It wasn’t long till I was on a plane again, this time with my mum and sister. Quite refreshing after flying on my own for 30 hours only a few days before it.

We landed in Barcelona on a hot sunny Sunday. It was possibly the most eventful day in the history of Spain since they bumped into the Americas. Their soccer team somehow made it to the world cup final up against Netherlands and didn’t let the chance slip. I was absolutely aware of the importance of what was going on, but a flu kept me at bay. The fireworks were doing my head in, and the Spanish language had never sounded so annoying. I was in bed by 12.. regretful but relived.