This is Stephen a few years ago playing in the Ramblas supporting a flamenco dancer. Stephen also performed in concerts and taught drumming to children in Barcelona.

Just been in touch with a friend, Stephen, above. This photo was taken a couple of years ago when Stephen always wore a cap. Stephen lodged in my flat in Barcelona for a year. At that time he was a street musician, Dorothy and Julian had found him drawing a huge crowd by drumming on street furniture, leaping about etc.

He comes from Belgium and had been spotted by Belgian TV as a teenager. They did a documentary about taking him to play with the famous drummers of Senegal. He is an incredibly musical guy, and through his street music had learned several languages. Eventually he went to flamenco rhythm classes and learned many types of music. He now plays with a 'gypsy' band called Gadjo all over the place. Their website is www.gadjomusica.com. He is coming back to England this summer and playing at several venues with gadjo.

Sagrada Familia, Procession

A religious procession through the Sagrada Familia Park.

Anti War Protest

At ten every night, as a protest against the war, everyone would assemble in the streets or on their balconies and protest by banging wooden spoons on saucepans or frying pans. These are waiters from a local cafe near Sagrada Familia, but the antiwar feeling was strong, and thousands of people would make the same protest all over Barcelona.

Apparently this form of protest originally started somewhere in South America.

Le Roi de Provence

This elderly gentleman had a grown up family who owned and worked in a cafe on the corner of Provenza and the Placa Sagrada Familia. His wife did all the cooking.

In his youth he had worked in the vineyards in the South of France. He was Catalan and his wife was Spanish. He was retired, but not in good health and sat outside the cafe all day and evening. He had two breakfasts - one was coffee and pastries, the other was usually fish or ham and wine, lunch, and dinner in the evening with drinks in between.

All the neighbours would stop for a chat, or sit down and have a drink with him. My inadequate Spanish forced me to speak French with him, but his accent was very heavy and hard to understand. He loved just to sit there and watch the world go by: 'Look - that's a man!' he would say, delightedly, as a very obvious transvestite walked by.

He was a mine of useful information about the area and thoroughly enjoyed his life, despite very painful gout and obvious mobility problems. I used to call him 'Le Roi de Provence' after the street outside. Sadly, he died a year or two ago, and I shan't see his familiar cheery face again.

Feria d'Abril again

A horse from the Feria d'Abril.

Feria d'Abril, Barcelona

This is the Feria d'Abril in Barcelona. Not an enormous affair, but still you can see flamenco dancers and singers, and a horse or two. It is fabulous fun, but more typical of Andalucia than Barcelona, but to us Brits, the essence of what we like about Spain.

Palm Sunday, Barcelona

I saw these two little girls with their palm on palm Sunday in Barcelona. I could view the crowds around Sagrada Familia, where the service was held in several languages. The crowds were enormous and huge numbers of gigantic palms waving in the air.

Pubs, Drugs and Spanish Brothels

First no smoking day in the pub. Only one person lit up as he walked out. Signs all over the place. I had a couple of vodka shots courtesy of Dorian, to go with the salmon slices I had provided. Then I went on to have a delicious duck and rice dish for lunch.

Above is my friend from Barcelona, Juan. He and his wife, an ex-hooker, run a little bar. They are very enthusiastic about jamon of all kinds, and bullfighting. They work quite long hours, interspersed by Juan and his pals disappearing into the loo to snort some coke. By the end of the evening he and his friends have drunk industrial quantities of booze and are high as kites on cocaine. At around midnight he sometimes invites me to go to a meal with his friends in Badalona, in a tiny cafe which does very good seafood, and someone singing and playing Sevillanas. We get into the Mercedes,speed off and I think my last moment has come as he drives like a complete lunatic to the restaurant where we enjoy crabs, prawns and other seafood with the music. I am almost sliding down to the floor with fear as we make the return journey, Juan fortified by even more alcohol.

From time to time Juan and his friends disappear together to go to the 'beetch house' i.e. brothel, in the afternoon, usually when drunk and under the influence of various drugs. On more than one occasion they have returned, sober and chastened, an hour or two later, having been relieved of their money.