I thought it was an allergy, it could be a cold, or it might be both; whatever it is, I haven’t been feeling too well. Last night I even considered bowing out of attending the Flamenco concert that was booked as a birthday treat for me but I had been looking forward to it so I wrapped up warm and braved the cold night air (it felt nearly as cold as home yesterday).

Sat here in bed this morning, snivelling and sniffing away, it’s hard to believe that for two hours last night I was so enthralled by Tomas Garcia, the “guitarra flamenca” virtuouso, that all signs of my cold vanished. I would love to tell you all about the  dancer who captivated our hearts as she played the part of a doll on top of a music box; or the beautiful and soulful singer whose voice was enriched by the perfectly matching tone of the maestro; or the drummers, or the clapping, or the standing ovation and the calls for an encore; or the modest acceptance of the audience’s rapturous appreciation… And I would love to tell you more about how brilliantly Tomas Garcia played and how you would hardly even notice that he has only one hand… But I can’t tell you because the magic cure lasted only as long as the magical concert and now I am sick again; I’m like the dancing doll on a music box – it seems that I come to life when I hear the Spanish guitar…