








And so I am just finding my feet here in BCN finally after two painfully lonely first weeks. The feet that I have found go by the name of Ryan´s Irish pub, calle Paradiso and calle Ample, where all the young ex-pats from the English speaking world dwell. Yours truly has lived up to the great British stereotype and saturated herself three days on the trot with the fizzy, yellow liquid gold (with a shot of lime cordial) that we all know and love, and now sports a beer gut any Andy would be proud of!
But LDN for life!












The lowdown:
Here in Barcelona they don´t speak Spanish like you all thought... they speak Catalan. It`s like Portuguese meets French meets Spanish. I understand fuck all that anyone says to me.
Barcelona is in a region called Catalonia... There is political graffiti all over the city for the fight for independence of this region from Spain. A lot of them don´t speak Spanish and don´t feel Spanish.
Others refuse to speak Catalan and only respond to Castilian (the Spanish we are taught at school). They don`t want independence. There is tension between these two sides.
In Barcelona everyone insists on having a tiny, little, fluffy dolly dog and putting clips and bows in their hair.
The clubs open at midnight or 1am here... When they go out, they don`t plan to come back until daybreak.
Here in Barcelona there are doting Dad´s everywhere walking their children, collecting them from school, playing in the parks with them or walking around with a kid strapped to their chests. It´s something to be seen!
In Spain they have no card shops like Clintons because it is not a tradition to send cards on Birthdays or other special occasions.
There is a huge skate and graffiti culture in Barcelona. The port and sea front are designed in a way so that there are lots of slopes and smooth surfaces. There are always people long boarding and roller blading too.
I love Barcelona










