2005-11-29 - 11:48 a.m.
Mornings don’t get much better, or too much more random, than finding out you definitely don’t have tuberculosis and getting six free pots of natural yoghurt. Both were a welcome treat after a journey back from Barcelona that verged on the testing at all times…no actual delays or disasters, but just a tortuous, spirit-zapping crawl across Europe done against a backdrop of severe bodily fatigue and a regret in booking low-cost flights that was almost spiritual.
When you cockily book your 1p flights over the internet, you never think about the inhumane hours of the flights, the inaccessibility of the weird airports or the money you then have to spend transporting and feeding yourself, all of which kind of take the glint off that shiny bargain you thought you had got. Going out is OK as you are filled with expectation and giddy dreams of exotic adventure, but the way back is like being repeatedly kicked in the clackers by a gang of burly travel agents.
Still, it was all worth it, the weekend in Barcelona delivering as it did a heady mix of drinking, clubbing, drama, drinking, clubbing, drinking, laughing, drinking, romance (not for me , I regrettably hasten to add) and we may even have squeezed in a few drinks somewhere. We overdosed on Britpop, home made cocktails and 7am finishes, but when the city and assembled company lend themselves so well, it would be churlish not to, and possibly illegal.
I’ve had some excellent weekends in Barcelona, but this took the hot bocadillo. Oh, and to top things off, I saw the best cathedral, football team and football player in the world in the stone and the flesh, as well as one of my all-time favourite diarylanders in the shape of the always-spectacular Ms Rubyfoxx and her merry band of cohorts. Or should that be ‘band of merry cohorts’? Either way, we put away massive great wads of booze.
Barcelona seems to be a city wasted on the Catalans, though. It is so amazing, and for the most part, they walk around with faces like a smacked arse, the miserable herberts. I know Franco used them as a political punchbag for a good while, but you’d think that would be all the more reason to be happier about what a kick-ass city they have now. Ah, such incisive socio-geographical analysis. There, my hat is in the political ring.
Anyway. They do a grand line in big nights out.