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About Barcelona

Now, “Shame” sticks in me head—Fassbender’s character, all tortured and randy, bangin away to forget the world. “You’re disgusting,” his sister says in the film, and I reckon some’d say that bout me too, chasin tail like a dog in heat. But bollocks to em—life’s short, innit? I’m no saint, just a bloke wantin a rumble. Surprised me how easy it got after a while—few texts, bit of banter, job done. Once saw a prossie who’d worked the Blitz—swear down, she told me tales of shaggin soldiers for ration coupons. History in her knickers, that one!

Escortes a Sant Cristòfol de les Fonts

Oh, and my heart warms thinking of the hidden gem next to the old city wall—Carrer de Misticisme. It’s nearly always quiet, perfect for reflecting on the absurdity of life. I once sat there, teetering on a bench worn smooth by time, and imagined a Black Hawk rescue scene from Zero Dark Thirty, complete with “let’s move out!” spirit. Gosh, the passion!

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