Such a beautiful horizon!
We’re back from Barca, and the holiday feeling still remains. We had a rare old time there. To my mind, it has everything that a city should have: some excellent architecture (old and new), a stretch of water (in this case, a beach and harbour) and friendly people. Our hotel was very swanko and comfortable; in fact I slept better than I have done for a very long time. I could get used to living 8 floors up in luxury.
In our time there we saw most of the famous Gaudi stuff like Sagrada Familia, La Pedrera and Park Guell, as well as the Picasso Museum and various other bit and pieces. The eating was good, we found a very nice tapas place in the Born area of the city which did the most delicious patatas bravas I’ve ever eaten. Mmmmmmmm.
We were there for FC Barcelona’s historic win over Arsenal int he Champions League final, and watched the celebrations after the final whistle was blown: flares being set off, fireworks, dancing, lamppost-climbing, car horn-blaring…I’ve never seen anything like it. Imagine all of London's footie fans combining to create one 'firm' and you might be able to get the idea. The following day it transpired that the fans had gone a bit OTT and had caused several hundred thousand Euros’ worth of damage to Las Ramblas.
We missed out on quite a bit of the city – we didn’t really venture into El Raval into the last day - so we feel we’d like to return there at some point. And next time we’ll master a bit more than three words of Spanish. Not being able to speak the lingo was frustrating, to say the very least.
So I’m relaxed and, dare I say it, even a little tanned. Neither of those things happens often, so that’s pretty good. I hope that this positive feeling lasts.
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We might be heading to a disco burlesque night on Friday. Anyone up for it?
This one's dedicated to all you Gucci bag carriers out there
Soundtrack:
Song for a future generation by
The B52sFriday was enormously enjoyable. There was booze 'n' chips before the gig and much more booze during the gig. I got home at 3.45 on Saturday morning, aching and hungover and cold.
The club itself was good, but trying very hard. Thankfully they redeeemed themselves by playing the song that inspired the name of this blog as well as some other excellent numbers (today's soundtrack choice; The Crusher; mucho French pop). I danced like a slightly overweight woman in her early 30s.
Go-Kart Mozart were strange, funny and sad all at the same time. They played for about 25 minutes and Lawrence looks terrible. He was wearing a black leather jacket with fringing, with the word KILL picked out in studs across the shoulders. Nice touch. I had hoped to post some photos here but it turns out I took five short videos by accident.
Bloody newfangled mobile...Weekend was pleasant. I cooked a Rajasthani red lamb curry which stripped all the skin from the roof of my mouth - marvellous. We tidied the flat up. And JJ's barber passed on the best news of the year thus far:
The Cramps return to these shores in August to play the Astoria. Miss them at your peril.
I am a tree
Soundtrack:
Guided by VoicesThere's something really summery about GBV.
Had a lazy lunch in the park with
LlamaBoy, enjoying the warmth of the sun.
Going out to catch
Go-Kart Mozart tonight with
RedheadWalking.
Beforehand, I'm going to see Ms. Robinson for a drink and chat.
Now that's more social activity than I've experienced for a quite some time. Which may indicate that I'm on my way back.
We care A LOT
Channel 4 showed the first two episodes of Season 2 of
Lost On Tuesday night.
Predictably, it scared the living bejeesus out of me and I barely slept.
I have an hour yesterday trawling the net for spoilers (purely because I felt like cutting my nose off to spite my face), and whaddya know, there are some folk who are
completely into it out there. So much so, that they are devoting page after page of page of the web to deconstructing the storyline, finding really heavy allegorical meanings (the character Hurley representing the
Department of Homeland Security, anybody?) and congratulating each other on reporting the minutiae of each episode.
Well it's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it.
To treat Lost as an allegory for my life: I am still on the island but working hard to get rescued. I've sent out numerous distress signals, one of which has been picked up, but I'm not sure that an escape craft is being sent as yet. Life in the hatch is increasingly soul-destroying and my fellow castaways are beginning to grind on my bleedin nerves.
If it weren't for my trusty companions
DL and
LlamaBoy I think I would have gone
Loco in Acapulco before now.
