Dear Diary. I took 1-year-old to his music class today. It's on the top floor of the local community centre. The babies don't learn to play Mozart on the piano or anything like that. There's just a hippy woman who sings and plays guitar and meanwhile, the babies dance/clap/cry/attempt to escape.

1-year-old usually goes to the 5 pm class but today I took him to the 6 pm class, because I heard Jana goes to the later class, and I wanted to meet her. Jana is a minor celebrity here in Catalonia. (That's her full name — just that: Jana.) She's a 39-year-old singer in a Catalan band called El Pot Petit. El Pot Petit is 1-year-old's favourite band. It's the only music he'll let me listen to on Spotify.

Now, I like Jana too. If you've ever listened to La Gallina Tica - a song about a hen inexperienced at hatching eggs - then you'll have heard Jana fit thirteen syllables into a line that should only fit six or seven syllables, and you'll know she's a great singer. But I also like Jana for her physical appearance, in that she's cute and she's in my category of Children's Presenters I'd Like To Marry, along with Cat Deeley and Wacaday-era Michaela Strachan.

So I was excited about meeting her. She's a celebrity here in Spain. Or at least, here in Catalonia.

Just before 6 pm, I arrived at the top floor of the community centre. I was out of breath because I was carrying 1-year-old and his plastic tricycle. I took 1-year-old inside the room. I looked around. With disappointment, I saw there was no Jana, just the teacher and a couple of non-famous moms with their kids. No problem, I thought. I've arrived early, that's all. Jana will be here any minute.

But it was ten minutes into the class when I had to finally concede Jana wasn't coming to the class today. And it was then, while I was holding 1-year-old in my arms, dancing only half-heartedly to an acoustic guitar song about horses, when I saw her. It was Jana. She wasn't wearing her bright green dress covered in purple and orange stars. She didn't have her hair done in a girlish ponytail either. Instead, her hair was cut short to a sensible shoulder-length, and she was dressed in conservative jeans and a black blouse, making her look more like a middle-aged mom than the lead singer of Catalonia's most popular band for children. But I could tell it was Jana from her face. (And she still looked pretty cute.)

I knew it was rude to go over and introduce myself. So I kept a reasonable distance. There'd be time to talk to her after the class, I thought. I could tell her about how much 1-year-old loves her music. And how I like her music too.

Halfway through the class, something unexpected happened: Jana's two-year-old child suddenly vomited on the floor. It was a watery vomit with peas and little cubes of diced carrot in it. Jana ran of out the room carrying her child, who vomited again on the way out. For a moment everyone just sat there, looking at the puddle of vomit in the middle of the floor. Then I reached into my back pocket and calmly pulled out a crumpled sheet of kitchen paper. I went over to the little puddle of vomit and wiped it up. Then I wiped up the second puddle using another sheet of kitchen paper I found in my other pocket. This is the benefit of having pockets full of random stuff. I threw both sheets in the bin.

Jana didn't come back to the class, sadly. I guess she decided her kid was too ill so she went home. But I can say that today, I cleaned up the vomit of the child of my celebrity crush. I feel a little bit like I've touched Jesus.