Well, that was a slightly longer break than I'd planned, but I really did need a rest. We got back from holiday on Sunday after two weeks in the French Pyrenees, staying in the lovely town of Prades, Pablo Casals' adopted home. Although we arrived just too late for the music festival named after him, a Catalan summer school opened soon afterwards, which meant there was a concert in the town square every evening. I fell in love with the traditional wind band, known as the cobla, and I now wish I'd plucked up the courage to learn the steps of the sardane, the circle dance that was banned in the days of Franco. And no, I never got to grips with Catalan either. What a tricky language. On the page it can make sense. Hearing it spoken is another thing all together.