It’s a family joke that no matter where we go on holiday, no matter how remote or how desolate, I will always find the quilting shop. Yesterday was no exception. We were in a tiny hilltop town in Catalonia which seemed only to have one cafe – in Spain? – but my eye was caught by the poster at the top of the post advertising quilting classes in another small Catalan town. I thought no more of it, until we stopped for coffee in St Quinze de Besora. Walking back to the car, I couldn’t help but spot the shop in the poster, even though it was shuttered up against the afternoon heat:
I’m not sure if it’s a gift or a curse, but funnily enough, no-one was prepared to wait around until 5.00 pm with me until it opened.
