A change is as good as a rest, people say.

City breaks are not everyone’s idea of a relaxing time, especially not if you can’t really speak the language or are planning on packing as much in as possible during your stay. I had been fortunate enough to visit what one friend called ‘the city that has everything’ twice previously.

However, for many reasons this trip to Barcelona was very much anticipated.

I was determined to enjoy it even more because it was a surprise early wedding gift from my best friend (see earlier post) and so I wanted to make sure his thoughtfulness and efforts were justified.

After landing and changing we went straight out into the sun to visit perhaps the most exciting place in the world, ‘La Boqueria’ (El Mercat de St. Josep) which is basically a food market like no other. Brightly coloured Nasturtiums, unusual herbs, giant watermelons, and an array of other exotic produce adorn the stalls on entrance, before tripe, brains, piglets, skinned sheeps’ heads and giant eggs on the inner circle of meat and dairy stalls, then weird looking fish, razor clams, goose barnacles and live shellfish compete for our attention on the iced slabs in the centre.

Amongst these are the famed tapas bars and cafes, much discussed recently on cookery programmes, and we found an interesting one at the very back, sampling the Menu del Dia for our first taste of Catalan cuisine, before heading towards Barceloneta and its beaches.

The weather helped, but this scene, ambling towards Gehry’s bronze fish, was heavenly, and much used. Sunbathers (one of whom looked uncannily like Tracey Emin) Nowhere else I have been in the world is there such a variety of environments within a short walk of each other.

The next incredible sights were birds, of the feathered kind. We saw a seagull look around rather guiltily before devouring a pigeon which had presumably fallen foul of the heat, next to a busy thoroughfare through a park. In said park there were also several pairs of what we at first thought to be parrots or even love birds, but since found out are actually Monk Parakeets, their bright green plumage and strange calls giving this area of the city an exotic flavour.

That evening we had booked an Argentinian beef & wine restaurant, Patagonia, no doubt popular with the likes of Messi and Mascherano given the excellent service and wonderful chargrilled offal and steaks we enjoyed. The service was fantastic too and anyone wanting something a bit special could do well to take a trip to Patagonia.

The next morning was spent wandering around a wonderful Palace which now houses an extensive collection of Catalan art  – including works by Picasso, Velazquez and Dali – before stumbling across the  adulation I personally have never witnessed before, not even at Morrissey concerts, that teens seemingly the world over, have for Justin Bieber.

Hordes of purple clad teenagers were waiting for the ‘teen sensation’ at the Olympic stadium, and as if to heighten the sense of occasion our trip was gaining, he arrived to huge acclaim and near fatalities as his fans ran across the road to greet him.

Next stop was a visit to several examples of Gaudi’s stunning architecture, depicted wonderfully in Woody Allen’s Vicky Christina Barcelona, and discussed much better than I could in an article on his own visit to the city by my good friend Tim Killeen (http://inthegoldroom.com/index.php/food-travel-blogs/homage-to-the-capital-of-catalonia-barcelona-travel-blog-2/), and before another Catalan treat of trotters, a visit to another artist’s structural statement, the Fundacio Antoni Tapies.

From the roof top of La Pedrera, we caught the first glimpse of the city’s stunning centrepiece, La Segrada Familia, which, when it is finally finished circa 2025, will be one of the most important buildings in the world, in scale, history, and status amongst its religious followers, tourists, architecture students and historians.

Travelling to the top of one of its towers, I felt, brought us closer to God in some way, both physically and in appreciation of this sublime sight. The last time I had been this high up we had got engaged; this time we just enjoyed the view.

A couple of pints in the Michael Collins bar facing the church seemed appropriate given his nickname of the Big Fella, and his role in the Irish Civil War, following Barcelona’s own experiences during the Spanish Civil War.

The events of 1936-39 both re-iterated and changed forever the Catalan identity, and although it certainly is Mes Que Un Club, for many people who don’t visit the city (and even some who do) Barcelona consists of a fabulous football team. Having already experienced the special atmosphere of a game there, we decided this time to watch in a bar, on a huge screen, sampling several Cervezas, and this was no less memorable. Winning 5-1 obviously helped, but the ambience, celebrations and playing of El Cant de Barca after the final whistle, set us up nicely for the following morning.

The Estadio Nou Camp is another of my favourite places, and it is just as daunting when almost empty, bathing in the morning sun, as filled with 98,000 cules for a big game. The imposing stands, the beautiful blaugrana colours with a splash of gold, the partisan mysticism of the club’s albeit money spinning stadium tour and megastore, make it a must visit, on multiple occasions if you are lucky enough to.

Back to La Ramblas then, for a late afternoon stroll through the Gothic Quarter and final farewell to the city. I had spent several nights fretting about the various examples of crimes committed against tourists I had been told about, generally low level muggings or pickpocketing, as I had not wanted any unfortunate incident to spoil our celebrations. Taking the necessary precautions paid off for us, although we did see an attempted wallet snatch and stood by helpless as an Iberian Timothy Claypole passed us, being pursued by a security guard who managed to retrieve the camera said thief had stolen from a young American girl. Of course, be careful, but don’t always believe the hype.

In his Homage to Catalonia, Orwell described it as “a city where the working class is in the saddle” and in some instances I would argue this is still to be the case, a little research and risk-taking is rewarded with brilliant finds. Its roots are evident in what little I know about Barcelona’s art, certainly its football, and its food: not quite peasant-like, but generally simple, and all the more special for this. Our final meal of the trip, Pintxos, although a Basque tradition, embodied this.

Eating so little and so late is another part of the culture, and although we only scratched the surface of the Barcelona nightlife, it also seems a key part of the city’s vibrancy and excitement.  

The sun shone once again as we returned to the airport, a final beer and chance encounter with a colleague who had also been enjoying a stay in the city. Airports are funny places, people coming and going or staying for a while, many wondering before they fly off, if these will be their final few hours on earth let alone land. The lounges are reminiscent of others, faces seem familiar, duty free shops all seem to sell the same, no man’s land yet both the arrival and departure point for miracles.

Looking around there is a shared experience between us. No matter where we come from, north or south, we all agree, a flag unites us in brotherhood.

The heat had augmented our enjoyment of the trip, yes, but even in the rain and cold I am convinced we would have had marvelled at not just the sights and the sounds of the city but the spectacle of it all and for us, it was even better, knowing that it was all thanks to someone else’s kindness.

I met this guy on my first day of secondary school. He turned out to be the best friend there could be… All will be revealed later this week – until then, thank you, Jay…

 

My Best Man.

We met, inadvertedly, on a football pitch, when I scored past him.

Twenty years later, our friendship has blossomed, despite the thousand of milesbetween us: indeed, he was the only choice for my best man for my upcoming wedding.

So, thank you Jay. Barcelona will exist because of you and the wedding will only improve  because of your input. Love x x

Last week I was rejected by an art-themed reality TV show, which is a shame, as, unbeknownst to their researchers, this was to be a new project of mine.

More disappointing, I’ve always wanted to be on TV.

The first time I really thought about it was when our primary school class was fixed up with a fellow class down south, to become pen friends and write frightening verse to each other, about nothing in particular. I became the envy of my peers when I was paired with Alex Boyce, a seemingly very cool individual who in his first letter, told me he was about to be on Jim’ll Fix It.

And he really was! He created his own breakfast cereal which he designed and saw being manufactured on the programme. Boxes of those Space Shooters were sold in Tesco nationwide. I bought some. I was in awe.

If you know a Alex Boyce, 30ish, grew up in Berkhamsted area, tell him to get in touch.

So, I wrote to Jimmy and asked to be on a special version of A Question of Sport, at the time my favourite programme. However, I cried very real tears when, a few weeks later, my cousin told me that another lucky young man had had it ‘fixed for him’ to be on the panel with Bill and Emlyn and my dreams were shattered – for the time being, at least.

Growing up, my only dalliance with Andy Warhol’s vision of those fifteen minutes came when my design for a ‘light-up Britain’ Blue Peter competition was on screen for a split second, and then I was asked two questions by Clive Tyldesley before an Everton game, cruelly edited out of the pre 1995 FA Cup Final build-up. But, as reality TV soon became a staple for my generation, another opportunity reared its head.

1998’s The Truman Show captured my imagination completely, the idea that someone’s entire life could be documented on a screen, a fictional narrative played out unwittingly in front of the baying masses. For a while I wondered if my own life was the same.

Later, still fascinated by the concept, and at a loss what to do when about to leave Uni, I requested application forms for Big Brother 3, though eventually missed the deadline having no video camera. I did meet Jade later in my life, though; relieved at my escape.

The only other opportunities to become a superstar came when I was captured on Carnaby Street in the background of a Sam & Mark feature on a Saturday morning, and then my handwriting and collaborative creative input made up an advert for this album:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N26yZA1kWus

You Tube and Web 2.0 has offered the chance for many people to share their stories and become famous, for whatever reason, and recently I spent a long time looking at how easy it can be to construct a fantasy of duality and intertextuality, without the downfalls of fame and celebrity.

My artwork took me then, to Show Me The Monet, the new BBC series I had submitted a proposal to. I knew my work was not suitable for the masses, but took a chance, just incase the potential of my ideas was recognised by a controller or talent scout: not for fortune or the cover of Heat magazine but to extend my portfolio of relational aesthetics.

They still asked to use my work in the opening credits, so my work might make it onto TV after all.

And next week, a new programme starts on Sky Atlantic about a guy called Jonathan who starts a detective agency. Bored to Death could have been written about me, given I have recently tracked down a missing person, sniffed out a haul of drugs, been labelled a ‘grass’, and the central character is a ‘dark haired’ ‘big nosed’ ‘Jewish looking’ ‘geek’ (as I myself have been called at different points in my life).

Even in my wildest dreams, this doesn’t mean I made it to TV at last.

Not yet, anyway.

In the meantime, I have obtained some mouldy VHS copies of my youth, as my parents clear out the old shelves. One is of a football tour of Holland, the other my star turn as the prodigal son Jim in a Year 6 assembly: for now, at least, I can watch myself on screen to my heart’s content.

Plus, I still have enough lookalikes on screen to comfort me…

And, those applications to be on Mastermind and Masterchef to consider in the future, of course…