Today I wrote to Zé (my former partner) and to Paulo Filipe (a friend of ours), to tell them this:
"I'm listening right now to Promenade Concert by Carles Santos and it brought me memories of our holidays in Barcelona, centuries ago. Do you remember? I bought this record at the Miró Foundation, on top of the Mountain, Montjuïc. Georgie loves this performance-like revolutionary music; passionate, scarlet red in the lit-up night. Who would have guessed? It's not an easy piece, but it's irresistible.
It brings back memories of the Ramblas, the profusion of flowers and birds early in the morning; of the newspaper stands open until late at night. Memories also of the small pensión where we stayed. Of the suffocating heat in the bedroom. Barrio Chino, wasn't it? I recall the infinite sun; the first "dark room" in some gay disco somewhere near Via Diagonal. I recall we had all the time in the world in front of us in the hot summer; the promenade in Parc Güell.
It brings back memories of shorts, and cheap pizzas, and "in" restaurants, unending days and the flavour of suncream on the lips ajar; ice-cream breathing rhythm. The immense will that inhabits us every summer.
I couldn't resist writing about it. What good is to feel if we can't share?
(from Brussels, with lots of snow freezing the heart outside)"
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