I catch a coach to Seville. The bus driver plays Sonic Youth’s Rather Ripped. Perfect soundtrack to a lovely trip. I stay in a restored ancient house built in the 15th Century; can that be right? It used to be a convent. Heavy wooden doors, big old beams. Pigeons cooing in a tiny window of my room. I tell my friend “My room has Jesus pictures” and, “I can hear people fucking upstairs”.