(NB. This was written for my friends and is about the first weekend I spent in Barcelona away from them. Anything capitalised is a name or a nickname of a friend.)

Here goes this ode, I hope more than reviewing,
First Friday in Barca and this Teapot is brewing,
And although I am missing my favorite Mug
This electric city is the socket for my plug.

There are clouds in the sky but the lining is Silver,
That’s my thoughts, not the ones of my liver,
With tips from the Raptor we’re off to Primavera,
And Mr Green will agree it was more than just a Blur.

Start dancing around two girls from Bologna,
A guy walks past and mutters ‘good on yeh’
On the bus back home sits a guy in a horses head,
And I ponder the competition to get into their bed.

We sit on the terrace – what a beatiful horizon,
And athough Freddie’s dead that truth still lives on.
The Italians they keep on purring Mao, Mao
La vita e bella before its Ciao Ciao.

After the tapas and some well needed kip,
Walk down into to town with more than a skip
I think of D&T, the hair colour Munroe,
Barchicks they are, and I with and ‘o’.

10 years has passed and I feel El Born again,
Sitting, discussing books about fountain pens,
Writing wrong’s with the Baker man,
We’re up early but not baking pan.

At an afterparty and I’m behind the eight ball,
In walks Silas, cap like Fresh Prince, mid-atlantic drawl
Who sounds like him from ‘Through the Keyhole’,
Trips more Floyd than Lloyd, we go down the rabbit hole.

The virgin from night one but only with this chemical component,
On the roof, she says this is her happiest moment.
The James Brown of pigeons, he Sun dances away,
Agree that never before has it been sad to see one leave. Birds, eh?

In Pauls apartment, the link from primo Lyndon,
La quenta por favor, yep the Bill son.
Irish Sean his top boy roomie.
I wonder how Anna is killing it with Lumi.

Johnnie the kindred who would not belt up,
Thank god for this, stories always version uncut,
A diamond who makes you forget safety first,
He’d lived so much because of his thirst.

One tale of him in M&S sounds quite the show,
Pretty sure he knew with this act his job he would forgo,
7ft of ketchup arranged for the moment triumphant,
With Speed of Bolt, the result more Pollock than Rembrandt.

I leave on my own, the Roots of the streets seeping into me,
This city it starts twisting my skeleton key.
I don’t know the way home or even really care,
I say that, I was effing relieved when I finally got there

I call up Luke he says May the force be with you,
Diagional Hotel on the courtesy of El Phillipino,
This crowd is hip, some in extremis,
Can’t help but wonder the thoughts of one Mr Beamish.

Batman leggings I spot, would look better the one we call Dre,
I ask for a picture, Ho says yes, but thats last time I say hey
Gotham is where my mind wonders off too,
Pic on my phone – wish it was taken by my mate Roo,

Some local boys, they say come sit down,
A look in the eye, a jump, boys acting the clown,
One says are you fucked? I say your heritage is German, yes?
I say it’s the Sid, Arthur, but not the one by Hermann Hesse.

I am told in Deutschland ‘Rad’ means a Wheel.
Roll on then, lets paint the town, don’t sit on your heels,
But tomorrow many work, I am the lucky gringo,
Bank ol’s back home, so por me no Domingo.

I meet English Pete who’s as sound as a Pound.
And before I utter that familiar Albion sound
He thinks I am am Euro and says ‘Beunos Dias’
I say I ‘m English mate. I miss Pedro, you know, Mr Crias.

See, the local lingo I dont speak so fluently,
Spanglish, at best, my efforts currently
Spending dough on Whiskey and Coke thats making me pee,
Spangled the more likely current, si?

When the sun went down, we flip reverse into Apollo,
Deer Hunter rock, I hunt a dear, you follow?
Ripcord is pulled and I think of high fives,
It is with Alba, appropriately, that I see the sunrise.

Stamina and sunshine just a little ray,
Under the cover I wish for wish for a Duvet.
Birds chirping even one in the sky.
Soon to see Freako and Mr Macgyves.

Manana, my head hurts – I think about change
Agua sin gas, this land ain’t so strange,
The cash in my wallet is now ash instead,
No cambio in my pockets just thoughts in my head.

It’s the company you keep, that’s what I think,
And I’ll keep you long after I have turned from this pink,
So you are in my heart even if you’re not in my town,
Even as I write my skin is turning brown.

So then amigos, my reign in Spain got off to a flyer,
And its plain to me that its just a plane for me to see you and the choir.
So i’ll shut it now because I can carry on this riff,
On Friday when celebrate Merin on top of that cliff.