Feeling: Spain-ish

Feeling: Spain-ish

And continuing with the Girona yarns.

1. Through the centre of Girona runs a – well, I wouldn't go so far as to call it a river; swamp would probably be more applicable, or a morassy mire perhaps.

When you focus on the swampy stream you can see it's all bogged down and needs a bit of excavation, but from afar with the green of the grass in it set against the colourful apartments it looks quite beautiful.

The Pedaller and I were on a bridge overlooking the waterway when we clocked the massive big fish hanging out. And I literally mean hanging; they weren't swimming or anything. We realised that the current was going against them, and said fishies – about 12 of them scattered about – were holding themselves still against the flow.

"Bit of air con," I said knowingly. But then I reprised myself; it isn't air con in water, is it? I guess just a nice current vent for the swimmers. An ingenious way to just chill out.

2. Throughout the Old Town there are drinking fountains dotted about all over the place. I was thinking how ideal they are to fall upon in the extremely heated arvos, and how good of the council it was to erect them in to continue the theme of the place, when I saw a placard dating the drinkers back to the 1880s.

How cool is that that the same ones are still there and functioning? (I mean, I'd say there would had to have been some reworking of the plumbing, but the fountain itself). (It's only upon uploading the pic that I realised it looks like the ox – or whatever that's meant to be – is giving a bit of a blowy. Not so keen to drink out of it now).

3. This morning I went for my usual trot around and along the big wall and somehow found myself in the midst of a group of college kids; I think a high school from somewhere in Spain must've been learning about the Catalan historical years, and did a mid morning trip to the Old Town to see it in the flesh (well, stone). I tried to do a sneaky overtake but then we got into the narrow part so had to continue caught up in the class of kids.

As they reached their next stop point, the teacher counted me through as another pupil and didn't even realise his mistake.

I ran off, but now I'm hoping little Valerie wasn't left behind giving her shoes a tie and the class took off without her, and she's still stumbling about the spiral staircases while the head teacher swears he counted 32.

(The urge to go look back and look for Val was oh so real until I reminded myself she's purely a figment I made up).

4. I have an admittance to make: I caved on the shoe front.

The last few nights I've found myself in bed looking through my photos, always coming to rest on a pic of a pair of shoes. I found myself pining for them – really and truly – and this morning my feet found their way into the shop, into the shoes, and telling my hands to hand over my card.

I actually have no idea where on earth I'm going to fit them going home. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. (And I chucked in a new khaki top too for good measure).

I decided I might as well have a look around a few shoe shops while I was in the zone, so had a good try on. Man oh man, the offerings! And I really rate how they're all set out in sizes – it eliminates the disappointment felt when Trudy finally gets off her cellular to go fetch a 39 in the dusty pink plats, only to return to say there's only a 36 and 44.

Not here! You don't leave thinking Trudy didn't even look. Everything available to your foot (well, feet) is set out with a sign so you don't even look at the ones above or below and thus feel no despair that you can't have them.

And the availability for kids; is it silly to purchase footwear for a four-year-old girl who has not been conceived yet, much less born? I'm sure the Brother Michael and Rachel will have a daughter sometime in the next ten years, making the buy of some sparkly pink sandals an investment – surely?

I wish Mummy Deb was here to go shopping with me. I've seen so many stores where she'd just be in her element – kaftans with coral trim, broderie englaise prints, sort-of-shawly-shrugs that would match up with her white cuffed shorts like a box of Beehives. I would love to just transport her here for an afternoon (ok, maybe two days to do it justice) and then transport her home after (with a shipping container of stuff – there's some sick furniture here too. I'm quite taken with the chair below as my seat at my somewhere-in-the-future dinner table).

Fuck I just found the Girona arm of H&M.

5. Being so wrapped up in language has got me thinking heaps about phrasing. In particular, how we often misuse English. Like in the statement, "It's raining in Wellington". Is it? Or is it raining on Wellington? Are the clouds clustered at eye level to Te Papa and having a sprinkle? Or are they in the sky above bucketing down? We'd have a chuckle at a foreigner using such English, but in fact it's far more correct.

6. I embarrassed myself a fair bit just before. Outside a corner store was – well, what I thought was – a young boy sitting on a little perch reading a book as he waited for his father – well, who I thought was his father – buy a loaf of bread. He was so sitting so still and patiently, I just had to tell the dad what a good boy he had.

"What a good boy you have," I said gesturing to the boy.

At that exact moment I realised the "boy" was in fact an ornamented old man reading some kind of quite book. I did the awkward-grin thing and went on my way.

And I'm not being all holidaic and Breaking Bad binging – I promise I am being productive. In the last three days I've written four wedding scripts and locked in a potential three more weddings to officiate at this coming season. Although one of my social media jobs has fallen through, I was approached to write weekly blogs and do the SEO and link outreach for the yoga school. Although the pay is in Indian rates (thus far below the Kiwi equivalent), I'm elated – the subject matter is what I'm extremely interested in and it's expanding my freelancing abilities – mate, I'm going international. So true about that door open-close thing; You've just got to jump when the handle starts a'shaking.

This afternoon The Pedaller and I are going to head to a cafe (the one with the Vietnamese hand job rolls on offer) (spring ones, let me clarify) and set up desk for him to do study and myself to write some words.

Just ideal.

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