My lovely lovely ....Horse....

I have once again just finished one of my "weekends" off, which in Barcelona is always a bit of an ordeal, or maybe that´s just my life.

The first day was lovely and relaxing and consisted of drinking coffee and beer with Nathalie and Nina in Placa George Orwell, a strangely triangular square which is always dirty yet seems to host a never-closing bar scene. Then Nathalie and I went to buy some meat so that her boyfriend could make us some soup while I did washing. There was a little boy in the shop who displayed typical Catalan manners when Nathalie helped him push the buggy out the door and the mother asked "what do you say", he looked at Nathalie and said seriously "You´re welcome". The entire shop was in kinks laughing.

That night we watched Lord of the Rings, and I couldn´t help but think of Father Ted when Gandalf´s horse came running through the fields....with a man on his back like a train in the night, like a train in the.....night.

Then last night I went out at midnight for a walk to get rid of my ya-yas cos I had been sat in the house all day laughing manically at all the rubbish music videos and doing embroidery, which is definitely a bad sign, and then I got a call from my friend Darren. We went for a beer in the self-same place I´d been the day before, and we sat with his sun-stroked friend discussing the ridicul0usness of irish slang when you say it properly.
"How are you what"
"Come here until I tell you"
"Ask my arse"
Great craic altogether. Somehow, we acquired 4 Irish people and 6 Swedish people and a halfcut Dane, and before you sould say begorrah we were trawling the streets for a club that said it was free in and actually was free in.

Of course we never found it and ended up on Place Real in a club called Jamboree. We spend 30 minutes dancing to American rock classics such as eye of the tiger before I realised that there was a hip-hop dungeon below. Well my dancing boots took me there as fast as they could carry me and I ended the night throwing shapes to some dude cruisin´ fo´honeys...

When we eventually got kicked out at the rare auld hour of 5am, two of the irish lads had nowhere to stay cos they are moving house today and staying in a hostel with a curfew, so we all went back to my house to eat cake and talk about Father Ted.