Paul Gruel Park

When Noriko gets something in her head, no amount of reason or logic will change her mind. I explained to her that this park was all the way across town up the hill overlooking Barcelona and there was nothing of interest for us getting there.

Of course, all she heard was there was plenty to see along the way, when we were walking through the backstreets of Barcelona, through what felt like a Hollywood ghost town set, I asked myself, why didn't I just stay in Perth? Naturally, she argued and fought the whole way, what hell had I let myself in for? She was, as normal, moving slowly and my leg was already starting to hurt, fuck I hate this shit.

I stated that if we are going to walk there, we are going to get a move along, no dawdling or stuffing around, I ended up getting plenty of both. Let me elaborate, I have had knee pain since I was 21 after a work accident where I hyper extended my left leg and hence knee, in the last years, the pain has increased tremendously.

Somehow, if I keep moving it and walking at a reasonable speed, the onset of pain is delayed and take plently of rests inbetween. Noriko prefers to move slowly, take her time, stop all the time, she doesn't need stress and she feels no pain.

I sought treatment for the knee and after countless doctor, specialist, physio, MRI, CT and other appointments, they came to the conclusion it is the hamstring and tendons causing the issues, regardless, towards the end of the day, I struggle to walk despite dropping thousands of dollars to various medical practitioners.

So no doubt, she had read on some Japanese website that "you must go and see the Paul Guell designed park" so that is what you must do in Barcelona, follow the advice of some arsehole on a social media page.

When we finally arrived, it was worse than I expected, firstly, they wanted €7 to enter the park, fuck that. I had already seen parts of the park and it looked like it had been designed by the guy who designed the Cadbury chocolate advertising - tasteless shit.

As we walked back, I wondered if this Paul Guell was still alive, I would love to punch this wanker in the face. Now, what about this other tasteless fuckwit who had recommended this bullshit destroying my Saturday in Barcelona, could I beat this prick to a pulp as well?

By the time we made it back to La Rambla, it was 7 pm, people were out and about enjoying them selves, I was hobbled by this stage, I couldn't enjoy the moment, I was moving from park bench to park bench to take the weight off my leg.

What a waste of Barcelona.