Dear Diary. This morning I was woken up at 7 AM by an emergency alert on my phone. It sounded like a siren. Girlfriend's phone was the same. The alert said:

Risk of flooding due to river overflow. Avoid travel until 5 PM. Stay away from rivers.

The first thing I did was go check out the nearest river. I wanted to see what it looked like. And it was awesome. It was like the River Rapids ride at Alton Towers, with white choppy waters and a fast current. I stood on a bridge and watched as huge amounts of water passed underneath. It was still dark because it was only 8 AM and it's winter.

Then I realised: I had the opportunity to be the first person in Girona to film the river and make it into an Instagram reel. So I went around filming the river from various angles.

Then I went to the local indoor market to get out of the rain, and sat on a bench and edited the reel together on my phone in about twenty minutes. People were probably thinking, "Who's this strange guy sitting there alone and weirdly engaged with his phone at 8:30 in the morning?" I finished editing it and posted it to Instagram. And now it has 70,000 views, 2,000 likes, and 1,000 shares, so it just proves how important it is to be the first person to do something.

Anyway, schools were cancelled today, so the kids were at home today. Girlfriend doesn't have a job now, so she's always at home anyway. After lunch, I asked the kids if they wanted to go out and see the river. Girlfriend said it would be dangerous, but I said it would be fine. If the river started flooding, we could have easily outrun it, I reckoned. So we got to the river, and 3-year-old sat there in a pushchair looking shocked at how much water there was. We walked up to the cathedral, and everything was closed. I tried to get food for 8-year-old at the local Spar, but it was closed.

Anyway, that was my day.

Dear Diary. Last year, for my 38th birthday, Girlfriend bought me a gift certificate for an indoor skydiving experience. But I didn't really feel like going indoor skydiving. When I was a teenager, I would have been excited to do it, but now that I'm 38, that urge has left me, along with the urge to ride roller coasters, drive go-karts, drink alcohol, and have any kind of fun.

But Girlfriend's been nagging me to use the gift certificate because it expires soon. I didn't want it to go to waste either, so today I suggested we use it: that I finally go indoor skydiving.

The skydiving place was in a town called Empuriabrava. Empuriabrava is normally a 50-minute drive from Girona, but today was a farmers' protest. I don't have a photo of the protest because you're not allowed to take photos while driving, but the main road was closed, and we had to take a detour that added another ten minutes to the journey. Don't farmers have any kind of consideration to people trying to get to important indoor skydiving appointments? Anyway, we arrived at the indoor skydiving place. It was a big building on an industrial estate. A big sign said WINDOOR. What is a Windoor? A cross between a window and a door? Inside, it was spookily empty, and we had to take the stairs to the second floor to find the reception. It was a big room with a big glass tube in it, and inside the tube was a man in a red jumpsuit enthusiastically zooming around and doing backflips. I later learned his name was Augusto Bartelle. (And I just googled his name and apparently he's a professional skydiving athlete, so skydiving is his JOB??)

There was a family already getting ready to go in. The instructor (a Scottish man called James) said I could join them instead of waiting another half an hour for my slot, so I said okay. James looked a bit like a Pound Shop Chris Evans from the Captain America films.

James told me to make sure my pockets were empty. Then we all put on jumpsuits and helmets, and then James took us to the wind tunnel. Having never done skydiving before, I had no idea what to expect. I imagined everyone would get their own personal wind tunnel, and we'd spend half an hour in there flying about and having a laugh. But instead, there was only one wind tunnel in the entire building. First we had to put in earplugs, because of the noise of the wind. Then we took turns going in the wind tunnel. A turn meant spending one minute in the wind tunnel while James held onto you to make sure you didn't go flying off. Everyone got two turns, and each turn was a minute. I learned that Girlfriend had paid €79.99 for me to do this two-minute experience, which made it the most expensive minutes of my life.

Sometimes Augusto Bartelle would take a turn as well. Weirdly, he had a one litre carton of coconut milk with him, and sometimes he would take a few sips before putting it back under the bench.

Afterwards, when I tried to get my earplugs out, I discovered they were stuck in my ears. A man at reception had to tease them out with a pair of tweezers from the first aid box from under the counter.

Girlfriend asked me if I'd enjoyed the experience. I told her I had been too busy trying not to smack into walls to enjoy it. Girlfriend pointed out that James the instructor had been holding onto me the entire time.

Afterwards, we drove through Empuriabrava. I have no interest in anything that's not directly related to my daily life, so I had no idea what Empuriabrava was. My first clue that something was odd was that all the streets were in a grid pattern, which is unusual for a small Spanish town. On the satnav, the street layout looked a dinosaur's rib cage. My next clue was when I looked out the side window of the car and saw a canal stretching off into the distance with boats. Then another canal. And another one.

It turns out Empuriabrava is some kind of boat town. It has 25 kilometres of canals, which is about half the canals in Venice. The town seems to have more canals than roads. All the roads have houses on them, and all the houses face onto canals, so if you forget which door is your front door and which door is your back door, you could step out your back door by mistake and fall into a canal. Wikipedia calls it a "residential marina" and says Empuriabrava is "the largest residential marina in Europe".

Here is another fact about Empuribrava: it has a lot of parking spaces. Every single road had parking spaces along it. And all the parking spaces were free. It was as if the person who designed Empuribrava really, really hated driving around, unable to find a parking space, so he drew parking spaces along every single road. Whereas other cities would have an extra lane to drive in, Empuribrava has parking spaces.

I parked almost right next to the beach, in front of a hotel that looked like a cruise ship. The beach was almost deserted. This was January, but in summer, I imagine it fills up with thousands of people. And the beach was huge, one of the biggest beaches I've seen. The sand stretched off for miles.

We ate lunch in a place called Enjoy it. And after lunch, we walked back along the beach. The kids played at a playground, and another fact about Empuriabrava is that it has great playgrounds. There was a children's-sized pirate ship, a 360 rotating seat with hand-controlled digger (something I've only ever seen in Stafford in a playground next to my brother's old apartment), and two spiderwebs connected with a spiderweb bridge, among other things. It puts Girona's playgrounds to shame.

The sun was setting, and our shadows were incredibly long. The whole beach was almost deserted. There was one man walking along the shore and that was about it. We pretty much had the beach to ourselves. Girlfriend wanted to go home because it was getting cold, so we left.

So that was Empuribrava. I didn’t enjoy indoor skydiving, but I did enjoy the parking.

I was listening to Red Hot Chilli Peppers just now and I realised, their music is really really good, maybe even the best music in the world, but their lyrics are awful, worse than than any lyrics on any pop song ever, even worse than "I don't want to see a ghost. / It's the sight that I fear most / I'd rather have a piece of toast" in "Life" by Des'ree, which is a genuinely awful lyric, and even as an eleven-year-old I knew that, but at least it's a memorable lyric and easy to remember, and the random "I'd rather have some toast" line is cute and funny so it kind of works, but I keep listening to Red Hot Chilli Peppers and I keep hoping the lyrics are going to be good and memorable, but they rarely are, and it's the fault of Anthony Kiedis, the frontman and also the lyric writer.

By the way, I googled Anthony Kiedis, and the second result, after his Wikipedia article, is his Instagram account, where he posts photos of his dogs, his children, and random photos of himself, and he only has 2,071 followers. The frontman of megastar Red Hot Chili Peppers, one of the biggest rock bands in the world, and my grandmother probably has more followers.

I am a big fan of Anthony Kiedis, believe it or not, and I'm envious of his life, which he has spent mostly doing drugs and sleeping with women (he's probably lived a hundred times the life of an ordinary man), but his lyrics are awful.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers song with the worst lyrics is perhaps "Give It Way", which is a great song, but you cannot sing along to it because it's impossible to remember the words.

Here are some of the words:

Low brow, but I rock a little know how

No time for the piggies or the hoosegow

Get smart, get down with the pow-wow

Never been a better time than right now

No time for the piggies or the hoosegow? What even is a "hoosegow"? I asked ChatGPT, and it claims hoosegow is an old slang term for a jail.

When you're driving in your car, and you put some music on the stereo, what would you rather sing? "Whoa-oh, we're halfway there, Whoa-oh, we're living on a prayer?" Or "No time for piggies or old slang for a jail?"

What about the start of "Give It Away"? Surely the lyrics there must be good.

What I've got, you've got to give it to your mama

What I've got, you've got to give it to your papa

What I've got, you've got to give it to your daughter

You do a little dance, and then you drink a little water

So what he's got, I have to give it to my mom, my dad, and my daughter. What does he have that's so good that I need to share it with all my family members? A viral Instagram video? The drug Anthony Kiedis was on when he wrote these lyrics?

And then I dance? And then drink some water?

Why water?

WHY ARE THESE LYRICS SO BAD?

Here are some more.

There's a river born to be a giver

Keep you warm, won't let you shiver

His heart is never gonna wither

Come on everybody, time to deliver

Okay, so there's a river. And this river was "born to be a giver". Sounds like a generous river. Who is this river, Santa Claus? What's this river going to give me, presents?

And this river won't let people shiver. It's going to keep you nice and toasty and warm. It's a nice, warm river. Maybe it's a thermal hot spring. Or maybe someone peed in it?

And this river has a heart, too, apparently. I suppose it must have a heart if it's giving out presents like Santa Claus. But it's not just any heart, it's a heart that won't wither. Is it not going to wither because it's eternally young and strong? Or just because wither happens to rhyme with "shiver" and "river"?

How can music so good have lyrics that are so bad? It's the paradox that is Red Hot Chili Peppers. Maybe in the near future, an AI can write new lyrics and rerecord all the songs with the new lyrics, in Anthony Kiedis's voice, and we'll finally have the best music in the world.

It was upsetting today because a woman I thought of as a friend wrote to me saying she doesn't want to be friends with me anymore. I asked her why, and she says that I said something that upset her. I asked her for clarification, and she just wrote "I don't have capacity". It is kind of hurtful because she didn't even give me an explanation. I asked another friend what he thought, and he said, "just ignore it, for your own mental health."

---

I went to the supermarket and I saw two dads, they're a couple, they're Girlfriend's friends. They were with their daughter. I couldn't remember the daughter's name. Normally I don't speak to them because I try to avoid speaking to anyone I don't have to, but I realised it would be rude not to talk to them, so I said hello. And then I think our conversation went like this:

Me. "How is the baby?" (I looked at her, she was about 1.5 years old). "Ok, she's not a baby anymore."

Dad: "She's good"

Me. "I forgot her name."

Dad: "It's Olivia."

Me. "Olivia? Did you name her after the song?" (There's a famous song in Catalonia called Olivia)

Dad: (laughing nervously) "No."

Me. "Well ok. See you around."

I think he thought I was joking about whether or not he named his daughter after the Catalan pop song "Olivia". I wasn't. I was genuinely curious.

---

There is a celebrity mom in 3-year-old's class. When 3-year-old came home from school, I asked him if he saw Celebrity Mom this afternoon. He said "Yes". Girlfriend explained that she had actually spoken to Celebrity Mom after school, and in fact today wasn't the first conversation she's had with Celebrity Mom, it was maybe the third or fourth? I was dumbstruck. I haven't even said a word to Celebrity Mom yet, and yet Girlfriend's here already having multiple conversations with her?

Just yesterday, I said to Girlfriend, "Is it weird I haven't even said a single word to Celebrity Mom yet?", and Girlfriend reassured me it's totally normal, yet here's Girlfriend, already having conversations with her on an almost daily basis, like BFFs.

I actually see Celebrity Mom every morning, but my autism means I don't know what the correct way to greet her, so I just ignore her to avoid saying or doing the wrong thing. Celebrity Mom means a lot to me because I'm a big fan of her music, and I notice her every day and don't know how to approach her, so it's hurtful that Girlfriend has already started making friends with her with ease. It makes the unfairness of being autistic even more obvious. I saw an Instagram video (some Instagram videos help a lot with learning about social interaction) where a guy sees a woman and she briefly looks at him, then the next time they see each other they smile at each other, then the next time they say hello to each other, which is like a revelation to me. ChatGPT says the same thing: 'You don’t need to “start a conversation.” You only need a tiny first move—like a smile or a “Bon dia” when you pass her. Once you’ve done that a couple of times, it’s easier to add a short phrase, like: “Com va?” (How’s it going?)' I didn't know this. Isn't it weird I didn't know this? I think the fact I didn't know it makes it even more clear I am autistic.

Dear Diary. My apartment is a fucking mess, and it's always a fucking mess, and it leaves me wondering how long until I die so I can finally escape this hellhole I call a home.

Here’s the entrance:

Hanging on the children’s pegs we have:

• 2 coats (we are currently in summer - the middle of July in fact - so we don't even need coats)
• 3 bags, one of which isn’t used and has a broken zip
• 3 caps. Why 3 caps when we only have two children???

On the shoe rack there is:

• 3 more bags
• Lots of shoes disorganised and lying around

The shoe rack holds the shoes we don’t use, and scattered around the shoe rack are shoes we do use. Why are there so many shoes we don't use?? Why not get rid of them??

Hanging up on the adults' coat pegs, we have 1 coat, two jumpers (this is July, I remind you, when we don't need jumpers or coats), a child's apron, and 2 more bags.

Why are there so many bags?? I'm going to count them to see who is responsible for there being so many bags:

• Bags belonging to girlfriend: 4
• Bags belonging to oldest son: 3
• Bags belonging to youngest son: 2
• Bags belonging to me: 0

When I open the cupboard in the kids' bedroom to put the coats away, this sight greets me:

Do they secretly own a coat shop? Are my kids secretly running a coat shop from their bedroom? That's the only explanation I can think of for why their wardrobe is stuffed with coats.

Dear Diary. Today was a hike I'd organised. In the morning I nervously looked at my phone to see how many people were coming, and the RSVP list had 25 people coming and 5 maybes.

"So it looks like I have 25 people coming to my hike and 5 maybes," I noted to Girlfriend. "Is this something I need to worry about?"

"I don't want to hear any more about your hike!" she snapped. (I talk to her a lot about event organisation stuff. Probably too much.)

I set out for the hike. As I was walking there, I realised I'd need to give a speech, something to explain who I was and what the hike was about. Nervously, I pulled out my phone, opened ChatGPT, and typed, "I’m about to lead a hike. Can you tell me what I should say before the start of the hike?"

In seconds, ChatGPT produced a polished 200-word speech. I skimmed through it:

"In case of emergencies, my phone number is [number], and I have a basic first-aid kit with me.'"

I didn’t have a first-aid pack.

"If you have any allergies or medical conditions I should know about, feel free to tell me privately before we start."

Why would I tell that to people? Any first-aid I’d attempt might end up killing them!

I arrived at the starting point outside a café, where a large group was already gathered, chatting. It was surreal. There were around 30 people. I greeted a few people, including Sofia, a Greek woman I’d made a community admin a couple of weeks ago.

After waiting 20 minutes for latecomers, I could tell people were getting restless. It was time to give the speech to start the hike. By the way, this week I’ve lost my voice. Two days ago I sounded like Dumbledore gasping, “Water, Harry,” in The Half-Blood Prince. Today I sound like Roz the receptionist from Monsters, Inc.

“Guys? Guys!” I waved my arms and croaked. A few people turned, but most kept chatting. “Guys! Over here!”

Eventually, everyone was watching me. “Hi guys, I’m Paul. Sorry about my voice, I’ve got a cold. But it’s great to see so many people here today! We’ve never had this many people at an event before. In fact, it's a new record. So thank you for all coming.”

People started spontaneously clapping. It felt good. But I still wished a real organiser would show up and take over from me.

“Today, we’re hiking up Sant Miquel mountain," I continued. "It's a 5 kilometers to the top, which should take about an hour a half, and then we'll have lunch at the castle at the top. Then we'll head back down and we should be home for 3 PM. By the way, I’ve never actually organized a hike before, or even done this hike before.” People laughed. “If anyone knows the way, feel free to lead!”

I had the hike route in my phone just in case but there an English man called John who had done the hike before, and he led the way with his Strave app on his smartwatch.

We reached the top of the mountain around 1 PM. I asked someone to take a group photo, but everyone looked sad in the shot. So the guy taking the photo said, “Everyone, put your hands like this!” Everyone put their hands up and suddenly they were all smiling and happy. I should’ve asked that guy to be the official photographer from now on.

We got back at almost 3 PM, like I thought we would. Overall, today's been a huge success. I counted and I think we were 30 people after all! One woman even told me it was her favourite event so far.

Maybe 30 people to one event if the new norm of the events I organise in Girona. Or maybe this is the peak and it's all a painful decline from here. Either way, I organised I hike today.

Dear Diary. I felt worse today than yesterday. Low on energy. Skipped the gym today because of how tired I felt.

I picked up 6-year-old from his acting class this evening and one of the moms gave me a concerned look and said, "You look ill. Really tired and pale."

"I've eaten barely anything the past five days," I said. "Food makes me want to vomit. I tried eating a packet of crisps yesterday but became disgusted by the taste after about the tenth crisp. I think I have food poisoning."

She looked shocked and appalled. "You shouldn't be eating crisps if you have an upset stomach."

I told her I ate cake today, had a raw carrot yesterday, and a big box of salad as well yesterday (to get my five a day). Also today I was eating an all-bran cereal straight out the packet to get fiber. She looked horrified.

"You can't eat fibre with a stomach bug," she said. "You're supposed to avoid fibre."

I didn't know that, I thought fibre was good for your gut health.

Girlfriend gave me a list of things I can safely eat with gastroenteritis: pureed apple, rice, soup, pasta, omelette, white bread, yoghurt, banana, boiled potatoes, chicken and fish. These are all soft foods that are easy to digest. I've never done this special list before. Though come to think of it, I have done it several times with the kids, when they had tummy troubles.

For dinner Girlfriend cooked me a chicken breast and some boiled potatoes. I was so hungry I ate the lot. I also had half a large jar of apple puree. Afterwards, I felt MUCH better. It was like the difference between night and day. It was like the difference between Lazarous lying cold stiff dead on a slab and Lazarous coming back to life, donning shades, and mixing some sick beats with the apostles. I felt happy, far happier than I normally do. It must be how monks feel when they come out of a month-long fast. I feel like I could go out with some cool late teens and party 'til the break of dawn.

Incidentally I found out Girona has clubs today (I was browsing through r/Girona and came across them). I was amazed as I never knew Girona had clubs. There's one photo of a club which is a mass of young cool people dancing euphorically in what looks like the Bronx from Buffy the Vampire Slayer:

I think the next stage of the social group I manage is to meet every Friday or Saturday night at these clubs. I'll wear a bright yellow T-shirt that says "MR SOCIAL" and I'll buy everyone in the club drinks, but I'll escape out the back door before the bartender can charge my card.

Today Daniela the German woman organised a hike to Gorgues de la Muga. I planned to join it, with three people.

But in the morning, someone posted, "The weather forecast is not great for today. Are you considering cancelling thi trip?" and someone else posted "Is it going to be raining?"

Daniela replied, "Hello just in the morning a bit I think so we should be fine."

I checked the weather forecast myself and it said there would be heavy rain. But I couldn't imagine it raining because the weather's been hot and sunny all week, so I put on some shorts and a tank top, rubbed sun cream onto my arms and face, and grabbed my sunglasses. I left my coat behind because obviously it's summer and I don't need a coat.

I drove to the starting point, a hiking area called Gorgues de la Muga, which is just shy of the French border. Three other people were in the car: my English friend Norman; a Brazilian woman in her 50s called Regina; and Regina's adult daughter Marina.

We were almost there when the skies opened and rain began falling in torrents. Lightning flashed across the sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance. I switched the wipers to the fastest speed. Whish wash, whish wash.

"You guys realise we're going to be hiking in this weather?" I said.

I squinted as I drove, trying to see through the rain. Norman was sitting with me upfront.

“One of my passions is musicals,” he said. “I once saw one in Germany but couldn’t understand a word because they were singing in German. It was a group of men on roller skates pretending to be a train.”

Norman's distracting chatter made me miss a turning, which added an extra twenty minutes to the journey. Because of this, we arrived at the park twenty minutes late. A park ranger greeted us at the entrance. He was wearing a cowboy hat with a gold star. He held up his hand. I stopped the car and wound down the window.

"Where are you going?" he said. Raindrops were bouncing off his hat.

"Oh, we're doing a hike," I said as if it was normal to hike in pouring rain. "We're meeting some people up ahead."

"Oh, those people," he said, chuckling, as if "those people" were hiking noobs who had no idea what they were letting themselves in for. "Well, just go right on ahead."

"Thanks," I said.

"Oh— and good luck," he added ominously.

We arrived at the hike and got out of the car. Everyone else was already there waiting for us. They were an eclectic bunch of people from all different nationalities. I counted fifteen people, including two Catalan school teachers, a woman from Turkey, a German couple, and a mother and daughter from Poland. I was alarmed to see the daughter looked only about six years old. She was wearing a baby blue poncho with a picture of Skye from Paw Patrol.

Nearly everyone was wearing raincoats, I noticed. One man was even carrying an umbrella. I didn't even have a raincoat, so my tank top and shorts were already getting wet.

A blonde German woman called Daniela had organized the hike.

"You did not read the email?" Daniela asked me.

"What email?" I said.

"We sent everyone an email with the hike information. It said to bring a raincoat."

I didn't read any email.

First Daniela made us all play icebreaker games to get to know each other better, despite us standing in a car park in the rain. After the icebreaker games, she said, "So today I thought we could make things more interesting by doing speed-dating. Pink means you are single and ready to mingle. Blue means you already have a partner and just looking for friends."

I noticed no one took a bracelet, probably because they just wanted to get the hike over with and go home. I wanted to wear a pink bracelet but couldn't because I already have a girlfriend.

Undiscouraged by the lack of interest in her bracelets, Daniela said, "Great! So let's start the hike! But first, has everyone has signed their disclaimers?"

The disclaimers were legal documents protecting Daniela from liability if anyone got injured.

Everyone nodded. I nodded too, but only vaguely, since I hadn't actually signed mine as I couldn't be bothered.

The hike began. But we had only walked two minutes when the rain began pelting down. We all ran for shelter under a tree.

"If it carries on like this, I might go back home," said one woman.

The rain petered off. Next, we had to cross a river. But there was no bridge so we had to wade across.

My hiking boots are supposed to be waterproof. But there's a limit to how waterproof my shoes are. You exceed the limit if you submerge the entire boot in a river, as I did.

I offered to carry the six-year-old girl across the river on my shoulders. She happily said yes. But when I stepped into the water, I slipped on a wet rock, and the girl almost fell off my shoulders. Some of the guys had to run over and grab me to keep me steady.

Then came the most dangerous part of the hike: a narrow, steep embankment running alongside the river's edge. The ground was slippery with mud. We progressed slowly, in single file, gripping trees for support. I slipped once or twice but managed to stay upright. A misstep meant tumbling down the slope and possibly into the river. I kept thinking, "This is actually dangerous." It reminded me of the kind of foolhardy misadventure from the British TV show 999, which showed real cases paramedics attend to:

"Tonight on 999: On a rainy day in the mountains, a group of inexperienced hikers set off for what they thought would be a pleasant stroll. Little did they know, the mild rain forecasted by one hiker's weather app would soon become some of the worst rain Spain had seen for years. The mud on these pathways makes it easy for hikers to slip and lose their footing, which is precisely what happened to this group of unprepared hikers. Their bodies were found several weeks later, bloated with river water."

"Don't worry everyone, this is the hard part," said Daniela, although even she looked uncertain. "It is just a little bit further, and then it gets a lot easier."

The six-year-old girl was struggling to climb a muddy hill.

"You are doing really well, Stella!" said Daniela. "You know, when this is over, I think we will all deserve some ice cream!"

Daniela was trying to be light and positive about the situation but I could tell from her worried expression that she was actually thinking about what would happen if one of us slipped and died and the disclaimer templates she found on the internet didn't hold up in court as legal documents.

But miraculously we all reached the top of the embankment without falling or dying.

"Look at my fingernails!" Norman shrieked like a teenage girl. He held up his fingers and they were covered in mud. His knees and hands were caked with mud too.

We continued walking. The rain continued falling. After an hour of walking in the rain, we stopped at the ruins of a castle for a break. The rain didn't stop; in fact, it was coming down even heavier than ever. We took shelter under some stairs. But the stairs had holes in them and the water got through so we still got soaked. I was more wet than if I'd been on the rapids at Alton Towers.

Next, we waded through another river and walked up a hill in single file. The hill was overgrown with plants and branches so we had to fight our way through like Sylvester Stallone in a Vietnamese war jungle, only I didn't have a machete. Norman was in front of me. As Norman pushed through the branches, he didn't notice the branches swinging back at me and hitting me in the face.

"Let's see if we can hear frogs," said Daniela.

I listened. And I could hear frogs. Squelch. Squelch. Squelch. Squelch.

Then I realised it was just the sound of Norman's shoes.

The hill kept going up and up. A rivulet of rainwater ran between our legs and down the hill. I felt as small and bedraggled as a hobbit climbing Mount Doom.

"Look at my t-shirt'," said Norman. His t-shirt showed Kylie Minogue wearing a white dress and singing into a microphone. It was from Kylie's 2001 'Fever' world tour. "It's soaking wet," he complained. Maybe he was hoping we'd have a wet t-shirt competition.

Someone looked at me and said, "Fas cara de fred." (You look cold)

I could feel myself getting lightheaded. Then I remembered I'd eaten nothing today. So I pulled an apple out of my backpack and ate it. After the apple, I ate a sandwich.

"You eat a lot," said a Catalan woman.

"It's the opposite," I said. "All I've eaten so far today is an apple and this sandwich. I didn't have time this morning to eat breakfast and we haven't stopped for lunch."

We reached the top of the hill. The six-year-old girl was crying. Her hood was tightly up around her head and a towel was wrapped around her shoulders. She was pale and shivering. I offered to carry her again but she shook her head. She learned quickly.

"Congratulations, we made it!" said Daniela. Her left leg was scratched and bleeding. "This is the top of the mountain. I think we should all celebrate Stella because she is the youngest of the group and she has walked all this way by herself. Let's all clap for Stella."

Everyone clapped and cheered for the six-year-old girl.

"Does anyone else have any compliments they want to give to anyone?" asked Daniela.

"I like Norman's t-shirt," said one man.

"Paul," said Norman, turning to me. "Paul is a great friend and an amazing person."

I nodded.

Then a miracle happened: the rain stopped, the clouds parted, and the sun came out.

"It looks like the rain's stopped," said a Catalan guy called Alex.

Then the clouds regathered and the rain began falling again.

We walked back to our cars in the rain. I walked alongside another Catalan guy called Ivan. He's 45, tall, muscular, and shaven-headed. He works as a teacher at a school for disabled kids.

"I'm looking for a girlfriend but I haven't had a girlfriend in decades." (His actual words). "I want a woman who likes being outdoors, and open to new things, and it's hard to find a woman like that."

There were six women on the hike so I don't know what he was talking about.

We reached our cars. The little 6-year-old girl and her mom arrived last. We watched as they straggled back to the starting point. The girl shot us a murderous glare from under her hood as if she wanted to kill us all for making her do the hike. But I got her to laugh by pretending to hide a biscuit up my bum.

"So that is the end of the hike," said Daniela, smiling pleasantly, as if we'd just enjoyed a sunny stroll in a park instead of a three-hour hike in the rain. "Now comes the worst part!"

Wait, it was going to get even worse??

Still smiling, she pulled out a small card box. "This box is for donations, so if you liked my hike today, please feel free to put in however much you want."

A few people slipped money into the box, but my wallet was empty so I put nothing. Besides, I'll see Daniela later this week because she's also my therapist.

"Well, that's it everyone!" said Daniela, beaming. "Would anyone like to go to a restaurant for lunch?"

No one did. Everyone got in their cars, slammed the doors, and drove off.

Norman, Regina, Marina, and I got in my car. I was shivering from the cold so I turned the heating on. I couldn't wait to get home and have a nice cup of tea. I started the engine and reversed out of the parking spot.

"Does anyone want to do another hike after this one?" I said.

Everyone laughed.

"Personally, I'm sticking to something safer like rock climbing from now on," I added.

An hour later, I was home again. The rain had finally stopped. The entire trip had lasted seven hours but it felt longer.

It felt like the whole thing had been a vivid dream. But the mud on my boots begged to differ.

(I never did bother making a cup of tea.)

Today for the first time in my life I went on a hike. I drove there and gave a lift to three of the other hikers, all young women. Their average age was about 28 whereas I'm 37, so I felt like a dad driving a bunch of teenage girls in a car. We were listening to Daft Punk's One More Time playing on the stereo and so I decided that every time Daft Punk said "one more time" I would go around a roundabout again. We went around this roundabout about ten times. The women in the car loved it, they were screaming and laughing.

Anyway, we got to the hike five minutes late because I was driving the car around a roundabout. Everyone else had already arrived.

The hiking guide was a blonde German woman called Daniela. "Has everyone done hiking before?" she asked.

There were about twenty people in the group and they all murmured things like "yes" and "yep".

I put up my hand. "I haven't."

"You've never been on a hike?" said the guide.

"No," I said. "In fact, I told my girlfriend this yesterday and she said I'm strange because hiking is something everyone's done."

There was laughter from the group.

"Well don't worry," said the hiking guide. "You stay next to me at the front and you will be fine"

The hike started. Immediately I was at the back.

Next to me was an elderly woman with two walking poles. "You don't look like you've never hiked before," she said, eyeing my hiking shoes suspiciously. "You look prepared. You have hiking shoes."

"Those are just my everyday shoes," I said. "Last year I had a strained muscle in my leg and the pain was so bad that I had to use crutches for two weeks. So now I wear hiking shoes and they seem to help. I've even done a gym class in them once when I forgot my trainers."

I found out her name was Regina and she was from Brazil even though she looked Chinese. It turned out we go to the same gym, but I've never seen her because she does Zumba classes and I don't do Zumba classes because I have no natural ability for dancing.

"Did you go to the party yesterday?" I asked her.

"What party?" she asked.

"At the gym. There was a party because the gym is twenty years old."

"I didn't get invited to a party," she said. "Maybe it's because I do zumba classes. Zumba people don't get invited to parties," she said, laughing.

As the hike went on, I spoke to pretty much everyone there: a mom and her teenage son from California; a high school English teacher from Poland; a Croatian girl who had 2 dogs, 3 cats, and 4 chickens at home ("one of the chickens is a rooster, the others are his bitches" she said); a Russian woman; a biologist from Germany. It felt like speed dating, except instead of looking for a life partner, I was meeting potential friends.

We stopped at the top of a hill for meditation. It was quite a view: the wide blue sea lay before us, the waves sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight.

"Now, if everyone wants to sit down and close their eyes?" said Daniela.

Okay, so much for the view then.

We sat down on the ground and closed our eyes.

Daniela read through a meditation script that she later admitted she'd made using ChatGPT. I didn't feel particularly relaxed; I was more worried about trying to remember everyone's names.

After meditation, we carried on walking. I was walking in front of an Italian woman called Cristina.

"I like your socks," she said.

My socks had little pictures of pizza slices on them.

"All my socks have pictures on them," I said. "At home I have ones with burgers on them."

We walked and we talked and I learned she's doing a PhD in tourism. But she's going back to Italy soon.

"My boyfriend," she said, "His English is not so good. Sometimes he say me, 'I am hungry' and another day he say 'I am angry' and I cannot tell the difference"

"Just feed him some food," I said. "If he's hungry he'll eat it. If he's angry it'll calm him down because Italians love food."

She laughed. "That is good idea."

After that I spoke to a Polish school teacher called Irena. I told her I have some degree of autism. She told me about an autistic boy at her school. She said he gets bullied by the other kids. I had to blink back tears because he reminded me of myself when I was at school.

It was about four hours in when the hiking guide said, "Guys, I'm really sorry, but I just realised we're going the wrong way. We all have to turn around.'

Everyone turned around. I was now at the front of the group instead of the back.

"Okay," said the guide. "It looks like Paul's leading the way."

No pressure then. There was a path leading into a forest so I took one step forward, then another step. Step onto this rock, step down, step over that tree root. Jump up onto the boulder, jump off. Soon I was enthusiastically clambering onto fallen trees like Christopher Robin in the 100 Acre Wood. Hiking is easy. It's just walking. Everyone was following me. This was great.

We reached a cove. Stony beach, blue water. We stripped down to our bathing costumes and swam into the sea. I'm scared of jellyfish.

"Don't step on the black stuff, there could be sea urchins," someone shouted.

Oh great, another thing to worry about.

We floated in the water for a bit and a German guy called Kai asked me, "So Paul, how's your first hike going?"

"It's easier than I thought it would be," I said. "Hiking's just walking, isn't it? Which means I hike every day. I hike my sons to school. I hike to shops to buy food. I hike to the toilet. I hike four steps from the sofa to get the TV remote and then I hike four steps back. So I'm hiking all the time. In fact, I've been hiking all my life."

Everyone laughed.

"What did you think hiking was going to be?" someone else asked, their head bobbing up and down in the water.

"I don't know," I said. "Walking up a mountain. Wearing boots with studs in them. Using ropes. A goat called Gwendoline who carries our stuff. A mountain sherpa named Pancho who says things like 'too much snow, too dangerous, we must go back'. That kind of thing."

There were two children swimming next to a buoy in the distance. One of the people on the hike, a 30-year-old Peruvian man, said to me, "Let's go touch that buoy," said Cesar.

I hoped he said 'buoy' and not 'boy'.

We swam over to the children. Then I realised they weren't children at all. They were two women from the social group: Maria and Maya.

We swam over to some rocks. Maria climbed out of the sea and onto the rocks. She climbed up onto the highest rock and dived into the water. She emerged moments later, smiling. I decided to do it too. I climbed up on the rock and jumped off. Everyone clapped when I emerged from the water.

This is good, I thought. The water was cold, the jellyfish were probably surrounding me, but this was good, I felt alive. I decided this was even the high point of my year so far. I didn't feel like a middle-aged dad anymore. I felt like I was just me again.

We all walked back to our cars. By this point, it was early evening.

"Does anyone want to get a drink?" asked the hiking guide.

"I told my girlfriend I'd be home by now," I said.

I phoned Girlfriend. "The people from the hike are going to a bar together so I wondered if it's okay if I stay a couple more hours?" I said.

I heard her tut down the phone. "You said you would be home by now," she said. "Your children are asking if you'll be home for dinner."

"I should be home for seven," I said. "It's just to get a drink at the bar."

"Just do whatever you want," she said and hung up.

But you only live once so I went with the rest of the group to a bar. The nearest bar was at a caravan park so we drove there. Signs read things like "Open vanaf 8u30 Elke ochtend verse". At first, I thought dyslexic people had written the signs, but it turned out the signs were just in Dutch. Groups of Dutch people were watching a Euro 2024 football match. The men were bald and the women were overweight. They looked exactly like English people: fat, wrinkled, and pink from sunburn. In the UK, they'd be dinner ladies and Greggs bakers. It was only when they spoke and strange words came out their mouths that you could tell they were Dutch.

I sat down and had a beer. I felt exhausted. Not from hiking but from being social all day.

The other hikers were talking about something when I overheard, "In Germany, I had fuck all the time but here I cannot find any fuck".

Okay. What.

"Oh my god, I love fuck too," said an Italian woman. "I used to have fuck every day after lunch."

What the fuck is going on.

"Fuck's so good, it's a shame they don't have it here."

"I love taking photos of fuck and putting the photos on Instagram!"

"I put fuck in my cakes."

Did she just say she puts fuck in her cakes?

"Excuse me," I said. "Did you just say you put fuck in your cakes?"

There was a moment of silence. Then everyone burst into laughter.

"Quark," said a German girl. "We're talking about quark."

It turned out quark is a type of cheese with the taste and texture of yoghurt. In my defence, they were pronouncing 'quark' just like 'fuck'.

Maybe the guy who invented it went "FUCK, that's good. I'm calling it 'Fuck'." But when he tried to copyright the name, the man at the copyright office said, "You can't call it that, mate. We'll have complaints from people. You can call it 'quark' instead."

When I walked back to the car, one of the tyres looked deflated. And then a Russian girl called Kristina pointed out a scratch on the car.

Fucking Dutch people, I thought. First they let the air out my tyre and now they've scratched my car. What's wrong with these people? Now I won't get home in time to say goodnight to my son. I hope they're happy.

But it turned out the scratch was already there, and the tyre wasn't deflated after all.

I love Dutch people, they're the best in the world.

We left late because a car attached to a caravan had to reverse backward out of the park gate. I had no social energy left to talk on the way home so I drove in silence while the three girls in the back of the car talked between themselves. I was too socially exhausted to take anymore. It was too much for my autistic brain to have to handle. The girls talked about:

- a hot guy from the group today (not me)

- a creepy guy called Piero who tells all the girls they're beautiful and sends them private messages that say things like "I hope you had a good day today"

They probably talk about me when I'm not there. I imagine it's like this:

"That guy Paul, he's so old, right?"

"Yeah, isn't he like 50 or something?"

"I know he has children already."

"Did you see the white hairs in his beard? I mean, why is he hanging out with us if he's so old? And another thing, did you see his socks? His socks had pictures of pizza slices on them. What kind of guy wears pizza socks?"

I finally arrived home at 9 pm. The first thing I did was pull off my shoes. My feet stank of sweat. Then I checked the kids; they were already in bed. Girlfriend was angry at me for staying out so late. But after an hour she wasn't too mad anymore so I guess I'm okay.

Before I went to bed I thought about the autistic boy at Irena's school being bullied and I found myself crying. I cried for about five minutes. It was heavy crying, with tears and mucus. The last time I cried this heavily was over a decade ago.

I sent Irena a message asking her to look out for the autistic boy:

Sad to think about the autistic kid at your school getting bullied. Made me genuinely cry just now. Do me a favour and look out for him if you can.

I went to bed.