New Beginnings

Today I leave Mexico. I still have no job, and the only place I have to live is a short-term rental in Sydney for six weeks.

Mexico’s lovely, but I can’t help but think it attracts some of the worst types of American holidaymakers (like Ibiza attracts the worst kind of British holidaymakers).

So I’m sat around the pool, listening to Tindersticks’ second album (vid to one of its ‘singles’ below – check it out if you like that kind of miserable shit) and my noise cancelling Bose QC25s are just about drowning out Flo Rida’s ‘Good Feeling’. What they can’t drown out, however, are the guys in the pool. Baseball caps and goatees. Their pectoral muscles are huge, but so are their stomachs. And I’m wondering whether it’s worth mentioning to them that if one wants to be ‘fully-toned’, one must also concentrate on core exercises (sit-ups, plank etc.) and not just bench press like some dumb jock.

These guys have wives, but if you close your eyes, they’re really just twelve-year old boys with deep voices. One of the wives comes over and suggests they try the sushi restaurant. Her husband replies ‘I’ve got a sushi bar in my room, bitch.’

Then he high-fives his friend. His friend has his baseball cap on backwards.

The next day, the same girl returns. She dips her toes in the pool and asks her husband if he’d like a burger. He replies, ‘Yeah, a fur burger.’

My Bose headphones can cancel out anything – crying babies on aeroplanes, Downton Abbey – but they cannot cancel out this fucker’s voice.

It’s around this time I am glad my holiday is nearing an end. Seems beer and sun gives people licence to act like assholes. Or maybe they were already assholes. I dunno. However, it’s also around this time, that I start playing a game – Trump or Not Trump, whereby I try to guess whether a man has voted for Trump on the basis of his facial hair. Basically, if you’ve got a handlebar moustache, you have no chance.

It’s such a sensitive issue here, a woman went so far as to wear this hat:


Anyway, this holiday is done. It was great. The Mexican people are beautiful and passionate and I’d come back here in a heartbeat (although maybe to a smaller resort).

I can never drink tequila again, but that’s just something I’ll have to terms with.

It’s now time to start up once more. A new city (Sydney). A new career (fuck knows what).

I’ve got a whole piece on how I’ll miss London. I was going to factor it into this one, but that’ll have to wait. I have some vodka miniatures to neck (and refill with water) before they kick me out of the room.

Here’s Tindersticks to cheer you up. Smiley emoticon.


PS. You pre-ordered Twenty-Seven yet? Go on …


    1. I’d love to, but I’ll be in Sydney for the foreseeable, so it’s a long old way. Not all the Americans were bad (actually made a couple of lovely friends), but about the same percentage of bad Brits in Ibiza.


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