Surprisingly we have been in Barcelona for over four weeks now and we have had only three trips into the town. The rest of the time we have spent around Gava Mar where Alex lives just whiling away the days and chilling. Mind you only the last trip to Barcelona centre went as planned.


On the first trip we had just arrived when we got called back to collect Joe from school as he was not very well, we have all had bugs and coughs. We also got called back from a local shopping centre, much to Christine’s disappointment, to collect Amber from school the next day.


The next trip to Barcelona was the interesting one, we acquainted ourselves with yet another hospital. I am not saying which of us caused the visit but it wasn’t me. Christine has forbidden me from saying any more. Suffice to say we were in a shop at the time, I think it had something to do with the price of the boots, even she was surprised and started to feel a little ‘giddy’.


From there circumstances just seemed to take over. I get Christine to sit down for a minute and up comes a guy who seems to be in charge and brings over a glass of water. He is now concerned about Christine’s wellbeing and can he help any more. It seems strange to me as I remember from my time at work if any one felt ill on the premises the first objective was to get them off the site too many forms to fill in otherwise.


Anyway out here it seems to be different. We are in El Court Ingles, a huge nine floor store in the Placa de Catalunya in the middle of Barcelona and the man decides he can’t let us leave the store without a visit to the in store doctor, “Health and Safety” he says. So we are taken to the doctor who can speak no English so an interpreter is called for. We are just in a shop remember.


So Christine is sat on an examination bed with the doctor taking her pulse and blood pressure and the interpreter is asking me questions. “Has she felt like this before”, how do I know, why not ask her, we are stood next to her. “When did it start” I don’t know she is just sitting here, ask her. “Is everything spinning around” ask her, she is just here. But then the big question “Does she drink” it’s 10am and Christine now manages to get a word in that the interpreter is still trying to interpret.


But still feeling a little ‘giddy’ and saying that it has nothing to do with the price of the boots the doctor will not discharge her, he calls in a nurse and instructs him to take us by taxi to the local hospital. Another hospital! It’s amazing how circumstances conspire against us in Barcelona, I have seen more hospitals and police stations in Barcelona than I have in England.


So here I am in the waiting room. Sick and seriously injured people are being wheeled from ambulances to the reception wards, relatives wailing, people shouting, no one seems to know what is going on, it’s chaos. Naturally I’m concerned about Christine especially when a nurse approaches me and in very broken English says “Need blood”. I say that I don’t need blood I am waiting for my wife. “Yes” she says “Need blood”. “My wife needs blood?” I ask to which she replies “Yes, need blood”.


I am a little surprised because when they took Christine away she was only feeling a little ‘giddy’. “How do you know our blood types are the same” I ask the nurse “Any type will do” she says. Now I am no medical man that’s for sure but I have watched Casualty and even Emergency Ward 10 and know that blood needs to match.


Fortunately to my rescue comes a little old guy with a large wad of cloth over his left ear which is getting redder by the minute who tells me that the hospital is short of blood and any one who is waiting for someone else rather than being ill or injured is being asked to donate blood. I could see his point as he seemed to be getting shorter on the blood supply by the minute.


I immediately think of Tony Hancock and his arm full of blood and much to the nurse’s disgust I suggest I am too harassed to consider giving blood, maybe later.


So there we are for the next three hours until a doctor is free to see Christine, we can’t leave as they have her medical card so she is sat on a trolley in a corridor in what we now realise is a casualty clinic with really serious injuries coming in pretty regularly.


But finally the doctor arrives and looks at the notes sent from the store doctor. “You have sea sickness” says the doctor, which comes as a surprise to Christine who lets the doctor know she has been nowhere near a boat in months. “It says here you have sea sickness” says the doctor who then turns to me and asks “Does she drink”.


Well that was the last straw, the doctor obviously hasn’t met Christine before and he obviously didn’t realise that someone looking so refined could lose it quite so quickly. “I’ve been here three hours” she says quite forcibly “I only felt ‘giddy’ this morning” she continues “Now I’m almost passing out I have had nothing to eat since breakfast” (wallpaper paste of course) “Give me my medical card back and I’m out of here”.






With that she jumps off the trolley and before I know it we are back in El Court Ingles buying the boots that sent her ‘giddy’ this morning. I hope the nice man who sent her to the in store doctor is nowhere around or he will likely get a stern talking to for his troubles.


At least I don’t need to make another insurance claim which is a relief as we can’t be too far away from being uninsurable. But on a serious note my main concern after a very harrowing day is whose case the boot box will fit into. Mine I suppose, that'll be more clothes left here.