(Sheila) We drive out to Igualada, about an hour out of Barcelona past Montserrat, to what turns out to be our best gig yet. The audience positively loves us and we have figured out the best way to communicate with them, besides playing music. Paula conjures up a few words and sentences in Spanish, dutifully written on cheat sheets at the base of the mic stand (we would love to speak the preferred language of the province, Catalan, but no such luck even though it seems close to French - the one thing we all have in common). All four of us took French in high school rather than Spanish) and I simply translate into English. This seems to amuse the audience, as they understand our English better than our Spanish. It amuses us too. On a Thursday night in Igualada the crowd is thin at 11pm but by the time we hit our stride for our second set after 12 the place is packed. They never sleep here. Oh, and the house restaurant serves us a meal that includes a chicken wing of oven-roasted, free-range chicken. I look around to see if anyone notices that rather than be impolite, I eat the chicken and ignore my 10-year-old vegetarian tendencies. It's delicious.