Home Again, Home Again,Jig Jig Jig.

      I can't say I'm happy to be back in cold old Shoreham-by-Sea. It's blooming freezing and looks rather dreary after Barcelona. At least Daughter came to pick me up at Gatwick, which was lovely of her because there was plenty of snow still hanging about and otherwise my journey back home could have been rather miserable. She was looking very beautiful and full of beans: she seems pretty happy at the moment, and feels that she is in a good place. I really think that my being away for a whole month was good for everyone concerned. Daughter and big Grandson have managed everything just fine without me interfering (or 'helping' as I like to think of it) and though he has given up on Air Cadets while I was away, I'm not entirely unhappy with that. With the way the world is going, I'd actually rather he wasn't in a para-military organisation.
     My flight back from Barcelona was fine, a bit delayed but the Captain  managed to catch up the time and was very jolly when he told us about it. The plane was half full of teenage Spanish boys and girls who were obviously headed for language courses in England. They were a very jolly lot too, and cheered loudly when we landed.
      I have been home for a couple of days now, and I'm delighted to report that, despite missing the Barcelona lot and not liking the cold one bit, I am still keeping up the writing. I'm also looking at property for sale in Barcelona! I wish! As I always say, I'll keep you posted.

Bye Bye Barcelona..

       Typically, on my last day in Barcelona, I woke to a deep blue sky and glorious sunshine. It has been cold and grey grumpy weather for just about the whole month I have been here, so this morning was both a joy and an irritation. Anyway we had planned a day outing to the beach for St.Patrick's Day celebrations which were again typically weird, or so I thought. Where I wonder is the connection with St. Patrick and a rowing race between three handmade boats, out on a decidedly choppy sea in  Barcelona? It's true that the commentator was actually Irish, though he was on a microphone in the roped off compound which was barely in sight of  the sea, let alone the actual race. And to do him  justice he did tell a few dreadful Irish jokes. There was Guinness on sale, just about the only drink, and there were burgers. In the end my curiosity got the better of me and I walked down to the jetty where the action was, just in time to see the next lot of three handmade boats set off for their race. The sea was so choppy that the boats kept disappearing, and I was lucky enough to witness the drama of the afternoon, when one of the boats actually capsized and a handy powerboat was called out to the rescue. It was pretty dramatic and the hapless craft was hoisted on to the powerboat and delivered safely back to rousing cheers. All great fun, but how on earth it's connected to St. Patrick beats me.
      Today Grandson was Spiderman all day - and he didn't stop running and jumping while were at the beach. Son is in London for a week so we didn't have his calming influence, but all their friends were there, and they are a lovely bunch. Most of the couples are one half English, and their children generally speak at least two languages: English/French, English/Polish, English/Spanish etc, and of course the children are going to Spanish schools and Nurseries, so they are absorbing both Spanish and Catalan at the same time. The net result of all this is that sitting on the beach is like being at a multi-lingual festival, and it's very impressive to have a 3 year old translating for you. My little Grandson regularly turns to me and says "That's Polish Nana" when he and his Mum are deep in conversation.
     I'll be leaving this perfect apartment with regret. It has been just wonderful to sit at my laptop and write in a calm and peaceful environment without distractions and interruptions. And without feeling parental, or grandparental, duties looming. I've started something, so I mean to finish.
     And now, back to packing ready for tomorrow. Bye bye Barcelona...   
   

Running out of Wine.

      It's a terrible state of affairs to be without wine - it's only temporary of course,  but I haven't got the energy to go out now and rectify it because it's pitch dark outside and there's a pretty fierce dog next door that makes a terrible racket when anyone opens the door. Never mind, I'll have to grin and bear it and at least I have chocolate..
      The weather here in Barcelona still hasn't got over the sulks. Yesterday it started off looking much brighter, but as soon as I decided to get out and sit on the open-topped Tourist Bus it took a turn for the worse and was decidedly chilly. I sat it out though, determined to get the best possible view of the City, and it was worth  it. I sat next to a very adventurous and chatty young American woman who was doing a whirlwind tour of Europe: one day in Barcelona, one day in Rome, one day in Florence - you get the picture. I had to admire her stamina. She got off the bus at the Sagrada Familia, which I have seen before and is utterly astonishing. I wished  her good luck and off she went in good spirits.
      I was heading for Parc Guell, the place to see Gaudi's works in a lovely wooded setting, but what I didn't realise was that it would mean practically climbing a mountain to get there. I did it though and wandered round marvelling at such eccentric and stunning works. As I have said  before, I don't really do sight-seeing, but rather enjoy going at my own pace and stopping when I want. I was doing fine until I got lost and wandered off up a mountain path in totally the wrong direction. It took a while and a few Catalan directions to set me straight, but I made it back to  the bus stop and sank gratefully into a comfy seat for the rest of the Tour. Once again, I was so pleased to get back "home" and relax with a glass of wine. Oh no - I didn't need that reminder. Perhaps I will venture out...

Another Mother's Day

    Another Mothering Sunday and this one I'm spending in Barcelona with Son and little Grandson. Son's partner is in Warsaw for the weekend, with her Mother and Grandmother who is very poorly. She is very old - in her nineties - and seems to be fading away. It is inevitable, I know, but nevertheless very sad.
    I woke up very early thinking (wrongly) that the clocks had sprung forward! So I had a lazy cup of tea in bed, and then a very tearful phone call from Daughter, who was terribly upset that I was not with her - for the first time in her life!! She was sobbing, and obviously feeling quite desolate. It didn't help that neither of  her children were there either, having spent the night with the latest ex-partner, father of Gracie and adopted Father of Will. Oh God, life is so complicated these days. I could do very little from here but commiserate and send long distance love.
    Later, after a very nice croissant and coffee in my local cafe, I wandered over to Son's apartment, where he was entertaining not just one, but two small boys: one of grandson's little friends was staying for the weekend as his jet-setting parents had gone off for a party in Ireland.. So Son was coping with two small children on his own on Mother's Day (and the night had been a bit of a nightmare as they hadn't slept very well). To add to the general chaos, the little visitor had a stomach bug and was having to rush to the loo very frequently. Poor little chap, he was pretty good-natured about it, and when we all went out for a bit of lunch, he coped very well and managed to eat his burger without any problems. All I can say is it brought back memories of many a Mother's Day spent alone with my small children, and though it was sometimes a bit lonely, each one was lit up with their love, hugs and special little gifts and cards. I had to laugh when little Grandson said, with feeling, "We don't have to do a card do we?"  How things  have changed.
    Yesterday it was nice and sunny here, for a change, and I decided to set off and do a bit of sight-seeing and also go in search of a little hand- painted bowl to replace the one which has been chipped by Grandson. But oh, I'm the world's worst tourist - I'm rubbish at sight-seeing and I don't much like shopping, which is what it seems to be about. I wandered up and down the Ramblas, and once was enough for me. I sat down to gaze around at intervals and did see some amazing buildings, but on the whole I'm not cut out to be a tourist. I finally dragged myself back home, having become an expert on the glittery kind of Spanish ceramics that I wouldn't give houseroom to (sorry, I think that's a split infinitive). So pleased was I to get back here that I made a celebratory cup of tea and then promptly fell asleep on the sofa.

Here comes the sun. Or not...

      At last, the sun is shining  here in Barcelona. We have blue skies and just tiny little puffs of white cloud here and there. I walked down to the beach this morning, and the sea was a glittering rich blue, with little sailing boats dotted about. There was a stiff offshore breeze and yet the sun was very warm. I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the City: the whoosh of constant cars along the coast road, and the distant wail of an ambulance winding its way across town. A City by the sea is a strange combination of sounds and textures, and Barcelona is a good example - as indeed is Brighton when I'm at home.
     The trouble with walking away from a post is that most probably everything will have changed by the time you come back!  And sure enough it's cloudy and cold again today and was raining when I went out for my Cortado and Croissant this morning, I have a lovely corner cafe just a short stroll from my apartment, and I have become a breakfast regular there. It's really nice to have a smile and a Spanish hello (Hola!) when I walk in, and now I have been accorded the greeting " Un Cortadito?", or "a little Cortado" -  which is just a friendlier version. By the way, if you should come to Barcelona, I can recommend La Tornada, on the corner of Carrer Zamora, in the Olympic City. Great coffee.
      Don't talk to me about last night's football though. I was invited over to Son's apartment for a bite of supper (a super risotto) a glass of wine (pale rose) and a European Football match between the Spurs and Juventus (the Italian Champions) and it ended in defeat for the Spurs. I suppose they have to lose some matches, and they have had a good winning streak, but I find it hard to grin and bear it.
      Introspection haunts me when I'm away from home, and this trip is no exception. I ponder on where I have fallen short, and how wrong I have been on so many occasions. Having the time and space for this, it just falls like an avalanche and smothers me with regrets. But on a healthier note, my plans for the future are taking shape. I'm deciding not to go backwards, but forwards. This probably means not going back to Hove and the same old pattern. Is it too late for this? I hope not. Time will tell.  . 


   

Spring?

       Here we are on  the second day of Spring, and it certainly isn't anything like it here in Barcelona, never mind good old  Blighty, where it seems there are the worst conditions since World War 2!  Weather-wise, we are hopeless in the UK, and it only takes a puny couple of inches of snow to put all  our services and means of transport in jeopardy. I'm listening to Radio 4 as I type this, and really it seems that we have become a nation of total softies, who can't manage without our central heating. This brings back memories from my youth (OK so that was a hundred years ago) when we lived in a semi-detached house which had no central heating, like every other house in the road! We had a fire in our 'dining' room which had a back boiler, so we only had hot water when the fire was lit. The rest of the time we boiled a kettle on the gas and sat round the fire to keep warm and listen to the wireless. I can still light a decent fire and often do, but I wonder how many young people could do the same if it became really necessary.
       My Sister and I slept in a double bed with eiderdowns piled on top in winter, and every morning when we woke up there were frosty fern patterns inside the window..(We breathed on them so that we could see out into the garden.) We hopped out of bed pretty smartly to wash down in the unheated bathroom (with hot water from the kettle) and get dressed. I'm not saying that it was great, I'm simply saying that was the norm then, and  though we now have all our lovely home comforts, I'm not sure that they have improved our quality of life as much as we think. We were certainly tougher then, and didn't expect everything to be done for us, as seems to be the case today. Anyway, old moaner that I undoubtedly am, I would rather like to see some of the old British spirit surfacing when snow strikes.
      I was watching the Spurs vs Rochdale FA Cup replay on Wednesday evening through a live stream with Son in the comfort of his apartment, while Daughter was at Wembley in what looked like a blizzard. It was a very exciting match, despite or maybe because of the weather, and the Spurs won 6 -1 in the end. Son and I were looking out for Daughter on the telly, but didn't spot her in the crowd and I have to say that for most of the second half we couldn't even see the ball on the screen.
    Ah well, who could have expected that we'd have snow in Winter?