Apparently, we are at that point in the pregnancy where I have to blog everyday so that our whereabouts are constantly known and thus avoid frantic phone calls and emails from concerned friends and relatives wondering if we were in the hospital beginning the old “heave ho”.

Fear not, faithful readers. Everything seems to be on schedule for Little Girl’s scheduled September 1 arrival. If anyone attempted to contact us over the past few days and got no answer, it’s just because Jan and I had left town to “get away from it all” for a few days. We love you for worrying.

I had promised Jan that, once my job on the film had ended, I would sweep her away up the sunny Spanish coast to a romantic and tranquil beach paradise. Knowing that we really should be here at home in Barcelona for the last two weeks of August just in case, this was our only window of opportunity. So I booked us four days and three nights at the Aqua-Hotel Bella Playa in Malgrat de Mar.

After a July that could only be described as Africa hot, all we wanted was a hotel with air-conditioning, a swimming pool, and a stocked restaurant – all next to the beach. And then, two days before we set off on our hedonistic holiday adventure, God decided to lower the temperature by 20 degrees and hide the sun behind a panoramic wall of depressing gray yuckiness. Thanks, God. So instead of wasting the monetary equivalent of a living room home cinema surround sound system (it will be mine!), we decided to take advantage of a very generous offer from Juls and Joan to stay with them in their family’s summer apartment down the coast in Calafell.

Between the clouds and drizzle, we were actually able to enjoy one sunny afternoon by the pool. The rest of our days were filled with rest, reading, and restaurants. Oh yeah, and Charlie – Juls and Joan’s 3 year old son. Charlie enjoys having you tell him stories (mostly about dragons and super heroes), jumping on the giant trampolines at the beach, hitting you with swords, and asking, “What did he do that for?” in a very catchy little sing-song sorta way. I was awarded the title of official pram-pusher once Charlie discovered that I was easily the fastest pusher with a passion for popping wheelies, chasing doggies, randomly stopping short, and violently swerving through pedestrian beach traffic. If nothing else, I got a good workout.