After some drunken and hung-over messaging on Saturday night and Sunday morning, I thought I had my Monday sorted. No.
Even though I went to bed early on Sunday, because I was still recovering from Saturday, I didn’t get much sleep. The thick of summer has arrived in Barcelona and my dog kennel of a room heats up at night enough so that I can’t sleep. Groggily I peeled myself off my sweat drenched sheets to the sound of my phones alarm at 6.30. Yay, time to go to work! It wasn’t as difficult to get going because I knew that after work I was heading to the beach to soak up the days last rays of sun with a beautiful Spanish woman. After that the plan was to have a twilight game of soccer up at La Salle university campus and then have a quiet ale. Not too stressful an afternoon really.
Well that all changed once I read my emails. Being in a big group of trainees here in Barcelona, I get these group emails all the time. Usually about where we are going on the weekend, or what is happening, but today NO. The subject of the fated email was something to the effect of “Two girls from iaeste Valencia need somewhere to stay for the night”. Hmm, two random girls need somewhere to stay. I can oblige, I thought. So after a quick reply my mobile was vibrating its way off my desk and I was talking to said random girls about a meeting place for the afternoon. No worries, the middle of Placa Catalunya, 7.30pm.
Oh, fuck. Hot Spanish woman you’re meant to be going to the beach with. Dickhead!
Luckily the Spaniard is as cool as she is hot and there are no worries changing things about with a few suave emails. Phew!
OK, so, meet randoms at 7.30 then play soccer, sweet.
Hour and a half to kill in the city before randoms. Not a problem. I like walking through the city. There are so many street performers down La Rambla and Passeig de Gracia, killing time is easy. The are two break dancing crews that perform on the different streets pretty much every afternoon, well worth a look. Also the usual hordes of drunken tourists getting about. I usually head down to Port Vell, loose the shirt and just soak up the afternoon sun, people watching and listening to some tunes.
7.45. Where are these bitches? Don’t really want to ring them, because I’m a peasant cheapskate. Oh well, they better be hot. On the phone and the reply was, “oh, we think we can see you”. Well, I think my directions were pretty explicit, i.e., look for a 6’3” rednut, wearing a stripy shirt, standing directly in the middle of the huge square. But no, that was too difficult.
Oh my, all is forgiven, they are both hot, but there is guy with them. Go away boy, go away. One is Macedonian the other is Maltese, the boy has a penis, I don’t care where he comes from.
Spanner!!!
They ask me where is Sarah. No. Why do you want Sarah. Oh, we are meeting her here as well. Uh, OK.
Five minutes. Sarah. Hey what happening.
Long story short, the girls stayed at Sarah’s. No worries, her house is better equipped for it. Nothing lost, nothing gained, except two phone numbers and a place to stay in Valencia. I can handle that.
OK, soccer. It’s near my house, so I’ll go home and get a drink first. It’s damn hot.
At home, ring Pau, what’s happening with the soccer. Oh, we will be finished in half an hour, don’t bother coming. Aaarrggghhh, WHAT! No worries what about the beer. Yep beers are still on. Phew…
So I head back out to buy some beer and dinner. Scoff din dins down and have a relaxing beer in front of the air conditioner watching the Spanish news, the pictures were nice at least.
Get the address of beer town via sms, just about out the door and the phone rings. “Hello is this Peter”. Oh what is this shit? It was three Brazilians from Valencia who must have heard about my generous offer of accommodation. “Can we stay at your house?” Yeah, no worries, but I’m going to have a beer, so I’ll meet you at el Putxet station and we go for a beer, OK. OK was the reply.
So I meet them half an hour later outside the station and I’m confronted three backpack wearing sweaty Brazilian men. Excellent. I was keen to taste amber liquid but these boys wanted to drop their shit off and have a shower. Fair enough.
Trek back to my flat again, uphill. Air-con has been turned off, the place is sauna. The Brazilians are nearly as good at procrastinating as the Spaniards are, so we are a good hour fucking around at home.
Back out on the street at 11.40pm. Last train at the metro is midnight. Time to leg it. Have acquired beer by this point. This makes me mildly happy. Get to the metro just in time.
The boys wanted to go into the city to party on their last night in Barcelona. Not a problem. Gave them my address. They said they would be back at 6.30am. Sweet. All that is left is to find Pau and sit down to a beer.
I get out at the station he told me, but the street numbers are around 330 and he told me 160 Balmes de General Mitre. Fuck it.
Get on the phone. A computerized voice in Spanish says something. Great his phone is turned off. So I walk back up towards home. Shirt comes off soon enough and I start finishing off the rest of my beer.
I couldn’t get too pissed off, the day was weird and random enough for me to see the fun in it. So I arrive home, strip down, get some water and lay down to contemplate what had been accomplished in the day.
Phone rings.
It’s Pau. “So are you coming for a beer or what?” Hahaha. No. He asks me where I am, I tell him my street, Mandri. Perfect he says it’s just around the corner. 160 Ronda del General Mitre. WHAT! You told me 160 Balmes de General Mitre. “Oh yeah sorry I must have told the wrong thing. Oh, haha, yeah you must have, haha, heaps funny.
So, 2am early Tuesday morning, I finally lay back in peace and a layer sweat and think about the day. Meet hot Spanish girl on the beach. NO. Bring home two random girls from the other side of the Mediterranean. NO. Have a game of soccer with mates. NO. Have a quiet ale with mates. NO. Good nights sleep at the end of it all. NO. Had fun doing it all. YES.
