‘Irish in Alicante,’ ‘Work in Alicante,’ A day later, I found my phone flooded with messages; an old Irish lady from the group, ‘Irish in Alicante’ wishing me well and telling