When you attend a school with a strict uniform policy, there’s very specific rules about how you conform, lest you be sent home with a note requesting immediate replacement of unsuitable item of clothing. The one thing Mum and I always fought about was shoes.
Welcome to the eighteenth post of the Great Writing Challenge of 2012. Five days a week for six months, I will be given a topic to write about. The stipulation: it must be 250 words (or more), and positive in tone. If you would like to suggest topics for me to write about, please email me at TheRebeccaProject [at] gmail [dot] com. I fell in love with Barcelona the day I arrived. The city is so vibrant, and so interesting. I could imagine a life for myself there. We stayed in the old town, just off Las Ramblas, in a former brothel frequently patronised by Picasso. We wound our way through the small lanes, and rarely taking the same route twice. Having just arrived from frigid Switzerland by way of torrential rain in the Basque region, the warm Mediterranean city with a laid back vibe had me hooked instantly. I had anticipated the German-speaking legs of the trip to be more my style, so connecting with Barcelona was unexpected. We ate, we drank, we walked, …
The Rebecca Project 