When the Cheshire emerges...

A year ago today I was in Barcelona, Spain, on a wild goose chase for an open police station after a 10-hour trip from France.

Why? Because I had a bag stolen as I was buying my ticket for the Metro to get to my hostel.

Picture this: a bag about 15 kilograms was between my feet but within eyesight for it was about to break. On realising quickly it was gone, it was gone. And it took endless minutes and a disappearing act from the station controllers to realise I was trying to find police. I was given Google frickin' Translator on the woman's iPhone so I could tell them that. Hopeless.

I went to where the above photo said. But at Espanya station, the guard there thought I was misinformed but wanted to be clear. So we asked the few wanderers around after 11pm if they spoke English. Luckily one young woman did and acted as translator. I was informed I would have to go elsewhere AGAIN. But it was almost 11.30 by then so it had to wait until the next day.

I was buggered. With my suitcase feeling heavier behind me with every step I was defeated. What a shit start to my Spanish fortnight that was.

What was stolen? Media kits of all sorts from my week in Cannes. No laptop in that laptop bag mate, sorry to disappoint. And what's worse is that my press badge was in there and I kept thinking to transfer it to my handbag. MORAL OF THE STORY: trust your gut.

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Thankfully I had a nice enough few days in Barcelona to follow, sans the evil hostel woman who had the nerve to tell me to go to an internet cafe down the road when I asked to stick a USB into one of the supplied computers' hard drives. Bitch. The worst feeling of hopelessness was yet to come, but that's for next time. For now, the good stuff.