The plan was to grab dinner and perhaps drink a bottle of cheap white wine in bed with a film playing in the background. Instead, we found ourselves sitting front row at the 'Riding Room'—sickeningly-sweet cocktails in hand—in the midst of Glasgow's annual Burlesque festival.
Housing a vibrant community of creatives due to the infamous art school (the one that has burnt down not once, but twice), Glasgow still very much stands in Edinburgh's shadow when it comes to tourism. Although it lacks the picturesque architecture and overused tartan, Glasgow is a city to be experienced, as opposed to being seen.
It was day four, and I could not for the life of me think of anything else we could do in Barcelona—which sounds rather daft. Surely in a big and vibrant city like Barna there's enough to keep you occupied for longer than four days, right?
As much as it pains me to admit this, I do not remember a time when I would come back from school and not log onto a computer. I was addicted, but I was no different from the millions of other teenagers born in the late nineties and early two-thousands who got home and would relax to the tune of their MSN logging in.
Prior to moving to Paris I had a very clear image of what my life was going to be like for six months; endless baguettes, a new-acquired sense of fashion and thousands of cafe cremes in cute places. It is safe to say that I was excited to unleash my inner french woman, one of class, elegance and a certain je-ne-sais-quoi.