Friday, 4 August 2006


It seems to me the Latino women have quite the propensity for fatness. This may come across as inherently racist, much the same as saying black people are good at sports, Japanese people are naturally good at maths and the French are tragically poor at winning wars. However, the former of these statements steps closer to truth, in my own thoughts at least, on a daily basis. Even the thin ones look on the verge of maximum density, ready to explode in a sea of cake and ice cream. This isnt the only observation Ive made whilst being in Acapulco though, the men are all quite portly in stature as well and even though it is a scorching 30c daily, with upwards of 80% humidity, a cruel tick of nature seems to have been played on these people to stop them from sweating. So whilst they bask in the thick air, no weight is lost, not even in liquid form. Im sure my rounded Mexican friend Bernado shakes his fist in temper at the skys each night, but he called me Casper when I wondered in drunk at 5am having lost my shirt, so he can fuck off.

HAH, ye-Gods! Its been an interesting few days, I tried my luck the other night and Im getting the fear just thinking about it. A group of three Canadian girls, pretty, quick witted and of Anglo bloodlines as far as I can recall, we all stood into the night together with Mexicans and Irish, heading to La Paladium. One of Acapulcos more up market clubs, at roughly £30 to enter, we were all dressed to kill and ready to drink. After such a high cover charge alcohol was free all night, beginning with a few long island ice teas and some beer with mescal on the side I soon hit the brandy hard, along with the Irish company I was holding. The whole place was adorned with round tabled stalls, cushioned, clothed and candle lit the waiter would bring whatever was ordered without question, which was just as well because we were all very thirsty. The grand feeling of being Tony Montana was visible on nearly everyones beaming face, free drink and high riding attitudes are never a good mix, not everyone can own the world.

The night remained free of aggravation on the whole part and as the hours grew thin, the sun rose we ate hot dogs and played in the mild early morning air. I followed the Irish and Canadians back to their hotel and as I bid farewell to the Canadians, I seemed to be passed a bottle of vodka by the Irish, arh, one for the road, I thought. The remaining memories of that early morning are distant and quite horrid, trying to sneak into bed with the Canadians girls, who without my knowledge, seemed to have acquired a huge Persian body guard, caused all manner of bad noise. The immanent prospect of being turned into a human hamburger from a 30th floor balcony fall scared me enough to leap into some primal super fast thinking beast. Talking rather vividly and at immense speed about the blood bath to ensue and spending decades in the hotbox of a Mexican prison I was allowed to go free with a perhaps we shouldnt email after all.

More ugly memories follow, none of which I care to re-visit, horrible one eyed black dwarf men, all my shirts suddenly and without explanation turning themselves inside out and folding themselves up neatly again so I would barely notice, stickiness, the driest of mouths, long searches for just-the-right-sort-of-food and long deep sleeps discharged and without dreams. Alas, enough of this, I must go ready myself for it all again tonight, warriors into the dark, tequila fueled, on the brink and retaining just enough of that alabaster white sheen to throw off the locals.

Adios amigos!

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