The rain in Spain......

Stayed mainly on the plane….. the one back to Blighty, that is, because, you see, I’ve just come back from a three-day break in the south-east of Spainland where, though a trifle nippy, it was gorgeously clear and sunny the whole time.

On the outward journey, I snapped this piccie of the starboard engine whilst balancing precariously on the wing. It was perishing, particularly as I was starkers, but I needed to get into practice for the *waggles a pair of fingers either side of head* Gallery.

We stayed in a hotel in Girona which was superb duperb and provided loads of up-to-date amenities, including this, which I think must be for important business calls.

I didn’t need to make any – at least not for work-related purposes.

Most of Tuesday was spent in Barcelona, strolling down Las Ramblas, which was beknackering but full of quaint and fascinating people, many of whom just stood about doing… er, well… mongoose all, actually. Look at this piccie - I don’t think the poor bloke on the left had had anything to eat for a couple of years.

And what’s all this Catalan stuff? I mean, I used to know a bit of Spanish (and, to my horror, discovered that I had forgotten too much of it to feel altogether comfortable while I was there this time) but no-one speaks it in the area – they speak Catalan; I ask you! If you made a bit of a cock-up with your Spanish and asked for a “sandwich de cheeso”, at least there’s a slim chance they thought you had said “queso” (the proper Spanish for the good old fermented curd); but you’re certainly not going to dredge up “fromatge” from any linguistic database that might be stored in your brain-box. Even the road signs are in two different languages – no wonder there are so many accidents over there! Incidentally, these are generally caused by proper Spanish speakers because their versions appear second, and by the time they’ve read it – splat!

When we got to the bottom of Las Ramblas, this was the view which regaled us, but I am afraid I could not rise to the challenge to take the funicular – I am, not to put too fine a point on it, sh*t-scared of heights!

Anyhoo, my line manager was exhausted, and we rested but a short while before realising, with great pleasure, that there was a Metro station within spitting distance which took us back to RENFE and Estacion Barcelona-Sants, where we entrained for the return to Girona.

Anyway, it was a nice break but not long enough. Actually, we were horrified at the cost of the flights – not too bothered about 99p each for the outward journey, but £1.49 for the return – scandalous!

Hasta la vista, babies!