The times they are a-changing

As you may well have noticed, Jimmy's Desk has a new look. It's green. It's also a heck of a lot lighter and brighter than its previous dark grey, bespotted incarnation. Hope you like it.

In fact (brainwave) let me know what you think by commenting on this post. I understand this is opening myself up to ridicule because now no-one will write anything and the fact that no sod actually reads this thing other my mother will be known to everyone. Just a risk i'll have to take, I suppose.

Tottenham Hotspur Football Club

Exactly what is going on? It's now so far beyond a joke I just don't know what to think.

Homage to Catalonia - part 4

Back in the city, on our last day around town before flying home we revisited my favourite aspect of Barcelona from our last visit together three years before - Park Guell. As testament to my now well-developed obsession with the work of Antoni Gaudi, we visited his unique urban concept: inspired by a certain style of gardens in England (hence the Anglicised 'k' in 'park', as opposed to a Catalan 'c'), he recreated one in his own vision, where palm trees sit beside unmistakable tiling and ceramic work.

Before we'd even reached the park, I noticed something else which caught my eye. For a split second it occured to me that it was some kind of public art, before realising something a bit more militant was at work.
I mentioned to my girlfriend that the Catalan people specifically, and the Spanish is general, weren't afraid to deface or even set fire to stuff they didn't like, that was affected or lessening their standard of life (this observation I made with more than just a hint or admiration). Of course, my companion put it pretty straightly: "Well," she said, "if you fight for your freedom in your own country, you aren't going to think twice about splattering something in paint". Quite right. I can't read Catalan, but I think it says something about the apartment building spoiling their views...

The park sits almost on top of el Carmel hill, a steep escalator ride up to the top which did provide some rather unique views.
Although they were nothing compared to what you might see when you actually reach the park.
And as if I needed to be convinced any more of the national willingness to nail their political colours firmly to the mast, here was further proof.Dotted around the park are a number of small buildings, the purpose of most of which I don't know, but they I still enjoy them all the same.
The centrepiece of the park is this large, open, parade ground-like area, the far edge of which lined with benches of smooth, brightly colour ceramics and mosaics.By the way, did I mention the views? As with the Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's fusion of natural forms and the raw physical logistics of construction and structure is evident here. In case you can't see her, my missus is peeping out from behind one of the pillars, the wave pattern arrangement of which I always stop to take in a while. On the way out, the park has more beautiful, vibrant ceramic work in the shape of fountains, and one particularly popular dragon. Catalonia, and more specifically Barcelona, is a unique place that you have to visit. Don't just take my word for it.

Homage to Catalonia - part 3

After a few days spent meandering the charming streets of the city, that familiar look in my girlfriend's eye told me she was itching to get to the beach. And so we drove, about 2 hours up the coast towards the French boarder, to Roses (pronounced 'ross-us', with or without a rolled 'r', depending on your preference).

The town is a charming seaside resort, clearly geared for tourists but the crucial difference is that tourists are largely Spanish, with the odd German or French family for good measure. Very few Brits, is what I'm getting at, and I found it refreshing. The family flat we stayed sits about half way the Western most hill, overlooking the town with a sweeping, inobstructed view of the bay, the village, and the first foothills of the Pyrenees looming in the background. The view at sunset was just breathtaking.

And the view at night wasn't bad either.
The town itself has plenty of good restaurants, and plenty of good enough repute for us to be unlucky trying to obtain a table on a Saturday night without booking first. The town is also within a stone's throw of the legendary El Bulli restaurant, one of the few eateries with three Michelin stars in the world, let alone in this part of Spain. It has been voted 'The Best Restaurant in the World' four times since 2000 - this is the standard we're talking here. Needless to say we decided the credit card wouldn't stretch to even bread and oils, and dined elsewhere.

What really stood out for me was the genius of having a miniature golf course on the seafront, which is open until after midnight, with a Belgian beer bar attached for good measure.

Unfortunately the time of year meant the weather, while sometimes pefectly amenable to sunbathing, occasionally turned for the worst. But while my girlfriend has grown used to the view over the years of visiting with her family, I still found myself drawn to the balcony, looking out across the bay. As I said, breathtaking.

Homage to Catalonia - part 2

Dominating the Barcelona skyline. soaring into the sky above the roofs and terraces of what is an otherwise fairly low-rise city, sits Gaudi's most famous (unfinished) opus: the Sagrada Familia. The temple dominated the last 15 years of the architect's life, following a previous 25 years of toil, and standing outside looking skywards you can understand what a labour of love this huge edifice would have been.

The level of detail is quite exceptional, more so on the outside (which is, ostensibly at least, rather more complete than the interior) and the audio we procured before starting our tour gives an informative narrative on what you're peering up at.

The imposing bronze doors bear rows and rows of scripture, with the occasional detail picked out in gold.

Inside the church, the sheer height of the vaults is the most striking feature. That, and the building work going on down at sea-level. The audio tour includes comments from the current architects who are working on the project, and who have contributed to the exterior. Whatever controversy greets each new stage of construction and the pangs of indignation even an architectural layman like me might feel at someone other than Gaudi himself working on the building, the encumbents seem to know their stuff. If the outside is anything to go by, then the inside is in safe hands.Gaudi was influenced by natural forms throughout his career and in the Sagrada Familia these are as evident as ever. The entire structure is shot through with shapes resembling flowers; botanical shapes inform the pillars which soar up to support the roof.

Homage to Catalonia - part 1

Such is the British obsession with Spain as a package holiday destination, it is all too easy to forget that is a rich and vibrant country with much to offer those who would rather stay at home in rainy Suburbia with a dose of the flu than visit one destinations favoured by so many of their countrymen/women each summer.

Barcelona is a fabulously cosmopolitan city, alive with colour and energy in its nightlife, food and architecture. It's Mediterranean climate drenches it in sunshine and consistently high temperatures for most of the year and its people are proud of their heritage - counting themselves as Catalan first and Spanish second (or, in some cases, not at all). All of this makes the area feel singular, different. Catalonian culture and language mark it out as distinct from the rest of the country.

Our base was my girlfriend's grandfather's house in Colonia Guell, a village about a half an hour away from Barcelona proper but a world away from the hustle and indeed the bustle of the city, its position on the end of a metro line belying how restful it feels in comparison.

Such is the way in countries like Spain, the relatively simple-looking exterior of the house hides a beautiful, unmistakably Mediterranean interior and garden. Below the large deciduous tree is a small pond, home to a number of wee turtles who pop up for a feed whenever you chuck thin slices of chorizo into the water. Or they might be tortoises, I can never tell the difference.The village was founded by Eusebi Guell, most proflific patron of Catalan national treasure Antoni Gaudi. Its also home to a stunning church of the same name, which some say it is his great unfinished masterpiece, and has attracted controversy in recent years after additions were made. Barcelona's cultural powers-that-be are no strangers to controversy, but more of that later. No pictures of that, sadly, but there isn't always enough time...

The city has an abundance of beautiful squares in which to sit and while away and afternoon, cafe solo in hand. Below is the view of the cathderal, just a few streets away from the busy shopping area around La Rambla.

Gaudi's touch isn't just present on a large scale. His work crops up in some of the smaller, low-key elements of the city's landscape, like the lamp-posts in the square below.In contrast to the historical flavour of much of the city, down by the port is a huge new complex of shops and restaurants. It's set at the end of a wide pier, which takes you from the Barcelona of old to the Barcelona of now, but the feeling is one of sympathetic juxtaposition, rather than stark contrast.More soon.

He's gone. Finally, he's gone.

In the beginning, I pleaded down the imaginary phone line into his head: "Please, Berba, please don't go! Don't be lured by the communal glory of Champion's League football and double-your-money wage deals. Stay at The Lane, play your way into our hearts and become a legend!" This was a player for which I had a genuine affection, the desire (for probably the first time) to buy a replica shirt and emblazon his name across the top of my back.

Then, the attitude started. And although I wasn't around for a great chunk of last season, I was aware that, yes, he was still our player and, yes, he was still banging them in but all the while Fergie had a wee gleam in his eye, counting and re-counting big piles of crisp twenty-pound notes and eyeing up our prize asset. As soon as the season had closed (the dreary, wearying and ultimately anti-climactic 'Ronaldo-to-Madrid, will-he-wont-he' business notwithstanding), Dimitar Berbatov's long-heralded move to the Red side of Manchester was the main story for many fans, and had begun to look as much of a eventuality as ever. And, guess what, the player was already making disgruntled noises, and what was hinted at in that almost-overlooked "I'm happy...for now", uttered in a press conference what seems like an age ago, became a clear and distinct possibility. The revelation that he was a smoker, made by a fellow supporter and friend, seemed to confirm the start of his rapid decline in my affections.

The head dropped, the eyes narrowed and the sulk came into full-effect. Clearly he was a man somewhere he didn't want to be, and after a number of soundbites confirming what his body language clearly suggested, as far as I (and, I wouldn't mind betting, a majority of other Spurs fans) was concerned, if he didn't want to play for Tottenham Hotspur then he was no longer welcome and was, in effect, no longer fit to wear the shirt. "You want out", I said to anyone who would listen to my little make-believe conversation time and time again, "off you go. Up the M6. Go on, piss off" and so on, and so forth. I had resigned myself to the inevitable, and would be very glad to see him go (in return for a huge sum of money, of course).

And now, with cheque for 30+ million quid and a bright young striking prospect called Fraizer Campbell making their way down South mere minutes before the cut-off, Berbs is no longer a Spurs player. And do you know what? I find myself feeling a little sad.

Maybe it's the transfer deadline television coverage and the somewhat intangible nature of the news on this most idiosyncratic of days. Without anything to actually beam live into our living rooms news channels have to make do with 'best ofs', voice-over'ed montages, played on a loop, reminding us fans exactly why our players are so desired and lauded after. Sitting there, watching our lanky, elegant, Bulgarian ex-employee dance through and around defences (and make no mistake, when on-song he does just that: dance) and put the ball in the net with insouciant ease, I felt wrenched at having my club let such an individual talent like that go, albeit in accordance with the man himself's wishes and a lot of dough. Still though, such a player... Seeing him play in the red strip of Manchester United will be difficult indeed.

Even now, some months after I had accepted the inevitable, seeing the picture below actually makes me grit my teeth and want to to utter a four-letter obscenity out loud. Odd, given that seeing fan's favourite Robbie Keane for Liverpool was far harder but seeing him play for another team has actually been relatively pain-free so far. Perhaps this is because, after 3 Premier League games, he's so far failed to score a single goal and has been, to be perfectly frank, a bit poo.

But I remain very upbeat. Our creditable draw away Chelsea this weekend and our new signings all add to my increasing sense of optimism (which had threatened to fully nose-dive after the opening two fixtures). It is with the events of these last few days, not least the removal of a potentially divisive dressing-room influence in the shape of the unsettled Bulgarian, that I feel Spurs' season may have really begun.