Dear Diary. Youngest Son wakes me up, too early. I lay in bed awake until Girlfriend leaves for work and I'm forced to get up. Today is a school day but Oldest Son tells me there is a teachers’ strike today. The school is open, but only with minimum services, so the children will probably just be playing all day.

This has already happened about five times in the last couple of months. Youngest Son doesn’t want to go because he says it will be boring, so I agree that he can stay at home.

Then I realise that with both kids at home today, I need to fill the whole day until Girlfriend gets home. I start thinking: what can we do for the next eight hours?

I draw up a chart with the hours of the day on it:

9 AM

10 AM

11 AM

12 PM

1 PM

2 PM

3 PM

The plan is to fill each hour with something. Next to 1 PM I write "Lunch" but I can't think of anything for the other times.

Youngest Son has been pestering me recently to go to the beach, so I suggest it.

“Shall we go to the beach today?”

Youngest Son and Oldest Son both say yes, and they seem enthusiastic. We need to be back home by 3 PM because there’s a food delivery coming, but I think it should be possible.

We start packing the bags. Youngest Son wants to bring some Punch and Judy-style puppets to the beach. I don’t think puppets are exactly beach equipment, but we take them anyway.

We walk to the car, an electric rental car. When we get there, I realise I've left Youngest Son's car seat at home. I need to go back to get it, because it's illegal for a child not to have one. So first we drive back home. I stop the car outside the apartment building, but there's a police car, so I move off again. When the police car is gone, I park on the pavement.

"I'll be back in a minute," I say to the kids.

I run inside, grab the car seat and run back out. I don't want to risk the police catching me parked illegally so I throw the car seat in the car and quickly start driving again, without putting Youngest Son in it. I then stop at the nearest petrol station so I can properly put Youngest Son in the car seat.

We drive to L’Escala. Youngest Son falls asleep in the back of the car. The drive is long and tedious. Every time I check how much time has passed, it's only been a few minutes.

We finally arrive in the beach town of L’Escala. I’m not very familiar with it. I see a parking space but it's a 10-minute walk from the beach. I keep driving and decide to chance it, hoping to find somewhere closer to the beach.

Eventually I find some empty spaces outside a few small local shops. One of the spaces is painted red and has a sign saying 30 minutes only, but I decide that probably only applies to that specific space. So I park in a normal-looking space nearby and hope it will be fine.

We walk down to the beach. It’s hot, so I find a spot in the shade. Youngest Son wants to build a big sandcastle, but we need water. Luckily, there’s a tap nearby, so I can fill a bucket from there.

Oldest Son gets to work on the sandcastle. I use the Punch and Judy puppets to act out an age-inappropriate play about the number 69. The puppets turn out to be surprisingly good.

But I can’t fully relax. In the back of my mind I keep thinking: what if the 30-minute limit applies to all the spaces? What if a tow truck is taking the car away right now?

At one point I look up and see a man in a high-vis vest, and think: what if he’s the tow truck guy?

Youngest Son and Oldest Son keep asking if we can have lunch yet because they’re hungry, even though they’ve already eaten almost a whole bag of crisps between them. I tell them the restaurant isn’t open yet. Then I check my phone and realise it has actually been open for almost an hour, so we walk back to the car, so we can drive to the restaurant. The car is still there. No tow truck. The whole towing scenario was entirely in my imagination.

We drive to the restaurant area. L’Escala has blue parking spaces, and I’m not sure what they mean or whether I’m allowed to park there. Eventually I find what looks like a normal parking space where anyone can park.

We get to the restaurant without a reservation. All the tables seem to be full, but then the waitress points to one and says, “What about that table?”

It’s perfect. Right by the beach, with a view of the sea.

I say, “Perfect,” and we sit down.

The kids order food: a huge portion of chips, croquettes for Youngest Son, and battered squid rings for Oldest Son. By this point the day is already getting quite expensive because of the rental car, so I decide not to order anything for myself. In the end, there are plenty of chips, so I eat some of those. Then we get ice creams and drive home.

When we get home, I let the kids use screens for a bit. I give Youngest Son my phone so he can watch some YouTube videos. He watches a documentary about the band Ambauka. Oldest Son uses my laptop to make some Chip’s Challenge 2 levels with with the built-in level creator. and it’s amazing. Honestly, it’s one of the best things I’ve seen: you can make your own *Chip’s Challenge* levels.

Girlfriend arrives home. She starts picking at things almost immediately.

She says to Oldest Son, almost word for word:

“Pick up these books or I’m going to throw them away. I’m going to throw them away, okay? I’m going to throw them away.”

I feel rage rise inside me. I step in and say:

“That’s a bit harsh. I don’t think we’re going to throw these books away.”

She says they’ve been left on the floor. At the same time, Oldest Son is using my laptop to make a Chip’s Challenge level, and I’m worried that if he gets up to pick up the books, the laptop might fall on the floor. It’s my prized possession, so that adds another layer of tension.

Then Girlfriend starts asking me to do things.

“Paul, can you put this bag away?”

I say yes, I’m doing it, just give me a minute.

Then, a few minutes later:

“Paul, can you sweep up here? There’s sand everywhere.”

Again, I say yes, I’ll do it, just give me a minute.

Then:

“When you’ve done that, can you sweep over here as well? There’s lots of sand here too.”

And that’s when I have an epiphany. It isn’t the children who cause most of the stress in my life. It's Girlfriend. I realise my stress levels have been completely flat all day until now. No real stress at all, even though the day has included several things that could easily have been stressful — the strike, taking the kids to the beach, parking in an unfamiliar town, worrying about the car being towed, lunch without a reservation, and getting back in time for the food delivery. I can deal with them. I can deal with the beach, the parking, the restaurant, the mess, the logistics, and the unpredictable situations.

But I find it much harder to deal with Girlfriend’s energy when she comes in and immediately starts criticising, threatening consequences, or giving instructions one after another.

If she had come to the beach with us, I think I would have been much more angry and stressed. The day itself was manageable. The difficult part was what happened when she got home.

Later I’m doing the dishes when I realise it’s the first of June, and I still need to make this month's Girona Buddies calendar.

Dear Diary. Girlfriend started a new job today. That means she won't be here in the mornings anymore, so it's once again my responsibility to get the kids ready for school. My prime concern is not to be late, because the teachers have told me off for being late before. I knew the secret of getting kids ready for school is don't assume that you have a lot of time. It was 8 AM and we had an hour before school, but I knew that hour would disappear quickly, so I started getting the kids ready. Get Youngest Son dressed, put sun cream on the kids, make breakfast, get dressed myself, put Youngest Son's shoes on. I realised that every task takes about seven minutes. That isn't a rule but a mental shortcut that helps me understand how much time we have left. 1 hour / 7 minutes per task = around eight tasks. I felt background urgency throughout, like an hour-long Crystal Maze challenge, but by the time I was finished, we were ready. It was time to go. So it's good that I didn't mess around, or the teacher would be telling me off right now.

Dear Diary. Today we were going to BARCELONA. We got to the train station early. The train arrived ten minutes late. There was a huge rush of people trying to get on the train. Girlfriend, Oldest Son, and Youngest Son got on one carriage. There were too many people, so I ran to another carriage and managed to squeeze in. The doors closed. Then for the next thirty minutes, nothing happened. The train didn't move. I was stuck in a corner of the train next to a young Spanish couple and a fat man breathing heavily.

The train finally started moving. But at every stop, more and more people squeezed on. I got pushed against one of the doors. A few thoughts came to me:

• the Hillsborough disaster, where 94 people were crushed to death by overcrowding at a football match
• the train derailment in Catalonia in January this year, which killed 1 person and injured 37
• what would happen if I accidentally pressed the button that opens the door while the train is moving, and I got sucked outside a train moving at 100 kilometres an hour

The train finally reached Barcelona. We got off the train and climbed out of the station, emerging into Las Ramblas and blinking in the daylight like Morlocks emerging from underground.

Barcelona is a grid, and every street looks the same. We rode a bus to Park Güell. Park Güell is at the top of a hill, and we could see the sights of Barcelona. There was the Sagrada Familia and a gherkin-shaped building. I could see the sea, which was just a faded blue strip on the horizon. There was a huge mass of buildings, and specks shining light where the midday sun was reflecting off metal. We walked to the entrance of Park Güell. There were tourists everywhere. Everybody was speaking different languages. Italian, French, German, and British English. Loud American guys and women. Pale Asian women carrying umbrellas. It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining down from overhead. I wished I had a hat, and then I remembered I actually did have a hat, a baseball cap in my bag, so I put it on.

Girlfriend and the kids went inside the park. I couldn't enter as I hadn't bothered to buy a ticket, and now all the tickets were sold out. I didn't mind, because now I was free for two hours to run amok in Barcelona! I could shake up the town! There were taxis next to me, and I considered jumping into one and saying, "Take me to where the life is!" It would be like an adventure in a movie. How much could one person do in two hours? While my wife and kids were looking at statues, I could be chugging champagne in a 24-hour club while crowdsurfing on a dance floor.

But in the end, I decided to simply find a bench where I could sit and just read a book and wait for Girlfriend and the kids. Girlfriend had said to meet her at the other entrance to the park, and on Google Maps it looked really close, but I had to walk up and down a the hill, and down all these weird side streets, and up another hill, and the whole time there were these three French teenage girls in front of me chattering away in French the whole time, and at one point they spontaneously broke into the song Mamma Mia by ABBA. Finally, I arrived there panting slightly and a little dehydrated. I expected there to be a nice green place to sit in a park or something, but it was just another street with buildings. There don't seem to be any parks in Barcelona. It's all roads and buildings. One of the buildings was one of Gaudí's. It looked like a gingerbread house with icing on top.

I walked down to the nearest public water fountain to fill up my water. I don't know if it's safe to drink water in Barcelona or not, but oh well. There were tourist shops on the way with delicious-looking ice creams. I filled up my water bottle, then I walked back and sat down and read The Dark Tower, Part 5. I was nearly at the end. My head was full of stuff like "commola", "If God wills it" and "do yeh ken?" My nose started running. I wiped my nose on a tissue. I seem to have a cold. My health has not been great this week.

• Yesterday morning I did a shit that just came out in an explosion.
• A couple of days ago, my eye was infected. Luckily, we had some antibiotic eye drops left over from the last eye infection.
• Three days ago, I woke up with a stiff neck. I couldn't turn my neck to the left. It's still a bit stiff now.

My phone rang. It was Girlfriend. "Turn around," she said, so I turned around. There she was, inside the park, waving at me, along with the kids. I waved back. Then I went back to reading my book. Eventually, they came out. We bought ice lollies for the kids, then took the bus to Barcelona centre. There was no room on the bus to sit, so I sat on the floor with the kids. We went to McDonald's for lunch. We walked to the Lego shop, but there was a big queue outside, so we left.

We went to Desigual because they have a slide, and the kids like slides. While there I saw my reflection in the mirror and to my surprise, I wasn't horrified like I usually am when I see my reflection. I saw a serious-looking man with a lot of hair and a big unshaven beard, wearing all black clothes, and with a pretty good body if I say so myself, so everything was okay.

We went to Barcelona Sants and got on the train home. This time, the train was actually on time, and we even had a table. I realised I love being ill, because I no longer have the energy to worry about the future or think about the past, I can only focus on the present, and the present was okay. There was a nice view of the sun setting behind the forests outside the window.

There was a woman with her two adults son sitting at table next to ours. They had a huge amount of electronics between them. They each had a laptop and one of the sons had a tablet as well. One son stood up to put a carrier bag in the overhead shelf but the bag fell out his hand and the contents scattered across the floor: cables, computer mice, a wireless keyboard. "ME CAGO EN LA LECHE!" shouted the mom. I felt ill and pleasantly detached from it all. Life was okay. I realised I hadn't bit my lip all day, which is something I do when I feel stressed and anxious, which is almost all the time,

We got home. As usual when I when home from a few hours of being away, I was thankful to find no one had broken into my apartment and stolen my belongings. When the kids had gone to bed, I finished reading my book; I started it in July last year, so it took me 9 months.

Dear Diary. This morning I was woken up at 7 AM by an emergency alert on my phone. It sounded like a siren. Girlfriend's phone was the same. The alert said:

Risk of flooding due to river overflow. Avoid travel until 5 PM. Stay away from rivers.

The first thing I did was go check out the nearest river. I wanted to see what it looked like. And it was awesome. It was like the River Rapids ride at Alton Towers, with white choppy waters and a fast current. I stood on a bridge and watched as huge amounts of water passed underneath. It was still dark because it was only 8 AM and it's winter.

Then I realised: I had the opportunity to be the first person in Girona to film the river and make it into an Instagram reel. So I went around filming the river from various angles.

Then I went to the local indoor market to get out of the rain, and sat on a bench and edited the reel together on my phone in about twenty minutes. People were probably thinking, "Who's this strange guy sitting there alone and weirdly engaged with his phone at 8:30 in the morning?" I finished editing it and posted it to Instagram. And now it has 70,000 views, 2,000 likes, and 1,000 shares, so it just proves how important it is to be the first person to do something.

Anyway, schools were cancelled today, so the kids were at home today. Girlfriend doesn't have a job now, so she's always at home anyway. After lunch, I asked the kids if they wanted to go out and see the river. Girlfriend said it would be dangerous, but I said it would be fine. If the river started flooding, we could have easily outrun it, I reckoned. So we got to the river, and Youngest Son sat there in a pushchair looking shocked at how much water there was. We walked up to the cathedral, and everything was closed. I tried to get food for Oldest Son at the local Spar, but it was closed.

Anyway, that was my day.

Dear Diary. Last year, for my 38th birthday, Girlfriend bought me a gift certificate for an indoor skydiving experience. But I didn't really feel like going indoor skydiving. When I was a teenager, I would have been excited to do it, but now that I'm 38, that urge has left me, along with the urge to ride roller coasters, drive go-karts, drink alcohol, and have any kind of fun.

But Girlfriend's been nagging me to use the gift certificate because it expires soon. I didn't want it to go to waste either, so today I suggested we use it: that I finally go indoor skydiving.

The skydiving place was in a town called Empuriabrava. Empuriabrava is normally a 50-minute drive from Girona, but today was a farmers' protest. I don't have a photo of the protest because you're not allowed to take photos while driving, but the main road was closed, and we had to take a detour that added another ten minutes to the journey. Don't farmers have any kind of consideration to people trying to get to important indoor skydiving appointments? Anyway, we arrived at the indoor skydiving place. It was a big building on an industrial estate. A big sign said WINDOOR. What is a Windoor? A cross between a window and a door? Inside, it was spookily empty, and we had to take the stairs to the second floor to find the reception. It was a big room with a big glass tube in it, and inside the tube was a man in a red jumpsuit enthusiastically zooming around and doing backflips. I later learned his name was Augusto Bartelle. (And I just googled his name and apparently he's a professional skydiving athlete, so skydiving is his JOB??)

There was a family already getting ready to go in. The instructor (a Scottish man called James) said I could join them instead of waiting another half an hour for my slot, so I said okay. James looked a bit like a Pound Shop Chris Evans from the Captain America films.

James told me to make sure my pockets were empty. Then we all put on jumpsuits and helmets, and then James took us to the wind tunnel. Having never done skydiving before, I had no idea what to expect. I imagined everyone would get their own personal wind tunnel, and we'd spend half an hour in there flying about and having a laugh. But instead, there was only one wind tunnel in the entire building. First we had to put in earplugs, because of the noise of the wind. Then we took turns going in the wind tunnel. A turn meant spending one minute in the wind tunnel while James held onto you to make sure you didn't go flying off. Everyone got two turns, and each turn was a minute. I learned that Girlfriend had paid €79.99 for me to do this two-minute experience, which made it the most expensive minutes of my life.

Sometimes Augusto Bartelle would take a turn as well. Weirdly, he had a one litre carton of coconut milk with him, and sometimes he would take a few sips before putting it back under the bench.

Afterwards, when I tried to get my earplugs out, I discovered they were stuck in my ears. A man at reception had to tease them out with a pair of tweezers from the first aid box from under the counter.

Girlfriend asked me if I'd enjoyed the experience. I told her I had been too busy trying not to smack into walls to enjoy it. Girlfriend pointed out that James the instructor had been holding onto me the entire time.

Afterwards, we drove through Empuriabrava. I have no interest in anything that's not directly related to my daily life, so I had no idea what Empuriabrava was. My first clue that something was odd was that all the streets were in a grid pattern, which is unusual for a small Spanish town. On the satnav, the street layout looked a dinosaur's rib cage. My next clue was when I looked out the side window of the car and saw a canal stretching off into the distance with boats. Then another canal. And another one.

It turns out Empuriabrava is some kind of boat town. It has 25 kilometres of canals, which is about half the canals in Venice. The town seems to have more canals than roads. All the roads have houses on them, and all the houses face onto canals, so if you forget which door is your front door and which door is your back door, you could step out your back door by mistake and fall into a canal. Wikipedia calls it a "residential marina" and says Empuriabrava is "the largest residential marina in Europe".

Here is another fact about Empuribrava: it has a lot of parking spaces. Every single road had parking spaces along it. And all the parking spaces were free. It was as if the person who designed Empuribrava really, really hated driving around, unable to find a parking space, so he drew parking spaces along every single road. Whereas other cities would have an extra lane to drive in, Empuribrava has parking spaces.

I parked almost right next to the beach, in front of a hotel that looked like a cruise ship. The beach was almost deserted. This was January, but in summer, I imagine it fills up with thousands of people. And the beach was huge, one of the biggest beaches I've seen. The sand stretched off for miles.

We ate lunch in a place called Enjoy it. And after lunch, we walked back along the beach. The kids played at a playground, and another fact about Empuriabrava is that it has great playgrounds. There was a children's-sized pirate ship, a 360 rotating seat with hand-controlled digger (something I've only ever seen in Stafford in a playground next to my brother's old apartment), and two spiderwebs connected with a spiderweb bridge, among other things. It puts Girona's playgrounds to shame.

The sun was setting, and our shadows were incredibly long. The whole beach was almost deserted. There was one man walking along the shore and that was about it. We pretty much had the beach to ourselves. Girlfriend wanted to go home because it was getting cold, so we left.

So that was Empuribrava. I didn’t enjoy indoor skydiving, but I did enjoy the parking.

It was upsetting today because a woman I thought of as a friend wrote to me saying she doesn't want to be friends with me anymore. I asked her why, and she says that I said something that upset her. I asked her for clarification, and she just wrote "I don't have capacity". It is kind of hurtful because she didn't even give me an explanation. I asked another friend what he thought, and he said, "just ignore it, for your own mental health."

---

I went to the supermarket and I saw two dads, they're a couple, they're Girlfriend's friends. They were with their daughter. I couldn't remember the daughter's name. Normally I don't speak to them because I try to avoid speaking to anyone I don't have to, but I realised it would be rude not to talk to them, so I said hello. And then I think our conversation went like this:

Me. "How is the baby?" (I looked at her, she was about 1.5 years old). "Ok, she's not a baby anymore."

Dad: "She's good"

Me. "I forgot her name."

Dad: "It's Olivia."

Me. "Olivia? Did you name her after the song?" (There's a famous song in Catalonia called Olivia)

Dad: (laughing nervously) "No."

Me. "Well ok. See you around."

I think he thought I was joking about whether or not he named his daughter after the Catalan pop song "Olivia". I wasn't. I was genuinely curious.

---

There is a celebrity mom in Youngest Son's class. When Youngest Son came home from school, I asked him if he saw Celebrity Mom this afternoon. He said "Yes". Girlfriend explained that she had actually spoken to Celebrity Mom after school, and in fact today wasn't the first conversation she's had with Celebrity Mom, it was maybe the third or fourth? I was dumbstruck. I haven't even said a word to Celebrity Mom yet, and yet Girlfriend's here already having multiple conversations with her?

Just yesterday, I said to Girlfriend, "Is it weird I haven't even said a single word to Celebrity Mom yet?", and Girlfriend reassured me it's totally normal, yet here's Girlfriend, already having conversations with her on an almost daily basis, like BFFs.

I actually see Celebrity Mom every morning, but my autism means I don't know what the correct way to greet her, so I just ignore her to avoid saying or doing the wrong thing. Celebrity Mom means a lot to me because I'm a big fan of her music, and I notice her every day and don't know how to approach her, so it's hurtful that Girlfriend has already started making friends with her with ease. It makes the unfairness of being autistic even more obvious. I saw an Instagram video (some Instagram videos help a lot with learning about social interaction) where a guy sees a woman and she briefly looks at him, then the next time they see each other they smile at each other, then the next time they say hello to each other, which is like a revelation to me. ChatGPT says the same thing: 'You don’t need to “start a conversation.” You only need a tiny first move—like a smile or a “Bon dia” when you pass her. Once you’ve done that a couple of times, it’s easier to add a short phrase, like: “Com va?” (How’s it going?)' I didn't know this. Isn't it weird I didn't know this? I think the fact I didn't know it makes it even more clear I am autistic.

Dear Diary. My apartment is a fucking mess, and it's always a fucking mess, and it leaves me wondering how long until I die so I can finally escape this hellhole I call a home.

Here’s the entrance:

Hanging on the children’s pegs we have:

• 2 coats (we are currently in summer - the middle of July in fact - so we don't even need coats)
• 3 bags, one of which isn’t used and has a broken zip
• 3 caps. Why 3 caps when we only have two children???

On the shoe rack there is:

• 3 more bags
• Lots of shoes disorganised and lying around

The shoe rack holds the shoes we don’t use, and scattered around the shoe rack are shoes we do use. Why are there so many shoes we don't use?? Why not get rid of them??

Hanging up on the adults' coat pegs, we have 1 coat, two jumpers (this is July, I remind you, when we don't need jumpers or coats), a child's apron, and 2 more bags.

Why are there so many bags?? I'm going to count them to see who is responsible for there being so many bags:

• Bags belonging to girlfriend: 4
• Bags belonging to oldest son: 3
• Bags belonging to youngest son: 2
• Bags belonging to me: 0

When I open the cupboard in the kids' bedroom to put the coats away, this sight greets me:

Do they secretly own a coat shop? Are my kids secretly running a coat shop from their bedroom? That's the only explanation I can think of for why their wardrobe is stuffed with coats.

Dear Diary. Today was a hike I'd organised. In the morning I nervously looked at my phone to see how many people were coming, and the RSVP list had 25 people coming and 5 maybes.

"So it looks like I have 25 people coming to my hike and 5 maybes," I noted to Girlfriend. "Is this something I need to worry about?"

"I don't want to hear any more about your hike!" she snapped. (I talk to her a lot about event organisation stuff. Probably too much.)

I set out for the hike. As I was walking there, I realised I'd need to give a speech, something to explain who I was and what the hike was about. Nervously, I pulled out my phone, opened ChatGPT, and typed, "I’m about to lead a hike. Can you tell me what I should say before the start of the hike?"

In seconds, ChatGPT produced a polished 200-word speech. I skimmed through it:

"In case of emergencies, my phone number is [number], and I have a basic first-aid kit with me.'"

I didn’t have a first-aid pack.

"If you have any allergies or medical conditions I should know about, feel free to tell me privately before we start."

Why would I tell that to people? Any first-aid I’d attempt might end up killing them!

I arrived at the starting point outside a café, where a large group was already gathered, chatting. It was surreal. There were around 30 people. I greeted a few people, including Sofia, a Greek woman I’d made a community admin a couple of weeks ago.

After waiting 20 minutes for latecomers, I could tell people were getting restless. It was time to give the speech to start the hike. By the way, this week I’ve lost my voice. Two days ago I sounded like Dumbledore gasping, “Water, Harry,” in The Half-Blood Prince. Today I sound like Roz the receptionist from Monsters, Inc.

“Guys? Guys!” I waved my arms and croaked. A few people turned, but most kept chatting. “Guys! Over here!”

Eventually, everyone was watching me. “Hi guys, I’m Paul. Sorry about my voice, I’ve got a cold. But it’s great to see so many people here today! We’ve never had this many people at an event before. In fact, it's a new record. So thank you for all coming.”

People started spontaneously clapping. It felt good. But I still wished a real organiser would show up and take over from me.

“Today, we’re hiking up Sant Miquel mountain," I continued. "It's a 5 kilometers to the top, which should take about an hour a half, and then we'll have lunch at the castle at the top. Then we'll head back down and we should be home for 3 PM. By the way, I’ve never actually organized a hike before, or even done this hike before.” People laughed. “If anyone knows the way, feel free to lead!”

I had the hike route in my phone just in case but there an English man called John who had done the hike before, and he led the way with his Strave app on his smartwatch.

We reached the top of the mountain around 1 PM. I asked someone to take a group photo, but everyone looked sad in the shot. So the guy taking the photo said, “Everyone, put your hands like this!” Everyone put their hands up and suddenly they were all smiling and happy. I should’ve asked that guy to be the official photographer from now on.

We got back at almost 3 PM, like I thought we would. Overall, today's been a huge success. I counted and I think we were 30 people after all! One woman even told me it was her favourite event so far.

Maybe 30 people to one event if the new norm of the events I organise in Girona. Or maybe this is the peak and it's all a painful decline from here. Either way, I organised I hike today.

Dear Diary. I felt worse today than yesterday. Low on energy. Skipped the gym today because of how tired I felt.

I picked up Oldest Son from his acting class this evening and one of the moms gave me a concerned look and said, "You look ill. Really tired and pale."

"I've eaten barely anything the past five days," I said. "Food makes me want to vomit. I tried eating a packet of crisps yesterday but became disgusted by the taste after about the tenth crisp. I think I have food poisoning."

She looked shocked and appalled. "You shouldn't be eating crisps if you have an upset stomach."

I told her I ate cake today, had a raw carrot yesterday, and a big box of salad as well yesterday (to get my five a day). Also today I was eating an all-bran cereal straight out the packet to get fiber. She looked horrified.

"You can't eat fibre with a stomach bug," she said. "You're supposed to avoid fibre."

I didn't know that, I thought fibre was good for your gut health.

Girlfriend gave me a list of things I can safely eat with gastroenteritis: pureed apple, rice, soup, pasta, omelette, white bread, yoghurt, banana, boiled potatoes, chicken and fish. These are all soft foods that are easy to digest. I've never done this special list before. Though come to think of it, I have done it several times with the kids, when they had tummy troubles.

For dinner Girlfriend cooked me a chicken breast and some boiled potatoes. I was so hungry I ate the lot. I also had half a large jar of apple puree. Afterwards, I felt MUCH better. It was like the difference between night and day. It was like the difference between Lazarous lying cold stiff dead on a slab and Lazarous coming back to life, donning shades, and mixing some sick beats with the apostles. I felt happy, far happier than I normally do. It must be how monks feel when they come out of a month-long fast. I feel like I could go out with some cool late teens and party 'til the break of dawn.

Incidentally I found out Girona has clubs today (I was browsing through r/Girona and came across them). I was amazed as I never knew Girona had clubs. There's one photo of a club which is a mass of young cool people dancing euphorically in what looks like the Bronx from Buffy the Vampire Slayer:

I think the next stage of the social group I manage is to meet every Friday or Saturday night at these clubs. I'll wear a bright yellow T-shirt that says "MR SOCIAL" and I'll buy everyone in the club drinks, but I'll escape out the back door before the bartender can charge my card.