"Escape to Barcelona"

After avoiding instant messages, phone calls and text messages from Jaime, I decided I needed to take ‘Operation Complete Ignorance Will Make The Situation Go Away’ up a step and I booked myself on a flight to Barcelona and stayed there for four days. Thank God for family living abroad, in particular my self-proclaimed “fabulous” gay brother.

So after a morning, and some of the afternoon, spent either in an airport, or airborne, I landed in the city of Barcelona. “I am ready to forget England and my drama there,” I told myself. After a bus ride from the airport, in which my brother had told me I’d gotten fat, I arrived at my brother’s apartment. We decided to drop my luggage off and then head down to a café come bar and meet up with his friend Diannah.

She was an African beauty, who was a one-time actress and had guest starred in many of Britain’s most famous dramas, such as ‘Casualty’ and ‘Eastenders’. Now, she teaches English to Spanish adults, while being hungover from the night before.

“Hi daahhrling! It’s great to meet you!” She greeted me in an accent that was so clearly exaggerated, but so clearly worked, as she kissed both of my cheeks. “Is it too early for wine?” She asked, ordering red wine with tonic.

My brother and I looked at each other, my brother almost telepathically telling me ‘I did warn you.’ She went onto talk about how she is playing two guys, French Marvin, and a guy called Dan. French Marvin is “lovely” but Dan has the “most perfect penis in the world.”

After spending the day in my brother’s boyfriend’s salon, I decided that I wanted to celebrate my new blondness, and wanted to test the theory that blonds have more fun, I decided to see what Barcelona’s night scene had to offer.

That night we had a Columbian meal, which included several hefty glasses of fine red wine. Half-buzzed, my brother and I headed to Diannah’s apartment, where more alcohol was consumed. Even more was consumed on our walk to the bar where we met more of their friends.

Several vodka and mixers in the first bar, with measures triple the size of what I'm used to, later, we merrily rolled along to ‘Club Mondo’. Along with Diannah, my brother and me, were about five Scottish friends of theirs. They’d all worked in Barcelona for the Summer, but were soon to return home. French Marvin and his friends were there, as was Albert, an American man who had managed to get us VIP Guest list in several bars.

‘Club Mondo’, a bar that overlooked Barcelona’s famous harbour, was beautiful, and it truly made you feel like a VIP. Of course, with this came VIP prices, so my brother and I shared several more Vodka and Mixers, along with a drink or two American Albert had scored for Diannah, who decided she wasn’t drinking that night.

We spent the night dancing, and I lost my self in what Barcelona had to offer. Jaime, Lyndsey and all the drama from England were gone. I was happy just to be in my brother’s company and having a great night. I had a thought: was a new hair colour, and escape to Barcelona, alcohol, and dancing all it took to let this drama go? Was it because I was in a new country that I decided I didn’t need old drama? Whatever it was, my night was drama free.

Several more Spanish cocktails followed in a new club ‘City Hall’ and the club closed. It was 4am.

“NO! I don’t want to go home. The night is young…C’est la vie! ...No...I mean Carpe Diem!” I swayed, whilst American Albert handed me a can of beer. “I love it here! I want to experience full Barcelona!”

“I know Noah, but I'm tired. We’re going to the Picasso museum in six hours time!” My brother pleaded. It was no use. I was a lost cause.

“Fuck Picasso! I want to party!” I began dancing under a marquee outside the ‘City Hall’ club.

“Listen, if you want you go home, I’ll look after Noah.” Diannah told my brother.

“No, I'm staying with him.”

We ended up at some house party where a pretentious young girl from London tried to make us think she knew what she was talking about…she didn’t.

“I'm tired. Let’s go.” I said to my brother. It was 7.30am. While we were leaving the grande apartment that seemed to have a million rooms, I ran into one of the kitchens, grabbed the Doritos, and ran. Diannah and my brother followed.

We stopped at a café that had just opened for the day: Diannah ordering a glass of wine, my brother a coffee, and me an iced coffee. We got home at 8.30am and I paid the price for the next two days.

“I’ve never vomited so much in my life. It was just constant. I couldn’t keep anything down.” I told Danny when I got home. “But hey, I lost four pounds. And that’s good considering I’ve put on twelve since May.”

“Well, what’s good is bad and what’s bad is good.” He told me.

“What the fuck is that? That’s not a saying!” I laughed. I knew what he meant, every cloud has a silver lining. And maybe my drama in England was my escape to Barcelona. And my escape to Barcelona was my great night out. After all, it had been an escape after my break-up with Ella that had helped me out. Was escaping the new dealing head on with your problems? It was an interesting thought.

“So what are you doing for your birthday next week?” Danny asked me.

“Good question…”