Today was emotional, I was a big soppy, happy eejet. I took myself to Tibidabo or the Magic Mountain as it is known. And magic it was, from the minute I stepped off the funicular I was a gonner. There it was again that wallop in the chest that floored me. The tears came fast and I didn’t bother trying to stop them. And again tonight as I stood in stunning Pl. Del Rei listening to a gorgeous choir singing, in floods again. Last year I almost died, and when I didn’t I was expecting a portable oxygen tank,maybe even a wheelchair,an end to my galavanting and god knows what else. Yet there I am, I can’t even begin to tell you how lucky I feel to be here, how grateful I am to the wonderful family who took in a complete stranger last Christmas. A crazy, desperate, Irish woman who came for two months seeking a miracle, a cure, an extension at least to her life. In between being stoned ( medicinal only, trust me 😨) I found so much hope and joy in this city I’ve grown to love with a passion. And if it must be a short innings then by god it’s been all the sweeter for knowing Barcelona and the Comas/ Heathcotes. 


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