Ice, Ice, Baby

Careful - it's slippery out

Who knew that ice-skating is dangerous? Who knew that skating on ice is slippery? It just so happens that I haven't fallen over ice-skating in... well years and years. I guessed it would happen soon because I've been pushing myself to try new, complicated things which are difficult.

I was trying a simple enough movement - skate forward on left, turn change feet, backwards spiral, change, crossover... with a little jump. I'm right-footed which means that everything is easy on my right foot but my left is weaker so I sometimes struggle to balance. So I started with my left foot... after ten minutes I could do it well enough so when my teacher said "change feet" I was feeling pretty confident.

The crowded Poseidon rink

I get knocked down - but I get up again

I skated forward on my right foot and was suddenly on the floor. I landed awkwardly on my backside and hands (how I'm not sure). I got up and fully intended to carry on skating once I'd got my breath back. Then I started to feel dizzy and sick and stumbled again. My right wrist hurt a bit, but it had been numbed by the ice and the pain didn't sink in until the shock started to wear off and the wrist warmed up.

I'm used to bruises and scrapes - I did gymnastics when I was younger, climbed trees, crashed bikes etc. I've sprained my wrist several times, had concussion from playing netball and fractured a bone in my hand after tripping whilst running. I'm not accident-prone or clumsy... just active. This was pain beyond pain I've ever experienced and I was close to tears. However, I presumed it would go away after a good night's sleep.

Of course my skating teacher advised me to go to A&E as did a couple of other skaters I'm friendly with. Each told me (in a variety of French, Italian and English) that it'd be best to have it checked just in case, because it could heal wrong and I might get arthritis when I was older. At this stage it was swollen and pretty painful so I agreed to be driven to the local hospital by my skating teacher. One skater I know is a doctor so he offered to come along as well to oversee the process.

Brush yourself off and try again

We arrived at the hospital and got into the queue... ignored by the receptionist doctor who was having far too much fun wheeling around on his chair. Dr Skater got quite irritated by this: "I take off my white coat and stethoscope and they don't recognise me". He then popped to the waiting room and announced "It's Happy Hour" which was just great because it was almost 9.30pm as it was and my skating teacher had told me that when her father received a puck to the eye, he wasn't seen until 4.30am (after arriving just after 9pm). I figured we might as well get comfy...

Once my second set of forms were completed - yes we filled them out wrong the first time - we sat down in the waiting room discussing language (I was obviously rather worried I'd agree to have my arm amputated). My skating teacher told me that when she was in America, she and her family went to an Italian restaurant and ordered Margheritas. The waiter politely informed them that they didn't serve alcohol in this restaurant. Her father explained that they didn't want alcohol, they just wanted some Margheritas. The waiter again insisted they couldn't serve Margaritas so her father gave up and ordered 'cheese and tomato pizzas'.

It's not what you know - it's who you know

After we'd been sitting down for two minutes, Dr Skater came back from chatting to his friends and announced that we could go straight through. I glanced smugly at everyone else in the waiting room and went through Tin-Tin decorated corridors to a room where Dr Evil prodded and pulled my arm, wrist and hand (almost reducing me to tears), maliciously enquiring whether or not it hurt.

Feeling thoroughly assaulted I gave him my best stare, went back to the corridor and had barely sat down before I was having my arm X-rayed by Dr Teenager (overseen by Dr Skater who had pulled a lot of strings by the sound of it). Everyone was pretty sure it was broken but apparently I have strong bones. The results showed there were no breaks, fractures or fissures, just a torn ligament - Grade III sprain - I was strapped up and given some Ibuprofen Teva. The whole process took less than an hour! Go Sproutland!

Dad: You look like an armadillo!

Just whistle while you work

The next day was Friday and my arm was still really painful. Not one to complain I got on with my daily routine:

• Showering - washing hair and body presented no problem. Putting the towel around me was impossible.
• Getting dressed - tedious but doable. Bra - putting it on one-handed was not humanly possible.
• Beautification - lenses and make-up were manageable. Combing of the hair difficult.
• Working - typing with my left hand was fine, but slow. Taking notes during a conference call didn't work.
• Eating - using a fork was fine. Taking hot crockery out of the microwave unpleasant.
• Making a hotty - fine the first time; the second time I scalded my left leg!

Needless to say, my plans for this weekend were scuppered, although I did manage to pack most of my stuff, but it was time-consuming and annoying.

Get back on that horse

I'm very glad I didn't break my wrist, especially as I start my new job a week tomorrow and being unable to type isn't particularly useful... not least when you're a professional writer!

I did miss my skating lesson yesterday (and it would have been my last one), but it's my last few days in Brussels and I am definitely going tomorrow, even if it's for just twenty minutes (I want to buy a souvenir Poseidon ice-skating teddy). After all - there's nothing wrong with my feet!

Life's a Beach

Livin' la vida loca

Well, as loca as you can be in Barcelona in February... however as I sat at the airport eating my 'Fast-Quick Pizza' - a flat bread folded over and dabbed with tomato sauce and cheese - I realised it had been almost 4 years since I was last there which, as it's one of my favourite cities (along with London, Paris and Zaragoza), is quite shocking. There's something about those sort of places which is imaginative and exciting - a bit like Camden Town or Brighton - full of people who just are who they are.

I did go a bit crazy on the plane actually and I've definitely been living in Brussels too long. When the air hostess asked me if I wanted anything (I'd read the menu about 6 times at this point), I ordered a bizcochito and a Coke Zero. The fact that she didn't understand Coke Zero didn't bode well for a weekend in Spain... and when I said it in English, she frowned and said 'Ah Coca-Cola Zero'. I felt foolish. The madness was my willingness to pay €4 for what was effectively a cereal bar and a can of soft drink (in my defence it was 330ml, not 180ml like most flights), because it seemed reasonable!

We had a rendezvous - fly to Cambodia Barcelona

It felt quite celebrity-like meeting my boyfriend in a foreign country but, after embracing me he began to rant about how much he'd paid for his liquids through security - he's used to checking luggage in! When we got to our 5* hotel (amazing what you can find on Google when you know about SEO), they couldn't find our reservation (obviously), so we stood there for a while whilst the man in a suit stared at his computer. Not that I was worried when he kept going to speak to his colleague and then coming back and frowning...

Finally he gave us our keys and off we went to our apartment. Europeans love their energy-saving light bulbs and the rooms were pretty dark, although we had two televisions and two fridges, which is probably why we overslept.

What is this world if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?

So a sunny (if chilly) day dawned and we found ourselves sitting in a café on Las Ramblas eating croissants and coffee (me); tortilla baguette and orange juice (the boy), followed by an amble down the ramble... into the shops (his choice not mine) to buy a new shirt and pair of jeans from his new favourite shop - Springfield.

What then followed was touristy stuff and things, as well as lots of strawberry pencils and a quest to find my favourite wine - Gran Feudo Julian Chivite Dulce de Moscatel - if anyone finds it, BUY IT and I will be completely in your power. We didn't find it, but tried a similar one (Gran Feudo Chardonnay), plus some sangria.

Mañana, mañana

Naturally one has to see a bit of Gaudi 'stuff' so we wandered around Parc Güell for a few hours, watched a fantastic band play under an arch and got stuck in a flowerbed. We then had the most amazing Sandwich (it deserves capitalisation) in a teeny café owned by a lovely old couple who twigged we were English just before we left and he gave us a huge smile as he said 'Good bye'.

So, the Sagrada Familia. I have to say they don't seem to have made any progress since I was last there. There's still a lot of scaffolding, builders and unfinished towers. However, it may be finished soon as it seems to now be sponsored by Nike. Just Built It.

One valiant cry; we've got a name that everyone knows: Barça, Barça, Baaarça! 

So on Saturday night we thought we'd do something we've never done together. Something I've never done at all. We went to a football match! Not just any football match however - we went to watch Barcelona FC (the best team in the world I'm told), including Messi (the best player in the world I'm told).

Our seats were amazing - right behind the goal, second row from the front.
This was my view:


and this was my boyfriend's:
 

I quite enjoyed it, as the atmosphere was pretty awesome, but it was freezing and my toes were numb before the game even started. Then during the interval (oh, half-time) they'd run out of coffee... I had to content myself with a dodgy hot dog which was given to me by a lady who had just touched a raw sausage. Nice.

Food, Glorious Food!

Breakfast wasn't included with our room, but we took advantage of it after the football and it was immense. Mountains of cereal, waffles (they were so much nicer than in Belgium), cheeses, meats, eggs, fruit, coffee, hot chocolate etc. The couple in front of us ignored each other and just watched some film on their SmartPhone, whilst another table just ate and ate and ate - judging by the size of them I don't think they'd ever left the hotel.

Deal or No Deal: Or Else

I've always loved Spanish TV (apart from the naked game shows), and when my beloved was feeling ill (I blame the hot dog, followed by a massive breakfast) I amused myself with a TV quiz show called Ahora Caigo (Now I Fall). It's basically an easy quiz show in the style of Deal or No Deal: What is the nickname of Ernesto Guevara? Clue: _H_

However, if you get the question wrong, the trapdoor you're standing on opens and you plunge down into a pot of gunk... well, maybe not but that would be even funnier.

Adieu and farewell, to you fair Spanish (and Belgian) ladies

In other news, I am moving back to England! Hurrah!