Corruption in Honduras – New York Times article

Dear people,

Every now and then I like to dip into Honduran politics, probably the dirtiest of the sort, and that’s saying something, especially looking at Latin American politics as a whole. My last piece, JOH, you can read here.

In the last week or so, the Congress has been voting on their representatives. As ever, it has turned into a mess with people being probably rightly accused of selling their votes which has left the Congress with a kind of disproportionate amount of Nacionalistas and Liberales, (the Honduran establishment in not so many words) and not a soul from PAC (Partido Anti-Corrupcion headed by sports journalist Salvador Nasralla, a Honduran mix between Graham Norton and Mark Lawrenson) and Libre (who some say won the last presidential election but many votes were left unaccounted – that is what Libre claim, and I am not saying this is true), while the victorious President Juan Orlando Hernandez allegedly used IHSS funds (the Honduran equivalent of the NHS) to fund his election campaign. Whether this has been paid back yet, I don’t know, but it did cause Juan Orlando to crap himself every Friday afternoon/evening when hundreds of thousands of people turned out in the marches, and came knocking at his door. It also left millions of poor Hondurans who rely on the IHSS without treatment, many of whom died, like my former Dowal School colleague, Julio Cesar Anariba.

If I had that blood on my hands, I would have resigned. But no, the undoubtedly smart President Juan Orlando is letting the world know how shamelessly powerful and as “hard as nails” he is, and making Maggie Thatcher look more like a piñata than the Iron Lady. He simply doesn’t care enough. Yet the gringos (Democrats, too) back him.

Some people say that he has doing a good job since. I just don’t know. He shouldn’t be still standing anyway. He should be held accountable. He’s made it so he isn’t. Smells very dictator’ish to me, but it also smells very similar to other so called “honest politicians” around the world. Maybe that’s just what democracy is now. As the saying goes, “shit and cream always floats to the top” – except this lot are more the former than the latter.

For more accurate information, I would like to point you in the direction of this New York Times article. It’s painful reading for Nacionalistas, and even more so for Juan Orlando himself.

Hardcore Nacionalistas probably accuse me of bias by not launching scathing attacks on other party politicians. Honestly, I am not. I think they’re all a farce. I hate impunity to corruption, which has ravaged this country, and filters through society. Unfortunately, it seems more connected to Nacionalistas than any other party right now (Mel Zelaya wasn’t any better, I know). Some people have tried to nudge me in the direction of a certain party, and I end up laughing because they seem so blinded by the usually red or blue colour that represent their party. As far I care, they stand for power, not people. They would choose a bank over a person any day of the week. It’s like having a favourite clown at a circus: they smile and frown, fake emotions, have nasty tricks up their sleeves, some of which they share, some of which they don’t, they squirt you with water, run off and then at some stage fall over and everyone laughs and points their fingers. Does anything happen after? No. They then load themselves into a cannon and blast themselves off, in Honduras’s case Miami, with a bank full of public funds. I don’t want to cause a revolution, but we should go one step further and blast them off, along with a few narcos (politicians and narcos; not the first time those two words have been used in the same sentence in Latin America), maybe include David Cameron and his cronies as well, to a desert island. Leave them nothing but a tube of Pringles and watch how the dogs try to con each other out. Great TV. In the meantime, Hondurans can start all over again with Pam’s dog Miller, a French poodle, as head of the state. He’s a nipper but he will cause less havoc than there is now.

Sunday Songs – week two

Dear people,

Another five songs for Sunday. Enjoy!

1 – Nothing Precious At All by Stereophonics

I love this song. It’s absolutely nonsense in the bigger scheme of things, but there’s something so melancholic and profound about it. I imagine writers/artists would identify with it. It’s about an idle mind (most probably Kelly Jones’s) passing time by subconsciously observing people, somewhere in the US I think, when a young lady catches his eye. Whether she takes his fancy or not, I’m unsure, but he builds a narrative about her, let’s his imagination run wild, about her loves and interests and experiences and what she gets up to in the evening. I like the idea of capturing a dull moment but molding it into a little work of art. It certainly makes me think of my own procrastinating habits. The end result: a nice piece of music.

Why does remind me of Sundays? It’s the one day of the week I feel I can afford myself to have an idle mind too, and not feel guilty about not doing something productive to earn some money or beneficial for my career. There’s also the looping piano and Kelly Jones’s signiture croaky voice I like. I can’t remember the first time I heard the song. This certainly won’t be the last. It isn’t the Stereophonics most recognised song, but it’s one of their most stimulating, in it’s own unimportant way. It’s on the album You Gotta Go There to Come Back.

I interviewed Kelly Jones and Stuart Cable (the original drummer who sadly died in 2010) around 2001 while I was doing work experience for a Birmingham newspaper. Their recent album hadn’t been well received by critics which made me nervous about how I’d be received. It turned out they were on good form. Cable was especially animated and we chatted more about Wilfred Owen’s poetry than how they felt about their critics. It could have been a PR way of distracting me and preventing me from asking any difficult questions. It probably hacked off the editor (excuse the pun) but I didn’t care. Jones wished me all the best and had a beer brought to me. I felt like a superstar and was very touched, especially as I’d suffered from a serious bout of depression earlier that year. It brought a happy end to a bad year. I think of that moment while listening to this song.

Nothing Precious At All – Stereophonics

2 – Eye Know by De La Soul

Sundays are brilliant when I put this tune on. I’m not a huge fan of hip-hop, but De La Soul fuse it with soul in a way which makes me fall back in love with the world. It has peacefully charged clever lyrics, a pulsing bass, a strumming of the guitar, before the lady bellows out a soulful “I Know I Love You Better” for the chorus, and not to forget the happy sax that bounces up and down, followed by a simple light whistling. That’s a recipe to put a smile on my face.

De La Soul came on the scene in the late 80s/early 90s with their album 3 Feet High & Rising, on which this song is featured. The New York trio had a refreshing and alternative brand of hip hop, kind of psychedelic, but very different from other hip-hop artists of the time who sang of troubles in the hood and violence, but almost boastfully I get the impression. Don’t get me wrong; these topics entered their lyrics, as did racial issues, but without swearing, sexist remarks and explicit videos.

The song was used for the Goal of the Month competition on BBC’s Match of the Day (a famous UK football highlights programme for those not in the know), which I would catch every Sunday morning while lying in bed, hungover or not. Another reason why this is a brilliant Sunday song.

They still work it seems; song-writing and doing the summer festival circuit. They also have a clothing range. Not my cuppa personally speaking, but check it out here.

Eye Know – De La Soul

3 – Guess God Thinks I’m Abel by Oasis

“What? Another Oasis song? Does this boy listen to nothing else?” Is this what you’re thinking? Well deal with it. They’re brilliant.

This is by no means their best song, but it does include the biblical character Abel (good for Sunday spirituality) and a nice acoustic strumming that puts me on my personal cloud 9. Liam Gallagher wrote the song. I guess it’s about that feeling at the beginning of a relationship where it’s the two of you against the world. Lyrically, it’s sweet, kind of innocent. Lots of figurative language. Maybe not the most dazzling. It doesn’t have to be. It’s personal. Liam showing his more romantic side, maybe.

It’s on the Don’t Believe the Truth album and it came out in 2005, which I remember distinctly because I was setting off for a summer working on campsites in Spain and France. By myself, I would go biking to Calella and other beaches on the Costa Brava on my days off (usually Sundays), taking in the gentle breezes and stretching vast horizons of the Med., with this tune whistling through my ears from my little white MP3. I would stop for a beer and the song would still be echoing in my head in the frying sun. I would be myself but never feel lonely. As I said, the song put me on cloud 9.

Fond memories.

Guess God Thinks I’m Abel – Oasis

4 – Fade In Out by The American Dollar

I found this purely by mistake. I was looking for an Oasis song going by the same name on Spotify to show my wife when this popped up. A pleasant mistake, I must admit. I’ve since listened to quite a few of their songs and from what I can make out, the New York based are instrumentalists, producing energetic and emotive ambiances. They’ve been active for about a decade and produced five studio albums. They use mainly pianos/keyboards, drums and electric guitars, kind of on the rockier side of ambiance, going from fast to slow rhythms at a rapid rate, and remind me of Brian Eno, Sigur Ros, Doves and Arcade Fire.

I don’t know why this song makes me think of Sundays. Maybe because it’s a day I like to sit and write, and this helps me create a variety of scenes, from contemplative to thrilling moments. Also useful for studying and running to, as well.

Fade In Out – The American Dollar

5 – Every Day Is Like Sunday by Morrissey

You cannot have a compilation of songs about Sunday without having at least one about Sunday or having Sunday in the title, no matter how much of a daft cliche it may be. There are at least half a dozen songs that I can roll off my tongue at this moment which include the word Sunday among the lyrics, and there are no doubt hundreds more, which goes to show just how inspiring this day is in its many different ways for many great artists. I was thinking of including U2’s Sunday Bloody Sunday, but due to the topic, the song doesn’t really evoke peace (for those who don’t know, it’s not a rebel song, but it is about the Bogside Massacre which happened on 30 January 1972 in Derry, Northern Ireland, when British soldiers shot 26 unarmed civilians during a protest march against internment. Fourteen people died, thirteen outright. The aftermath saw a long drawn out inquiry into how the British Military/Government hid/manipulated evidence to excuse themselves of fault, and therefore, punishment. I don’t know how the case ended or if any British soldiers were accused). It does remind me of a certain Alan Partridge sketch though. I was also tinkering on Sunday Morning Calls by Oasis. Maybe next week, who knows.

This song is less about Sunday and more about charmingly blowing up a bland seaside town and boring aspects of English life. The title suggests it. It has been suggested the song was inspired by Nevil Shute’s novel On the Beach, about a group of people waiting for nuclear devastation in Melbourne, Australia. I’ve not read it as of yet. No comment.

The title also suggests that Morrissey has a dim view of Sundays, but he’s known for his witty/sardonic lyrics and remarks about pretty much everything, as well as his flowery attire and mammoth quiff and flamboyant singing style, that’s made him a hero in the eyes of many, especially my own. He is undoubtedly a word-smith, writing as a kind of passive aggressive, disgruntled bystander, alienated by the mainstream, hilariously passionate but hopeless in romance, and commenting on topical things in society with a somewhat unorthodox point of view. This of course speaks to millions and has made him not just influential in British music, but to thousands of artists around the world.

I heard the song for the first time in my teens when I thought everything was dull. In later years, while studying in Preston, I thought the song might be about Blackpool in the Northwest of England. I would go there every now and then and observe a culture that I found impossible to identify with, but I still went for reasons I couldn’t quite grasp beyond beer and fresh air. In the song itself, I love the percussion as well as the damning lyrics, so paradoxical to the tune’s light melody, which you can read below:

Trudging slowly over wet sand
Back to the bench where your clothes were stolen
This is the coastal town
That they forgot to close down
Armageddon – come Armageddon!
Come, Armageddon! Come!

Everyday is like Sunday
Everyday is silent and grey

Hide on the promenade
Etch a postcard :
“How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here”
In the seaside town
That they forgot to bomb
Come, come, come – nuclear bomb

Everyday is like Sunday
Everyday is silent and grey

Trudging back over pebbles and sand
And a strange dust lands on your hands
(And on your face…)
(On your face…)
(On your face…)
(On your face…)

Everyday is like Sunday
“Win yourself a cheap tray”
Share some greased tea with me
Everyday is silent and grey

You can find the song on the Viva Hate album, released in 1988, which was Morrissey’s solo debut album. It’s more of a CD to admire than chill out to. I wonder if it speaks to you.

Every Day Is Like Sunday – Morrissey

That’s all for this week folks.

More Spanish phrases

Dear readers,

I realise that the Spanish phrases I included last week proved very popular. Since then, I’ve been sent memes or noticed amusing Spanish anecdotes hung up on random walls. Unfortunately I’ve not had time to translate the phrases but Spanish speakers, or more so Caliche speakers, are likely to be sniggering a while.

The following sayings and humorous anecdotes are hung up at a new little Colombian eatery called Arepas Pues in front of the President’s Palace (a road that is sometimes closed off on President Juan Orlando Hernandez’s orders. You should ask him why). The images are a little small, I apologise. WARNING: If Spanish expletives offend you, turn away now.

Here are a few Hondurismos:

Sunday Songs – week one

Dear people,

These songs are not Church Sunday Service songs. So if you are looking for them, I suggest go back to your Google search.

I’ve compiled these songs because they remind me of Sunday for one reason or other. Nothing more. It could be from suffering from hangovers, good/bad memories, drives out in the countryside, lying lazily in bed while my old cat purring close by, chilling with a book in sun, looking for inspiration while putting pen to paper or fingers to the keyboard, or simply putting the pains of the past week behind me while recharging batteries to conquer the world yet again. Everyone likes to de-clutter their minds now and again.

Most of the songs are chill out or soul or something in that area. So, if you want a ready made playlist of such music, thank me in the comments below. I’ll be adding some Sunday Songs every week or so.

1 – Methadonia by Fun Lovin’ Criminals

Never taken the drug in my life, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was in love with this band back in 1998 coinciding with my fascination of Italian American gangsta movies. The song is from the Come Find Yourself album. I’ve never followed the lyrics right through, but it’s obviously about getting high, especially with the chorus being:

And takes them to the land
The land of Methadonia.

I like the song because of the soothing melodies, the brass percussion peppered throughout the tune and for personal nostalgic reasons. Their lyrics in general can be brilliantly naff to humorously insightful. I named my last cat Huey after the lead singer, Huey Morgan, who coincidentally has a show on BBC Radio 6 on Saturdays (at least I think it’s Radio 6). I read they’re doing a 20th anniversary tour of the Come Find Yourself album right now. The band never took off in the US as they did in the UK, even though the trio hail from New York. Don’t know why. I thought they were great.

Methadonia – Fun Lovin’ Criminals

2 – Sparks by Coldplay

Has it become uncool to like Coldplay or something? Do people dislike them because they have become too celebrity/successful? It is a bit strange to have a dark, pessimistic name and become a stadium rock band, I must admit, but they get a bit of unfair stick in my opinion. When I say I like them, people smile at me sarcastically or patronisingly, as though they feel infinitely more knowledgeable about music than me. Their newer work is interesting. Midnight, for example. Great tune. I think there are a lot of people in the closet about them. They like them. They feel they just can’t say it aloud. The same goes for U2. They’re good. Admit it.

Coldplay’s earlier work still grabs my attention though, like the debut album Parachutes. Written when they were still an acoustic band and sang like hungry students earning pennies by playing gigs at a Yellow pub. (Are those Yellow student pubs still around?).

Sparks has something beautifully gentle and raw about it. I love the way the way the looping bass floats into your ears, supported by the softness of the acoustics and Chris Martin’s pillowy voice, making you feel lazy and cosy and a bit romantic. It’s to listen to while gazing longingly into your lover’s eyes on a cold, wet beach in England on a random Sunday, while seagulls hover round trying to nick your chips. Not likely to happen any time soon in Honduras then.

Sparks – Coldplay

3 – Como Te Extraño Mi Amor by Cafe Tacvba

Who can resist it? Howling out “Mi amorrrr diviiiiino” at the top your lungs along with Rubén Albarrán’s scratchy voice, blowing out the windows on Sunday morning and pissing off the neighbours? I must be a s–t to live next to, let alone live with.

I used to think that the song was called Mi Amor Divino, but it goes by the title above. It was composed by an Argentine named Leo Dan in the 1960s, a serenade calling for his beloved to return, in bolero-style. Mexican rock funksters, Cafe Tacvba, revamped the song with a more youthful, uplifting edge, nice piano percussion and acoustic rhythm which makes it feel like you’re eternally on holiday. It reminds me of holidays in chalets in Hayle, Cornwall, even though I’ve never actually heard this song while holidaying in chalets in Hayle, Cornwall.

Hayle Estuary, Cornwall

Cafe Tacvba’s version is about six or seven years old but they make it sound so timeless. No offense to Leo Dan, but Rubén puts a bit more emotion into the lyrics, making the song feel more romantic and genuine. You haven’t got to understand Spanish to enjoy the song. It makes Sunday’s that little bit more joyful.

Como Te Extraño Mi Amor – Cafe Tacvba

4 – We Have All the Time in the World by Louis Armstrong

How could I not include ol’ Pops on a Sunday Song compilation? Satchmo, one of the greatest musicians, let alone in the jazz industry. The soft trumpet towards the end of the tune, played almost effortlessly, seductively, looping up and down, leaving you in a little Sunday haven in your own mind. Not to forget the guitars strumming the heart strings, and the voice, joyfully rusty but full of the charm of someone who sounds like your best mate. Fueled by marijuana and other substances, history books claim. Why should that matter? A tool in his box of marvels.

Funnily enough, I like the Fun Lovin’ Criminals’s version too, which also appears on the Come Find Yourself album. Another of my favourite songs is the all time great, What a Wonderful World. Sung by a man who suffered so much racism and poverty, but seemed at peace with the world. Louis Armstrong appears fictionally in a Roddy Doyle book I really like, too. Oh, Play That Thing. Try it. You’ll love it.

I love the way Pops smiles at the end of the song, winks, and whispers into the microphone, “Yeah, baby.” Few people can pull off a line like that and still be cool. He is one.

We Have All the Time in the World – Louis Armstrong

5 – (As Long as They’ve Got) Cigarettes in Hell by Oasis

You didn’t think I would have a song compilation and not include Noel Gallagher, did you? Silly you.

For many around the world, the first song that enters their mind when they think of Oasis is Wonderwall. As much as it is a great song, it doesn’t come close to others Noel has written, musically and/or lyrically. Live Forever and Whatever and Cigarettes & Alcohol and Don’t Look Back in Anger, in my opinion, stand way ahead of it. More so though, I’ve yet to come across an artist with such an array of beautiful B-sides, many of which most artists would be more than happy using for their A-sides. Most of Oasis’s A-sides are about being optimistic and bombastically blow your head off. The B-sides are more personal, acoustic-based, melancholic and speak to the audience on a one to one basis. My adolescent years were spent listening to these tunes over and over again, and I’m sure many more folk in my generation were doing the same. It’s why Noel sits on such a pedestal, not just in British music, but because he represents something of a brilliant imaginary friend. You can hear a majority of the older songs on the Masterplan album. See. That’s what good friends do. I’m trying to flog his CDs.

Why I choose Cigarettes in Hell, it just reminds me of Sundays. Having all-day spinning hangovers, the taste of having tobacco gunk up your nose, wondering where your money went and regretting half a dozen things you said to people the night before. I don’t do it these days. It bored me to death. A bit like the character in the song. Bored of having to be sociable in bars that have more soul and excitement in the toilet cubicles than on the DJ’s box of vinyls. It’s also about being bored of lifestyle and jobs and seeking a route from off the treadmill. Lyrically it’s not as great as other B-sides; more tongue and cheek, but I think it’s quite ironic I choose this as a Sunday song, especially as the chorus contains the following lyrics:

I don’t mind not being immortal
‘cos it ain’t all that as far as I can tell
I don’t mind not going to heaven
As long as they’ve got cigarettes
As long as they’ve got cigarettes in hell.

I’m not sure my Parish Priest would be too impressed.

(As Long as They’ve Got) Cigarettes in Hell – Oasis

 

That’s all for now folks. I’ll include some more Sunday Songs next week.

 

 

 

No Hay Nadie Como Tu – part eight

Dear readers,

23rd July 2015

I awoke this day with something on my mind. Oh yes, I was getting married. It was just the civil ceremony today though. Usually the civil and religious ceremonies are a week or more apart. Because the family were here for a short period, we placed them two days apart, meaning stress levels were a bit higher than regular. More so for the legal documents needed. Everything needed to have an apostille and be an original. Birth certificates, evidence that I was single and not married, visiting the British consul, my parents having to meet lawyers in Birmingham and send things off to get signed. Lawyers. The world would collapse without them, but your pockets might not be as empty.

A couple of weeks before, we got the thumbs up from Tio Dago who was marrying us. The papers were ready.

It was an evening wedding, so during the day I took the family up to Picacho so their stay in Tegucigalpa wouldn’t be resigned to just shopping malls, visiting churches and being stuck in the hotel. Hannah wasn’t feeling great, and I think she was a little disappointed to see many of the barrios marginales hostile to outsiders and weren’t as open as some she’d visted in South America.

Picacho is one of my favourite places in Tegucigalpa. Taking a book, my music playlists and pen and paper, mixed with a breezy ambience, tropical gardens, warm sun and splendid views, it makes me dizzy with calmness. Since living here, it’s changed somewhat, becoming busier and more touristy, with zip-wires, playgrounds, and better places to eat. You now have to pay a whole 36p to enter the Jesus Christ statue enclosure; a magnicient work of structure that stands a bit lower than the one in Rio, but it’s lit up at night and acts as a compass bearing if you get lost in the city. You see, Tegucigalpa is a bizarrely shaped urban area with the centre situated in the northern parts of the city. In time, the city’s development has sprawled more southwards. It had once been growing northwards but the landslides during Hurricane Mitch pretty much bulldozed shanty town houses off the surrounding steep hillsides. Picacho positioned directly north, so if you’re disoriented and bamboozled by street directions, just look for Jesus, so to speak.

The merry maintenance man from Casa Bella drove us up in his mini van. To be fair, I don’t think it’s that mini but it certainly felt like it with nine of us (not including the driver) jammed in. I had no choice but to look out the window because if I turned my head a little to the right, my nose would have been making contact with my cousin Sam’s armpit, which was more sweaty than usual as he acclimatised to Tegus.

The road up to Picacho is windy with various splendid panoramic views of Tegucigalpa, which had the family ohhing and cooing. It also takes you through some Tegucigalpa’s most elite neighbourhoods, where you can see mansions, luxurious condos and stylish houses, not to forget the US Embassy’s house, grossly large surrounded by fiercely guarded white walls with electric barbed wire and angry gringuitos waiting on the other side with fully loaded guns, that stretches around a never ending bend on the main road. “A post-modern colonialist’s house,” I’ve heard it being called; by Americans! Without wanting to sound bias, competitive and/or snobbishly British, but the British Consulate’s house in Colonia Reforma looks far more tasteful. Very whitewashed and fancy with the detail and design of the building reminds me of the embassies in Belgravia, London, except being more tropical, with colourful gardens with exotic orchids and palm trees. From looking up from Tegucigalpa, you can see the affluence sprinkled up the hillside.

These neighbourhoods are also close by some very poor areas, which are less than safe to wander around, such as Reparto, where an English friend, Helen, once worked and lived on a church project. She told me some of things she’d seen and heard happening there and it only confirmed how much of a world apart it is from the lavish embassies that sit only a little higher up the hill. Even though my sense of direction is pretty good, Pamela for some reason prefers to use the GPS app Wayz when we go up to Picacho. You can’t imagine how smug my grin is when Wayz starts guiding us through these dangerous neighbourhoods while people watch on curiously, hearing muffled screeching from inside the car as Pamela curses Wayz for yet again for sending us to our death.

Funnily enough, the merry maintenance man was taking short-cuts through these same dangerous neighbourhoods to get to the main road, while telling me to translate to the family that if they were to get out the van at that very spot they would be shot dead, chuckling in-between. A great way to calm the nerves. There was I, just 10 minutes before, telling everyone to have their cameras at the ready for the beautiful views. The merry maintenance man did do a great job of pointing out buildings and vegetation that would be of interest to foreigners though.

When we arrived, the family could finally see why I had insisted we visit Picacho. There they could feel for themselves the gorgeous aromas of pine tickling their nostrils, the tranquil ambience of watching a sprawling and scheming city before them while feeling afar its chaos, like the Gods of the Tegus, and the swirling ghostly breezes swaying through the trees, a sensation that the spirits are among them. Not to forget the oriental temple (I think it’s a replica Japanese Buddhist temple) and it’s surrounding gardens; a serene ambience perfect for life’s thinkers and meditators. It were the landscapes that blew them away, though, as always. See for yourself.

I have to state that some of these photos have been pinched from Jordan Kenny’s Facebook page yet again, which he has graciously volunteered unknowingly.

Now, this paragraph is more for men concerning bizarre hairstyles and bad hair days, and I will understand if I come across a bit narcissistic and shallow. It is more of a query than a drastic problem. I fully appreciate that many people have bad hair days, but do other men sometimes wake up and they feel that their hair makes them look like an 1990s lesbian? I believe I do. My wife thinks that I am an idiot that I think it, never mind mention it, in front of people, but I think I have a serious case for it. You see, my hair falls naturally into a side parting and quiffs over a bit with a point at the end, almost like KD Lang, but less attractive. It is almost a mimic of it, unwittingly. On good days I feel like I would make a great style icon for middle-aged lesbians. My bad days, less so. My wife says that I should stop thinking such things and get a job. I tell her not to worry, because even if I do look like a lesbian, I will still love her forever. It’s when I start looking like Boy George that she should start asking questions. On this day though, it troubled me that in my wedding photos that I would forever look like the man lesbian. Nothing against lesbians. I just wanted a different look on my wedding day.

Me

KD Lang

We were then collected by the Merry Maintenance Man and we were dropped off at Cafe Galeano for a spot of lunch, before I went home with Jordan to tart myself up for my wedding. For those reading this who live in Tegus, may I recommend Cafe Galeano’s Zacate de Limon. It’ll make your head spin with calmness.

To be continued…