I fell in love with a city, with the colours, the architecture, the art, and the markets. And the churches. I could have spent the whole week in the churches, but I kept being distracted by Gaudi, Miro, Picasso and the joy of the city.
A day trip to Montserrat; a train journey out of the city to see a church on a hill. How did I not grasp that a cable car was going to be involved?
Four of us in a city centre hotel room, yards from the Gothic Quarter, with a festival going on outside our window. Early morning drums and parades- I’d spent the summer in Belfast and refused to stir for another blimmin parade- then one of us looked over the balcony and demanded I get up.
Days of wandering and discovering. Drawing attention to ourselves by being the palest people in town.
My head is full of those days, and one of those nights. The night I made my friends huddle together on a crowded street, while I clambered on to a ledge, balanced myself against a scooter, and watched Lou Reed perform in front of the cathedral, as part of the festival. My friends were bored; I was wildly excited.
Lou Reed, three minutes from our hotel room. Free.
His music had been in my life forever. He lived up to all expectation. He was fabulous.