Un bocado para comer
Good news! I've figured out where I am now. Tamariu - a tiny town two hours north of Barcelona. See, I was close.
Our villa's just a short stroll from what I guess you'd call the town centre, though that implies a level of activity far beyond what we could spot from our dinner table. In Tamariu the boats outnumber the people, and even they're content to spend their days bobbing around the cove. If I was a boat, I would want to be a Tamariu boat.
The only thing better than the view was the food. Freshly caught and grilled sole, drizzled in lemon and served alongside heaps of rough salty chips. Under my boyfriend's ongoing supervision I was even able to scoop up satisfying forkfuls of flesh without my usual side of shattered bone - an exciting life development, albeit 20 years overdue.
So far so insufferable, right? Don't worry. Dickishly instagramming everything in sight, I failed to notice the mosquito slowly biting its way up my leg, arms, neck and back over the course of the evening. Consequently I woke up this morning wanting to scratch my limbs off and looking like a mediaeval plague victim. No amount of filter seems to make any difference. Note to self: longer sleeves. Also, don't click that.