Mown down in Barcelona

I am not sure how I survived Barcelona. To begin with, it was stiflingly hot: mind you, when I got back to Ayr it was even stiflinger, to coin a new word. But at least in Ayr I am unlikely to be mown down by traffic.
  In Barcelona, I am. Or rather, I was. First I evade the cars, which are coming at me from the wrong direction. I quickly check that there's no tram coming, too: I check in both directions because I haven't figured out which way the trams are going in relation to the traffic. Phew. Safe. Safe? Not a bit of it, I have forgotten that there is then a cycle path where completely lunatic cyclists hurtle down, no doubt frantically ringing their bike bells, only I can't hear them. Twice I was nearly run over by a cyclist (not the same one).
   And to cap it all... well. I worked out that cars go right around a roundabout, not left. That was mostly good, but then I discovered that on some roundabouts, you can go either way. So I gaily stepped out, having ascertained that nothing was coming, only there was, from the other direction. I observed cars going round the roundabout both ways: afterwards I figured out it was a roundabout on a one-way street.
   But I have survived. And I wrote a short story in sunny Barcelona, of which more anon.
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