I had my headphones in, and to quicken my step I was listening to the ‘Walking’ playlist. You know the songs, Justice and Hot Chip-esque tracks that help you march through crowds, almost like Richard Ashcroft in the Bittersweet Symphony video. (Note this works best if you’re a short old Catalan granny who is not going to veer of course no matter who you are).

So like I said, on Tallers with my headphones in, I was fast approaching a busker, typical of his ilk – flares, chord jacket, acoustic guitar, beard, wooly hat… As I got closer, I heard his voice bellowing out over whatever ‘walking’ track I had in my ears at the time. 

“Scooby Scooby Doo, where are you…”

WHAT? I know that nostalgia is so hot right now. But really? Is it just me? Or is that a completely annoying turn of busking events?

I’m not slaggin buskers off . (Well I am but I bear them no ill will, unlike street artists and mimes. I bear them a lot, even shitloads, of ill will). And even though I know that nostalgia is so hot right now (although actually it peaked in 2004/2005), I can’t forgive the  Scooby Doo theme tune. I just can’t. Every fibre of my being just wanted to stop and shout ‘NOOOOOOOOO’ in his direction. And I have severe difficulty trying to justify why.

He’s just trying to veer off the Bob Marley ‘No woman, no cry’ path. And I appreciate that. It’s just… it’s kinda smug and self-aware but not in a cool way. Also, it’s shit.

Anyway it spurred me to think, maybe we could organise an official list of busker songs we could do away with and draft a whole new load of updated ones for the lower-case-’i’ generation ( or whatever the marketeers are calling us* these days). Maybe  we could even persuade some DJs to set up some decks and start bleeping out some electronica and introduce a new way of busking.

I could be very wrong. But it’s just a thought.

*actually I don’t know if I qualify to be part of this demographic. I started ticking a new box just last year!

So with that in mind, off we trotted down the Raval, on a reconnaissance catch-up mission over focaccia, coffee and later drinks. And catch up, we did, be-jaysus!

Coffee and focaccias courtesy of Buenas Migas in the Raval. Om nom nom!

Cava for three in H Original 

A Whiskey Sour in Betty Ford‘s for Shona

Later, La Fianna and Razzmatazz . Cos I got laid off on Friday (what? there’s a recession?), the girls were total legends and treated me to a Saturday night on the town for very little money indeed. Legends.

After forcing a jaegerbomb down the gullet in La Fianna (purely for waking up purposes right?), we grabbed a taxi. The meter wasn’t working so I tried to blag (in Spanish) a cheap fare to the Tazz, but yer man wasn’t biting and he totally clocked me saying to the women (Shracy / Trona?) that the fare was 9.50 and that was actually the price it should be in all fairness. Turns out he  had spent five years driving a black cab in London taaaaahn and had perfect English. Well, you know, a perfect cockney Spanish-accent mix! Whatever, I’ve never been any good at the aul haggling thing anyway. 

Anyway, not mentioning any names (!) but the kissing quotient was ridiculously bad. One of the ladies had her face raped and the other tried to score a fella but gave up when he proceeded to talk (in all seriousness. IN A NIGHTCLUB) about China, the Chinese people and the economy. All to the soundtrack of her favourite Arctic Monkeys track. Ah here…

A Razzmatazz dancefloor favourite is Yelle, Je Veux te Voir. It may now end up on the SPIN playlist due to it’s (as always) rapturous reception. Watch this space…

In a nutshell:

Sunday was Pla and the Pipa Club (two staple favourites of mine). We did a bad thing. A Shona-instigated bad thing, but I’ve got three words for you Tracy.

The.

Perfect.

Crime.

Ruhahahahahhahaahmwaha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaa…

Monday I missed work because I was drunken eejit, I woke up at eleven with 4 missed calls, a text from my boss, and sequins from my brand new top ALL over me bed. State of me. Yeah I probably shouldn’t share that… um… (Then I actually did get sick on Tuesday. That was the pox of the call-in-sick karma totally owning my ass.)

Anyway, Monday! We were all hanging pretty badly so it was off to Pim Pam for a (well deserved?) indulgence/hangover cure – the best burgers in Barca.

Not a cathedral, nor a Gaudi-ised building, nor a tour bus was frequented. For shame. Shame on the family. Not my family. Yours TC!

First weekend of January: Emma and Orla.

Places frequented: La Fianna, Ginger, Onofre, Shoko, Pla, Razzmatazz

Noted events: Orla’s gargantuan hangover, My ‘Fighting Irishman’ dance in Razzmatazz, Emma’s wallet being stolen inside the last four hours of being in the country, Tina Turner Appreciation, Emma teaching Orla and I how to take a decent photo, Orla succeeding, me failing badly…

Second weekend in January: Cormac.

Places frequented: San Sebastian, Pais Vasco.

Noted Events: Cormac missing his flight and making it to Barca in the nick of time but 233 euro poorer, the Tamborradas festival with all the kids wearing hats and drums, nearly getting soaked on the pier by GIGANTIC waves, the really cool propellor plane we flew in – only fourteen seats and Indiana Jones-esque sound effects.

I’ll let this speak for itself…

The more well informed of us (eh Cormac?) will know that only reason why anyone should really tune into the X Factor is the mighty Cheryl Cole. She’s beautiful, she’s entertaining and she’s the centrepiece at the table of Girls Aloud who, I may add, are not a guilty pleasure of mine. She slaps toilet attendants and she’s a footballers wife. I could go on of course but again I’ll let the following speak for itself… 

“I can’t deny, no way, my d-d-dirty mind is sayin lover, come and get me, get me!”

Savage video

Forget Mr Hanky the Christmas Poo… Behold! The CAGANER!

The complete explanation for the Caganer is here but in a nutshell:

The Caganer is a feature of the Catalonian crib. He sits in the corner of the traditional nativity scene. Yes he is taking a dump and no this is not a joke. This little fella is part and parcel of the Christmas scene. Caganer roughly translates as The Pooping Man and his reason for being in the crib is unknown (see linked article). 

I reckon where there’s a caganer, there’s Gillian McKeith having a good gawk. She’s so decrepit, it is feasible that she was present at the birth of Jesus Christ. Possibly as the donkey.

Check out Jim Carroll’s post on the best of 2008 which is probably a good indication of what’s to appear in the end of year supplement.

And check out my (least)favourite bit of every blog the world over – the bitching. Ally gets all antsy and Jim cuts her down. Followed by a vomit inducing apology from Ally. At least stand yer ground for gawd’s sake!

I met Ana, my intercambio, at 5 at our usual spot – a random cafe on Carrer Pau Claris. Here are some of my new Spanish words from today:

Aguja – needle

canal de musica – music channel

los rumeres – rumours

gemelos – twins

mellijos – twins (but one a boy and one a girl)

canela – cinnamon

mangas – sleeves

tener un lio – to have an affair (we were speculating on Jay Z and Rihanna’s dubious relationship and ruminating on Beyonce’s rage song, possibly related?)

Learning Spanish and girly chat at the same time! You never know what we’re gonna end up talking about – I loves it!