The beer here isn’t cheap. Most places you go to, they only have that continental lager, the sort of stuff that, if you’re an ale snob like me, you’d turn your nose up at anywhere in England. Thing is, it works here. It’s so warm so much of the time that your classic nearly warm pint of Scruttock’s Old Dirigible, with the twigs and the bits of beak still in it, wouldn’t be all that refreshing. A glass of Estrella, though, chilled near to freezing, is about the most perfect alcoholic beverage in this climate.Continue reading “Barcelona life – the beer”
After the upsets of last night, I don’t sleep very well despite the reassuring presence of Tom snoring. It’s occurred to me that I may have left my passport in the van, and I’m not sure if it’ll still be there when I get back.