Two days after the weekend before

Nico took the Little People down to the river, which I was grateful for because the weekend had been overcharged with teenagers.

Saturday evening was tense.  Nico called me to say he'd been arrested, Gabby had to find somewhere to print out his bus tickets to Girona, Mu was in free fall because she thought I didn't love her any more and preferred Gabby and then a huge storm broke over the city and gave Barcelona the first rain it's seen in a while. 

The storm subsided, the tickets got printed, Nico rang to say he was home but hated the police and Mu came up to me, shower fresh in her pajamas, said sorry and gave me a hug.  The young ones finished the vodka while Tierna did impressions of the Travellers who live in her village in South Armagh (most of which have the same surname as I).

At 2 a.m I rounded them all off to bed and laid the sofa cushions on the floor for my last Barceloneta night.

It was short.  Gabby woke me at 4h45 to say they were leaving.  I kissed them and told them to be quick.  He rang me at 5h10 to say they'd missed the bus.  

Back at the flat Mu went back into travel agent mode and found them train tickets.  I kissed them again and told them to be quick.

Gabby rang from the train and said they were on it, he rang me from the plane and said they were on it, he rang me from just outside Belfast and told me that Da's car had broken down.   By this time I was happily ensconced on a coach crossing the border, chain watching the last episodes of Gogglebox and eating a ham sandwich and had lost the will to live.

While Nico and the LP were down by the river I washed all the weekend's clothes and hung them to dry. I received a message from a Brucer from Sheffield who'd we'd run into in a halal takeaway joint on the long walk home from the concert.  He said that once you've seen Bruce live your life changes, he said that it takes a week to get your voice and legs back (true).  

Numinous.....