Greener Grass

Coming to Barcelona, its not necessarily that the grass is greener, its just different. And sometimes different is good. And sometimes different is needed. And sometimes it is realy good. And sometimes it makes you realise how rich your life is in the old grass. I dont want to go back to Bristol just yet but I know how rich my life is there.
Mostly I wish I could see things in the present instead of working them out when I have left.
El Borne was beautifull and going back down there from here I realize how lovely it was to be there. As I say I was happy to move, move within Barcelona this time for the greener grass of a terrace but as here is like the suburbs, it feels a long way out. I have the fomo.
I just hope I dont always miss the grass of my location..

23rd July
I still have the fomo and I am excited to move again, to the beach this time, but I have appreciated my time here, the big park on the hill and living with ‘normal’ people, with the locals. Its given us a good perspective on the city rather than just living in the posh bits.

A Saturday trip into town following orange flowers

A left fireplace on the passage Guadi

Intense games at Sagrada

This guy was cycling to Croatia! oops yes forgot to take a pic of the cathedral, its in the background!

Molly meets a big guy, quite a few v big dogs here.

A cool mural

A roundabout on the way

Mini maker fair at Grahams office, spoke to lots of 3d printing people and generally geeked out MOB style

Cocktail maker by

Hand held 3d scanners

The buildings near Grahams office are all really big blocks where the textile industry used to be, apparently they were like china is now with making clothes etc. Now its all trade shops imported from china, run mostly by chinese. Its a really lovely quite area with massive streets. This one had a really lovely lift and central courtyard. it always feels weirdly empty round there.

Outside Ale and Hop its that orange stuff again


Graham goes back to his borne barbers,  that dark bit on the left is our road, well I say road? A lot of the lanes/paths/streets round there have little signs with a carriage on them saying in or out, guess you have to have a one way system when you have a horse and carriage.



no molly we don’t live there any more

next to the barbers

At last molly gets to some water, we get to the park

A purple tree and a orange top

Graham sporting his summer outfit as normal!

Graham and Molly checking out the local scenery, it was cocktail bottle jugglers actually.

Some of the “cervesa, agua” family

Mollys intense I really mean it now eyes, can we move on?

We live near the blue bit now

Prob should know who this chap is, will look next time, outside the zoo in cuitadella

tourist bus with cheesy message

reflections in the gym window and a game of basketball?

Graham contemplates the ‘circuit esportiu’

Back into Sant Pere by Paco bar the evening sun always lights up these trees

The giants are off

Party in the park near are old flat brilliant band with tap dancer as part of the instrumental, Molly gets lots of attention as normal but really she is saying PLEASE can we go home now?

El Borne. Sant Pere.

Like any big city you dont have to live in a back alley if you have the money for a view, an open space, a chance to see the sky. But even 50sq mtrs is pricy in Borne so our studio was quite posh, probably quite expensive. And it was realy done well so it was a lovely space inside. So if you can cope with the tall buildings, the smell of piss and don’t run for suburbia on seeing your first cockroach ( which surprisingly do actually live up to their disgusting tentacled reputation ). If you have faith in your clothes pegs then it is the most beautiful place to live, so close to this amazing park, the beach and the thunderous thighs of the arc. When we got here there was so much to take in I am not sure I appreciated it enough, I marveled but not loved. Now we have found all the nicer shops, pierced the steely amour of the shop keepers with our constant appearance, sussed out the nice restaurants, you could say by repetition, by being here, by it being the place we now know, its home. But just as we are feeling it we are wrenched away to discover a whole new area. And like a dog with a forgotten bone, take it away from me and I see it afresh.
Graham peering out of the window
The apartments colours
The gap in the buildings opposite where we steal our temporary light

The little but significant goings on in the alleys

and into the most lovely park

the slivery trees
the palm trees
and the shadows and the white of the sculptures and the flowers

the cardboard sleepers
the shady building

and the green lake

and the bandstand where the tap dancer congregate

I see the park with its morning outfit and now my leaving eyes have upt a notch. Like the inside flamenco dancer I am, I am emotional. Clinging to every moment as time pulls it away from me. The sound of the pigeons and the parrots, the magic of the park washed by the dark of night, just a few cardboard sleepers left. I stay till the hour of ten and then like a slipper left at twelve the magic dwindles. Not as quickly as chariots horses turn to mice but slowly as this bit of our park, this patch of our ball, turns to meet the globe of fire. The shadows get smaller, the joggers are sweating and Molly is panting. The light whitens and hardens and its time to work. But like being on a deck slowly turning into the sea, I cling onto Sant Pere with fingers squeaking down the slippery deck. I veer into a street market and watch a woman with cherries behind her ears argue.