Friday, 23 March 2007


There is almost nothing more thrilling than setting out, alone, in a foreign city at night. With a week of holiday in front of you, in one of your favourite cities in all the world, and the scent of orange blossom heavy on the spring breeze. When a group of your best mates are going to arrive to join you next day. Add to this the knowledge that (relatively) soon your team are going to play Man Utd in Europe and you get one very happy and excited Spangles. Unsuccessful job interview? what would that be then?

So I see that I somehow forgot to mention to you all that I was off to Valencia. I arrived late last thursday evening, dumped my bags and headed out into town. And walking into the centre late for meeting my good friend the former Prince Spangly I had one of those moments of extreme happiness which doesn't happen to me very often - or I imagine to anyone, since it's about being totally in the moment. But it made me realise how long it is since I've had a simple and uncomplicated holiday, one which didn't involve work or a conference or a mildly stressful family set-up of one kind or another. And it was fucking brilliant. I booked it last July, along with 11 or 12 other mates, and I have been looking forward to it all this time. Specifically we were there for Fallas, which is a truly amazing festival, one of the best parties there is, and if you've never been I can't impress too vigorously upon you how utterly essential it is that you go at least once. Ever since my first one 4 years ago I have felt that a year in which I've missed Fallas is basically a year wasted.

So I have loads to say about this, with photos as well. But not today since I am in an internet café, the internet at home is still non-functioning alas. The holiday involved, in varying quantities and no particular order, fireworks, beer, very little sleep, football, lots of fried potatoes, more beer, great sex, parades, daytime fireworks - the mascletà, pumpkin fritters, processions, staying up til 8 in the morning, sparkly brocade dresses, freshly squeezed orange juice, enormous papier-maché statues and sculptures, a bullfight, seafood, cocktails, a cute Catalan boy, free spirits, marching bands, a man in a kilt terrifying the locals, fascist ultras, children with firecrackers, and lots and lots of burning things. Of which more later, I promise. For now suffice to say I am home, happy and a bit skint.

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