Rum-pus

So here we are in this beach resort type place, where the water is warmer than a bath and the sand is whiter than my ass but considerably dirtier, what with the feckin cuban cigar butts strewn everywhere. And the beer cans. And the remains of poor white travellers who've been ripped off to feck...

I might be walking down a beach or street or even a dark alleyway only to be stopped by Cuban people (or European tourists) who glance at the blinding beauty of my Irish legs and say 'Where are you from'. When I explain Ireland, they look puzzled (they think I'm saying Orlando...and they know that can't be right'. When they understand Ireland, they then explain to me that I'm white. Like MUCHO blanco. Like TOTALLY white.

Like I hadn't noticed.

I am however slowly turning into a freckle. And perhaps when all my freckles join up I shall be one big freckle. A brown one. Frecklicious.

We're staying in the beach resort a while longer - the Norwegian guys with guitars are still here, and we've been hanging out with Terry Jones too - veteran surfer, skater (of Dogtown fame) and now LA writer. It's been good.

I am eating too much pizza and not drinking enough mojitos. And am staying stubbornly white.

Apart from the freckles :)