My knees, lower legs and ankles are covered in hard ringed blotches that itch like fuck, because mosquito’s love my blood. During the night as I lay sheet-less on the square hard bed, 27 wee bitey mozzie’s decided to come in the dusk and chew on my flesh. I must have been a veritable feast for them; so much so, they picked up their mozzie mobile phones and called their mates to come over to the Scottish barbeque. I can just imagine their arrival at the window above my head, the maitre’d of mozzie world showed them to their table (my fat plump thighs and stocky ankles) and pointed out the juiciest flesh for their delight, then the wee nasty hungry creatures sat down to chomp. Pulling out their sharp blood sucking equipment and portable anaesthetic fluid, they set about their night long sucking. My fan hummed in the background giving them a tune to dance to as they made sure I woke up with hard lumpy boils with blood dripping from them, the chemicals they injected me with was leaking slowly out mixed with blood, creating an almost fastidious itch that makes me look like I have some psychological impulse to scratch my ankles and knees.
Other than that I am fine.
I was also bitten whilst staring at the Gaudi Famillia church. The spiky cartoon like spires, mixed with traditional gothic features is a spectacular sight. I am sure Gaudi and the mozzie’s have a relationship. One is so immersed in the view that you forget you are being eaten slowly as you gasp at the mere sight of what can only be
a ‘Storm Trooper’ from Star Wars cut in stone standing beside an emaciated Jesus hanging from a cross on the fantastic montage at the front. Maybe Gaudi really did do acid or maybe he laughs quietly in his grave as he recognises that he created the world’s biggest diversion for mosquitoes.
So this is my last day here, I went out a walk, but the humidity is unbearable. On entering the street, my body quickly became a damp sponge, I could feel my bra soak up the sweat that ran down my cleavage, my back licked my white shirt and made sure it stuck there for the rest of the day and my knickers stuck to my ass and refused to give way when I walked, making them ride up constantly and rub parts of me that should only be rubbed intimately and not in public. Nice and weird at the same time!

I am still trying to find someone to hold my video camera so I can do my ‘live blog’ but the Catalonians are fabulously rude! They are grumpy and tetchy (must be all that sweat and public chaffing of underwear). I like it, they are a bit like Glaswegians, angry, short tempered but they are far better looking.
So here I am back in my room, I cannot bear the heat and have been spent the whole day being mystified by strange sexual random thoughts, then realised that my underwear mixed with humidity has been slowly seducing me in a weird abstract fashion. I need to change.
Now I know why Gaudi designed those buildings!

I am absolutely stunned at the architecture here, Gaudi made his mark, like some drug crazed amphetamine stumped toddler with a box of crayons and bundle of bricks and some ceramics, he went mental and I LOVE IT.
The colours and textures are breath taking and the street lamps are just awesome. I know I am a bore…but I am in heaven here.
The back of my brain is telling me that I need to be getting ready for the biggest festival in Edinburgh of my entire LIFE…but I cannot drag myself away from these buildings and this culture to even focus on anything and somewhere that is doing me the power of spiritual good. To be here in Catalonia and breathing in this place is like life blood to me, I dreamed of this place when I was a child and here I am!
I sat on the beach yesterday in my bra and shorts, as I don’t posses a bikini, and I swam in the ferocious waves as they crashed into the sand, minute pieces of shredded sand glimmered all over my body, it looks like I had rubbed myself with a glitter ball! The sand is silver!
I played football with very young fit Catalonian guys, who cheered every time I kept the ball up with my feet and performed forgotten football tricks from my younger days (I was a very good footballer for a girl- that was before I grew these tits!)

The gig went fabulous at the Dubliner pub, a small but friendly Irish bar, and then a wee ancient man who had sat in the front row and never laughed once at me got up and played the guitar and sang almost every song I carry in my IPOD – from Leonard Cohen to Eagles, he knew the lot. I left there at 4am and went to the beach front with one of the regulars called Sam.
We sat in a café drinking bitter coffee chatting and watched the sun rise. As the sun came over the darkened beach, illuminating it slowly - like a torch whose battery was waning and revealed couples fighting, fucking and singing on the sand–it was like a dark mystical cloak had slowly been slithered across the landscape towards the sky- a perverted magic trick just for us! How cool?

I then started slowly walking back to the apartment and saw every Gaudi piece of art and architecture light up in the dawn, not many people around, just me staring at buildings in a magical light show. I saw the occasional street cleaner stopping for a cigarette watching me -watching stuff.
I fell asleep at 10am and was awakened by the loudest bangs that I have ever heard and I have heard building fall and gunshots- this fucking noise was horrific! Turns out it was a wedding letting off fire works. Holy Cow, what a start to married life- having your eardrums bust- well I suppose that’s stops them from hearing each other and that marriage may work well!

I thought I couldn’t possibly get any hotter in UK, but yes, Barcelona is fucking furnace like. I am staying in a really old apartment and the architecture is just awesome. The old entry to the apartments looks like my old tenement in Glasgow’s East End. It had marble flooring, wooden staircase banister and ceramic tiles adorning the walls. The old doors are so carved and ornate, with small gilt panels- it really does hark back to some old time era. I like to imagine that some other wee Glaswegian found this place and sat on these stairs back in the days when many Scottish people came to Barcelona to fight fascism. I still find it incredible to imagine that ordinary Scottish men AND women left their homes (many from the Calton, where I lived in Glasgow) and despite the hardships they faced in Glasgow, they made their way to Catalonia to fight against a regime!
I cannot even begin to imagine the scenario where some Glasgow wife was hanging out a washing and trying to feed her kids then at some point decided to get a boat to a foreign country, to a language she doesn’t speak, to a terrain she doesn’t know to fight people she has never met. Un-fucking-believable…but they did do it.
So Catalonia has a place in my heart because of this.
The gigs are cool, strange but cool and I have decided that due to the heat, all primping and beauty regimes are out the window, it is of no use applying make up (it slide off your face) it is no use fussing with my hair (it is soaked in ten minutes of going out) so I am a sweaty blob and don’t care who knows it.
I am missing husband and Ashley like you cannot believe, but awaking in this room this morning with my wooden shutters open wide, and staring at the ochre aged wallpaper with fake bamboo pattern is wonderful. My tiny balcony is facing the sun, my original ceiling cornice with yellow lamp gives me a strange Victorian feeling, and I like it. I am off to the beach today and will try and film some stuff for a live blog, talk soon.

I had a really vivid dream about my cousin Sammy who had died in 2000 of heroin addiction. I was chatting to him in the dream and my emotions were shattered, to actually see him again and hear his voice shook me to the core. I woke up and wandered into the living room to tell husband about it. He was absorbed in a computer issue and told me to ‘just stop dreaming then’ this really freaked me and we ended arguing about a dead mans conversation! I sat there fuming at his dismissive attitude, I saw an eraser on the floor and threw it really hard at husbands head and it bounced off his head and hit the ceiling! After about twenty minutes we finally stopped fighting and made up.
Then I got a call from London and found out an old friend who was in her 60’s had died. This made me incredibly sad; she was a nice lady and has left many friends behind to grieve.
Later that day one of my siblings called and told me that they were having a huge emotional breakdown, now its not very often I even begin to exercise any form of ‘holding back’ the details, but I have to as they ask me not to say, so that’s as far as that can go.
I came home and felt like my world was going mental, I have realised that me whingeing about doing shows at Edinburgh is fuck all to what some people are going through tonight. So here I sit with a healthy husband, wickedly healthy daughter and happy family. I am all good and hope that you are as well.

I have to go to the bingo tonight with Ashley for an article in the press; we have to do two social events where one of us likes the event and the other dislikes and then the reverse. So tomorrow we go to karaoke as Ashley loves that and I hate it….now I don’t really like bingo BUT I do fancy going with Ashley, so it will be fun. Except we will have a photographer there with us, at both situations and that will be weird. Then we sit down and get interviewed about the whole thing.
I sat down today and rehearsed my play, I was scared to do it in case it overwhelmed me, but to be honest I must actually do it as I really need to know the script before a paying audience see it, I have performed this play many times but you do panic. Ashley and I have a sketch show also that needs tightened up, I am doing three shows (plus press events, plus late night gigs) all the way through the festival in Edinburgh from 3rd-28th August and time is drawing near.
Anyway the play is fine, somewhere in my mixed up fucked up memory that play is there!
I imagine my head looks like the inside of a badly managed antique store, broken chairs, stuffed otters, vintage clothes, old vinyl records, pictures of Donny Osmond, photographs of children I don’t know, a three wheeled bike, some bits of comedy sets, shattered thoughts of badly organised day trips, flashbacks of painful drug funerals, murdered mother memories, and horrible nightmares that are tucked up…yet leaking out of a scabby shoebox and forty six old pennies sitting on top of a broken television.
I didn’t even begin to think that my whole play is sitting there neatly wrapped up waiting to be spoken out loud, I am worried sick that when I go to talk on stage that an old broken record will fall out and the leaky nightmare box explodes out of my head and straight into my mouth!

So I actually feel good, I am confident that we will both have a great festival and a great time enjoying the multitude of drama’s that will no doubt unfold.

Last year, I managed to eat sushi and get anaphylactic shock two hours before my show opened and ended up in hospital getting injections to calm my swollen tongue, yet managed to do the show full of adrenaline.

The year before that the police came to my show where I talked about something illegal that I had done and I was shit scared I would get arrested.

The year before that a man tried to throw himself from a high window in a busy street in Edinburgh when he was going through his annual suicide mission and I managed to talk him down and he almost threw himself on top of me.

Things happen to me.