Friday evening and into the night consisted of me and Roger getting rat arsed on Sangria.

This drink is a favourite of mine. It is for me one of those drinks that you can drink and drink and slowly get pissed without realising. This is what happened to us. The 10 euro jugs consisted of red wine a bit of liquor and slices of fruit. It tasted refreshing and sweet. Just what we needed. So much in fact, that we ended up ordering around 5 jugs between the 2 of us. Now, remember that we had hardly slept, eaten properly and were consuming more than we should have. The plan of having a quite Friday night in order to have energy for Saturday never got off the ground.
As we gradually became more and more disorientated and animated, we met an English lad working at the bar. He had been in Barca for 16 months. He had been working bars in the UK and thought, “fuck it” why not work in bars in Spain. I thought well done. He works in Irish bars of which there are quite a few in the city. Also met this other geezer, he was either British or Irish, I was a merry man by this stage so can’t fully remember. He had been in Spain for 4 years and not learnt any Spanish (beyond ‘Hola’). How can you do that. I mean you have at least attempt some basic conversation, especially if your in a place for years. I’d try to learn the lingo no matter how shit I was at it. Not wanting to sound snotty but I always make an attempt to speak Spanish unless I’m failing to get a point across and the other party speaks English.
The 'Travellers Bar' has deals on meals. You can get a 1 Euro dinner during the evening. Tonights dish was pasta. Actually that was the dish for 4 days of the week. But at that price you can't complain.
A few more drinks and there was no holding Roger back. He even called blue balls (Our friend) over in Pakistan on his dam mobile. We signed up for this ‘smashed’ pub-crawl for Saturday night. It sounded good. We staggered home at some unknown hour failing to notice the army of prostitutes.
“I’m going to make my self sick” was the only thing I could say to roger as we lay on our beds, heads spinning and hurting. I did what I had to do and felt a lot better. Roger who somehow goes into some kind of mad swearing mode when he is drunk was f***ing and S***ing all over the show.
I was like, “Gareth go to the bathroom and be sick, you’ll feel a lot better”. Oh no, roger the resilient sat there only to be sick 5 seconds later on his bed. The place looked like a massare, red vomit on the floor, sheets and walls.
I passed out eventually.