Last Wednesday I got a telephone call somewhat out of the
blue. It was from a former work
colleague who was wondering if I would be able to help her out at short
notice. At the end of June I finished 27
years of gainful employment and set myself up as a self-employed Interim
Manager specialising in accountancy and taxation. Yes it’s boring but we are what we are!
The telephone call came as I was doing the weekly shop at Morrison. The job entailed a visit to Barcelona
starting very soon, possibly the next day if flights could be arranged. I struggled to contain myself in the shop,
all outwardly cool whilst inside I was doing the full Curly Howard (from the
Three Stooges) thing. Woo, Woo, WOO,
nyuk, nyuk, NYUK! A paid trip to
Barcelona (with a bit of work thrown in) well I am not going to refuse am
I? My mind raced ahead, must get home
and go on the internet to find out who was at home that weekend; would it be
the sublime beauty this is FC Barcelona’s current style of play or would it be
the more artisan efforts of RCD Espanyol in their new well-appointed stadium? I could hard think straight for the
excitement.
Then just as Curly is brought back to earth with the sharp
slap of reality delivered by his brother Moe; down the canned veg aisle it hit
me, International break week. So there
would be no top flight domestic football for nearly 2 weeks. To say I felt gutted is an
understatement. I felt like grabbing my
own hair and shaking my head vigorously just like Moe would do to Larry Fine
(the final stooge, the one with the curly hair).
Back at home I decided to go on the net and find out where
Spain were playing; more than half of the side is provided by FC Barcelona so
to see them would be the next best thing.
Sure enough Tuesday night they were playing Scotland in Spain, so
perhaps there would be the chance to see the ‘sweatys’ get thoroughly
outplayed. Would it be in Madrid or
would my luck be in and the match hosted by Barcelona? Neither, Alicante! What?
Where did they pick that venue from?
Oh well Barcelona is a beautiful city so at least the visit would be
fun.
After a couple of days working in Grimsby getting my
briefing for the assignment I arranged to fly out on the Sunday morning from
Leeds Bradford airport. Dumb name I know
but slightly more geographically correct than Doncaster Sheffield airport
(nowhere near Sheffield) or London Stanstead for that matter.
Up at 5am on a Sunday is never a good thing and matters didn’t
improve by the M62 being closed which left me with a very long detour through
rural East and North Yorkshire. Not the
best of starts but I got to the airport in reasonable time so then I had chance
to relax. Things improved at the Duty
Free shop where they were giving out (small) free tasters of the Dalmore Gran
Reserva, 9am is perhaps a little early for me but it would be impolite to
refuse. Very nice it was too! An Americano coffee in the bar and time for a
bit of people watching. Right on cue
the tartan hoards appeared resplendent in their Scotland football shirts and the full
kilt regalia. How do they get through
security with dagger kilt pins? It is
classed like native or religious costume not to be challenged like the Sikhs
and their little daggers?
To be continued…
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