It is sad to think that in less than a month, I will no longer live in my little flat on Joaquin Costa and all the fun times we had here will be just a memory... While the flat itself wasn't perfect in many ways, it has still been our home for the last year and a half and has played witness to many a Sunday dinner party, which for a while, was a regular occurrence. Rob Roy would take his bicycle down to the sea to get some fresh air and I would wander around the Raval from shop to shop, sourcing all the ingredients I needed for my feast. I would have bought the meat at the Boqueria market the day before, usually from some old lady who liked to witter on about the best ways to prepare the cut I was using... excellent for practising unusual Spanish vocabulary or defending the ways of the English... I was once nearly set upon for telling the ladies that I wanted to use pork belly in a stew. Utterly unheard of, they quite plainly told me that I was crazy and ushered me away, shaking their heads sadly.
There probably won't be another dinner party at Joaquin Costa but when I'm packing or all alone in the flat, I like to remember a time when it was filled with people happily chatting to one another, relaxing and unwinding before starting another week.
I wonder who will move in next?