Engaged

What I'll always remember from that day is the sun on my face from the open sunroof. And closing my eyes and just turning to the bloke and saying: "I couldn't be happier." How wrong I was.

We were on our way to el Escorial - a historic town about an hour away from Madrid. A day trip to somewhere new. Something which always, to the bloke's complete amusement and bemusement, makes me a lot more excited than I really should be.

Before lunch we drove round the town's old monastery and up into the hills to check out la silla de Felipe II, a stone chair where the old king used to go survey the building of the monastery.

But the bloke wanted to go higher into the mountains, so up we trekked, climbing stone stairs until suddenly we came across a fantastic vista point with no-one-around.

It's funny how your life can change so much from one moment to the next. One minute I was gazing out across the valley, admiring the way the sun and shade were creating borders across the forest.

The next I was almost watching my life play out in slow motion, as I turned to find the bloke gone, then looking down and realising he was kneeling before me with a little blue box in his hand.

It really was like a scene in a film. I got the shock of my life - but in the best possible way. In between shaking and crying I think I said something like "Is this really happening now?" I don't know how long it actually took me to say "yes", but I'm sure he got the message immediately by my reaction.

It wasn't until long after, until the ring was on my finger and I'd calmed down a bit that I realised we'd taken photos of the happy moment with my wrist support bandage on. So in all our memento photos I've got a megawatt smile and a bionic hand. Never mind, makes the whole thing more memorable I suppose.

The rest of the day seemed to pass in a blur. I think we were both a bit shell shocked over lunch, which I spent most of just gazing at the diamond sparkler sitting there on my finger. Did I look any different? Could people tell? Of course not, but how can it be so that when something changes so much, it doesn't have any outward signs at all?

It didn't really start to sink in until much later, when we started to phone people and tell them the good news. Someday soon, we actually have to sit down and organise - and go through with - a wedding.

As I reluctantly took the ring off my finger that night and put it to bed in its little velvet lined box, I had something of an out of body feeling - like it was somebody else playing out this scenario that I've imagined so many times before.

Seven years ago I met a guy in a bar. He asked me if I wanted a shot - I said yes. We found each other then we lost each other then we found each other again. We didn't know where it would lead. But he turned out to be my rock, my best friend, and really, it couldn't have gone anywhere else.

I couldn't be any happier. And this time I know it's safe for me to say that.

Happy Crack, Bar Fanny and other silly names

****The cast is off but the hand is still a bit rubbish. Apparently I need ten sessions of physiotherapy! Anyway, another short one in the meantime - a short trip down memory lane, with hilarious pictures courtesy of the fantastic Jim. Who else would think of making a collection of rude bar names?*****

I've loved every single day of living in Spain. But it was still a real wrench getting up at 6am to go to work, back when I had businessmen and women to teach English to.

The train to Granollers, just short of an hour away from Barcelona, was grey and grim in the morning. It smelt of London in the winter. You could have been a commuter stepping off at London Bridge, especially the days you had to open your umbrella as you walked out into the pelting rain.

But the one thing that always cheered me up, stupidly so, was walking past Happy Crack on the way to the language school. Ridiculous name for a kebab shop. ridiculous name for anything really. But it always had me chuckling under my crappy umbrella as I splashed through puddles - put the day off on a good foot.

I never took a photo of it. It's probably shut down now and turned into something else with a regular name. I missed a trick there. But there are others - even better - still standing in Barcelona to this day. My good friend Jim has captured them for prosperity so thought I'd share them with you - hope you like them.

Only in Spain

Most things you get used to. Dead bodies on the news don't get to you like they first did; dodgy men shouting "guapa" at you on the street fail to ruffle your feathers. But once in a while something is so off key that it really kicks you up the arse and makes you wonder if you're the only one thinking: Is this wrong?

The wrist is meaning I still can't write anything extensive, but I just had to share this advertisement with you, glimpsed over the bloke's shoulder while he was reading his sports paper. It's for an online betting website. The tagline simply says: "Addicted to football?" Amusing or morally wrong, or a bit of both? They probably couldn't get away with it in England, that's for sure.