2002-02-08 - 12:11 a.m.

�Work� has descended into nothing but flippant intra-office e-mailing, which this afternoon developed into not much more than four hours of intense quizzing on eighties pop lyrics. I didn�t know whether to feel knowingly smug or suddenly disturbed that no-one got my �Johnny Hates Jazz� references. Am really I the only person to whom the name Clarke Datchler still means anything?

So tomorrow starts the grand tour. I�ve been reading a lot of travel writing, and I�m afraid that I�m pretty non-hardcore. I don�t mean in the �backpacking round India on a trustfund� way, which in any case, was never my cup of stagnant bogwater, but in the going to Somalia and Sierra Leone, eating breakfast with a side order of casual genocide and snorting live ammo off the backs of recently enlisted minor soap stars kind of way. OK, a long weekend in Barcelona puts you in car-bombing range of ETA, but Christ on a bike, it�s no more dangerous than shopping in central London, or eating a �ZingerBurger� from one of my local budget chicken joints. I wish I had a penchant for more life-risking recklessness, but when it comes down to it, I�m as cowardly as the next man, and the next man is holed up in a three-metre thick concrete bunker with cable TV and a lifetime supply of dried organic tofu.

Barca, as chickenshit white boys call it, is, of course, the home of The Menstrual Spaniard, but in place of her usual �time of the month� related tactics for physical avoidance with yours truly, she�s cunningly opted for a more �leaving the motherland and coming over to sunny London at suspiciously the exact same time� kind of vibe, which at least saves her the bother of purchasing superfluous sanitary products. I�m looking forward to seeing a bit of Spain, of course, though recollection of my high-school Spanish seems to have dwindled to the phrase �sin gas�, which allows me free linguistic reign in ordering any number of non-carbonated produce. Oh, I also seem to recall �No tengo un burro, pero tengo un toro.� � �I haven�t got a donkey, but I have got a bull�, so trading livestock also holds no foreseeable problem.

So nada �til Monday, folks. Adios, and vaya con Ricky Martin�.