Almost like that scene from LÁuberge Espanol...

Jamon Ra the Pork God and dancing til the sun comes up with French boys drinking vaguely threatening amounts of contraband alcohol. Their idea of dancing includes smooching and fraternising in the middle of the dance floor. So tired I could vomit. Clean clothes and the whir of laundry round and round. Blister rubbed raw and the way drunk French people don´t ever sing off key.

I didn´t think I was going to love Barcelona when we first arrived but oddly I am having more fun not seeing the sights with my new friends Matthieu, Bruno, Julien et Lou-Michel Ferrigno. Drink fight kiss repeat. S ´awesome.

I love the French more than any one other species of people in the world. I love kittens and puppies slightly more, but I did specify humans-

Met the Barcelonian Bizarro KZ last nite who said he´s met Ryan ¨not Bran¨Adams here before. Lucky bastard! Ryan, not Brian...Ryan not Brian. Like it was his middle name! Bruno reminds me of Nash and makes me miss him terribly. He´s despondent and thoughtful and quick to scrap.