Anita Darling - Barcelona, The Barrio and Balls
Published: 03/12/2009 by Anita Darling
This may be the first time I have sat still in one place for more than 20 minutes for two whole months, so make the most of me, dear reader. If I told you all the things I have been up to since December's column, we would be here until next February, so I will keep it short and sweet, and ultra-summarised so as not to bore you to tears. The reason I am rather more relaxed right now, is because I am in heaven. Lolita and I, the eternal flatmates, complete with children (kittens Alfie and Annie Rose, more on them later) have moved house. It was about time. Our sky-high rent was finally getting the better of us ("¡Estamos en crisis!", after all) and so we gave in our notice and began to pack up the flat. Without actually having anywhere to go at the end of January, but then we have always enjoyed living on the edge. Between the two of us, we must have seen around 25 flats in a space of two weeks, finally settling on a sweet little place in the Barrio del Pilar, overlooking the junkies, prostitutes, pimps and tramps just on our doorstep and focusing on the delightful new landlady (you will invite me to the housewarming party, won't you girls?), the L-shaped kitchen diner, and the equal-sized bedrooms (avoiding many an argument).
So we carried on packing and planning for the move to El Pilar, whilst working at least 12 hours a day each, Lolita building, stocking, opening in the morning and closing at night a brand new boutique in the fabulous Fuencarral and me both at The Bank from nine to five and in another shop in the centre of town from five to nine. Don't ask me how I did it- lots and lots of coffee and sugar-loaded snacks were my fuel and kept me buzzing as I sped from one side of The City to the other. I would crawl into my nest for an excruciatingly short six hours of sleep and a new day would begin! So much for enjoying the party season! I barely noticed the festivities whizz past, and managed to find myself permanently staying at my parents' house from Christmas Eve for another two weeks more than originally planned, the luxury of having Mummy cook me nourishing meals and wash, dry and iron my clothes proved far too tempting and convenient to go home, especially working such crazy hours.
I then took a week off work at The Bank at the end of January, leaving Lolita to pack up our flat, poor love, and headed up to Barcelona for another job at the amazing Bread and Butter fashion fair, for its last gig in Spain before it moves back to Berlin in Summer. Already emotionally and physically exhausted, it was a tough five days, but so much fun, surrounded by lunatic Italians, bizarre Germans with verbal diarrhoea and fashion, fashion, fashion. Just my cup of tea! Our apartments by the beach were divine, and there were times when I thought I was going to literally split my face open from laughing so much, so great were my temporary workmates. I would love to go as a visitor, as I only got to explore the hall where my stand was very briefly, and nearly died from envy every time I saw a Lee Cooper gift bag go past - a huge, silver and tartan fabric concoction with free goodies inside beyond my imagination. I never made it over there myself to get one, and in true magpie fashion, I am reminded of it every time I spot something shiny. My impossible love.
On the Friday afternoon I got back from BCN, I got a call from another potential flat-owner I had completely forgotten arranging to meet after committing to El Pilar, wanting to know what time we could meet on Saturday! As she was a friend of a friend, I felt terrible letting her down so agreed on 2 o'clock the next day. Lolita and I both ended up partying hard that night, and had also arranged to meet the respective men (more on Him next month, I think - running out of column space!) to see them off before they went off on their boys' holiday beforehand. Never before have we used so much concealer, and decked in hoodies, jeans, plimsolls and the largest sunglasses known to man, we accompanied them for tapas, sticking to diet coke ourselves - I couldn't even contemplate calamares that soon after getting up, let alone that severely hungover!
After saying our goodbye's for another 8 days, sniff, sniff, we then shuffled back to El Carmen to see yet another flat. And here I am sat now, it was love at first sight, and our near-miss bargain in El Pilar simply pales in comparison. High ceilings, air conditioning, beautifully-restored shuttered windows, huge lounge, bathroom and dining room make up the 120m2 of prime El Carmen real estate. But I haven't even told you the best bit yet- both bedrooms have walk-in wardrobes that would make Carrie Bradshaw pee her pants. We literally just finished moving in last night after three days non-stop, the lovely editor of 24-7 has been chasing me for a week but I have not had even a morsel of time to sit and be Anita Darling for real.
Amongst the drama of moving house, well-known as one of the most traumatic experiences in anyone's life, up there with childbirth, divorce and death, there was one hilarious moment I must get down in print. As we sat on Lolita's bed at 7.30 a.m on the last day of moving, with our amazing friend R. and huge cups of coffee, waiting for all our help to arrive in the next 20 minutes, surrounded by boxes and empty walls, we were joined by Alfie and Annie Rose, our kittens. Annie Rose, getting settled on R.'s lap, put her bottom in his face, as is her wont. R. suddenly turned to us and solemnly stated: Girls, I do believe Annie Rose's balls have dropped overnight. Lolita screamed as I shouted I knew it! I knew it! And that is how Annie Rose became Andie Ross!
People laughed in my face in December as I declared to anyone who would listen how positive I felt about the coming year, but if this is as good as 2009 gets, as I sit with a glass of wine in my gorgeous new apartment, surrounded by a blank canvas on which to confect my dream bachelorette pad, a challenging job, fabulous and supportive friends and family who have been my rock over the past two months, and a fresh new love-life I cannot wait to tell you all about, then it really can't get that bad, can it?
