19 June - sonar

Truly age is a state of mind. Just when I get depressed about invisibility, I also get reminded that I can do exactly whatever my younger friends are doing and have the same exact experience (if only mine is coloured by everything not feeling that new or novel). There is a dance music festival in Barcelona every year for the past 12, called Sonar. 6 of us went to it and it turned out to be largely irrelevant (ok so we got excited by the Chemical Brothers djing for example but we come from London not Latvia and can see them anytime) and we hardly went to the actual events of the festival because show some Brits a beach and sand and sunshine and why would you want to be anywhere else if coming out of the usual s hit weather? If on said beach 80% of the women present are topless (not something they do in Italy or France much any more) and they are not mooses - sorry but this is a term my male friends used, and it’s miles less offensive than minging - then … they are not going to go and watch anything else. If on top of that the beach is organised enough with vendors bringing beer to your little space on the sand and for only a few pennies more than the bar twenty feet away then you’ve found a perfect holiday.
A little later you walk to excellent food and a little later you walk to a bar where several hundred other people are dancing till 1am where vendors with beers are still doing the rounds. This is a bit of a boring choice though and I have spotted a gap in the market for ready mixed cocktails or even slices of watermelon, beer is not enough of a pull for women. The Pakistani beer vendors did not look like an organised cartel so I guess I could break the ranks with my non competitive alternative. Wonder why Pakistaini in Barcelona? Maybe there is a cartel after all and the North Africans (on Italian beaches for example) lost out. And you’re happy, primarily because it’s still 27 degrees.
I think we’ve corrupted our male friends to the joys of holidaying with a couple of women. This makes it easier for them to chat up the topless locals and other tourists because our female presence meant they were not automatically lonely saddoes on the lookout for fun. Am sure they missed their actual girlfriends at home when later in the evening the chats and exchanged numbers failed to translate into rendez vous but still, the thrill of expectations must have been enough. That’s cause for reflection. There were real g/friends waiting though not aware of room sharing arrangements and one at least was not told D. was in Barcelona, which explains (perhaps) why he never took his shirt/hat/trousers off to get the easiest tan possible? Or perhaps the quality of available topless beach woman kind of shamed him a bit? I don’t know about you, but 30something is far too soon for guys to lose the six pack and acquire the handles and bellies. I did suggest they switch to vodka but they like their beer too much.
For our part, I stared for a long time at a young man who had gone into the see in white undies and was preening for the benefit of his boyfriend on the beach. But I wasn’t really looking … No mothers or fathers of small children playing in view of this specimen seemed incensed either. They truly are more relaxed on the continent. Fact. The trendy Barcelona guide we picked up (nice red leather cover) also had a fat section on sex and partner swapping clubs/bars, but we had no time for these or the city nudist beach. Yep, just, like, there for you to stumble on rather than banished far away as they’d do here presumably.

ps. the twisty coloured plastic craze is called scubidu (spelt in however many variations you can think of). Read about it in the Telegraph (on airplane, that's my excuse, same for Mail and Hello) and so it must be at least six months old and pretty much over.