I've found my home

an apology

I can't post. Tried to start three different posts and failed miserably. Can't get the sentences to join. Can't get an idea to flow. Can't express what I want.

I'm going to blame fatigue. The academic year finished yesterday. Last week was a long wind down from the Lion King, through graduation, academic post mortems, to a last day meeting. Last night I had a very enjoyable evening out in the company of friends - five hours that felt like one. Physically I just want to sleep, mentally I need to detox. Writing posts seems impossible.

Have read Housekeeping vs The Dirt (excellent) and Lucifer:Crux (so-so). Dipped into Engulfed in Flames (luvverly and funny). Tearing my way through The Yiddish Policeman's Union (genius).

Listening to the new Coldplay album (learning to love it) and rocking away to the new Weezer album (brilliant).

Seen WALL-E (fantastic) and Wanted (awful).

Worrying about the finalists of Hell's Kitchen and So You Think You Can Dance (I have become this shallow).

Started a new diet in order to control my IBS which has flared up again.

But most of all I need to sleep. I need to rest. I just don't have the words.

I am still alive, still happy, still madly in love, still in Mexico.

Regular service will be returned once I've recharged.

posts I didn't write

Tee hee! Hi, my name's Will and I'm a bad blogger. Actually, I'm a much better blogger than you'd realise - I have written posts in the last week [checks list and discovers three drafts that haven't been finished], however, it has been one of those weeks that I just haven't got round to finishing a thought, never mind a post. So, here is a list of posts that I didn't write during the last seven days.

W*dnesd*y: Kids will drive us apart (to paraphrase Ian Curtis)

Thanks to the kids being with us our morning routine is destroyed. I don't get the opportunity to go back to bed in the morning, for that moment when I hold her, kiss her. This makes the rest of the day seem incredibly long. When I get home, at night in the afternoon, there is no chance to be alone with her. It is only when we finally get to shut the bedroom door that we are alone. I miss her so much during the day.

Thursday: Insanity is hereditary - it is passed from child to parent [sic]

I honestly believe that my IQ is falling. I have now watched more television in the past four days than in the previous four months. What is worse is that I am enjoying it. I am emotionally involved with the contestants on So You Think You Can Dance? I really wanted Vicki(? I just remember it began with a V - so maybe I'm not that involved)) eliminated from Hell's Kitchen but understood, totally, why Gordon Ramsey got rid of Bobby. I can't believe the idiocy of the contestants on Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? And The Moment of Truth is just car-crash television! You know you should look away, you know that you should move on, but somehow you are drawn totally to watching the disaster enfold in front of your eyes.

Friday: Look what I got in the post

I got a CD from Alan! I also got two books (the next episode of Lucifer and another Nick Hornby article collection). But, I got a CD from Alan!! Isn't getting parcels in the post the bestest!!! Especially ones that you didn't order yourself.

Saturday: I think I'm going to explode

You know how after eating a Chinese meal you are supposed to be hungry 30 minutes later? I over ate! I'm not saying that I was a big, fat, bloated organism, laying around the flat - but three environmentalists tried to drag me back into the sea, to release me back into the wild.

Sunday: I miss my dad, I miss being a dad

Thank goodness I didn't finish this post! This was one of those very dark, very depressing posts. Luckily the day was saved from total disaster when I received a card from Dani. Sometimes you can't see the good things in life until they smack you in the face.

Monday: seriously, they are that enthused?

The tickets for the Lion King went on sale, at school, Saturday morning at 8:30am. That explains the the seven parents who slept overnight outside the school gates. That also explains the sixty-five parents who were already queueing at 5:51am. Do you start to feel that I might be under a little pressure?

Tuesday: no sleep 'til brooklyn (I think I've used this title before)

The email I got from La Directore at 9:45pm was enough to ensure that I didn't fall asleep until 1am. The power cut at 2am meant that I spent the rest of the night not sleeping, scared that I would not hear my watch alarm, my mobile alarm, because there was no CD alarm to wake me up.

So, there you go. Seven posts that I didn't write. Aren't you glad you didn't have to wade through that stream of unconsciousness this past seven days? And that is without talking about "national stupid driving day" or "the exhibition of cows". Anyhoo, gotta go. The kids have left which means that I should be spending time with Maria, not sitting at the computer. Mind you, it's too hot to do anything - so I might just lie on the sofa and watch television. Can't remember if it's So You Think You can Dance? or Hell's Kitchen tonight. But you can bet I'll be there whichever one it is!

sunday links

Sunday has become a day of dread in our house.

Sunday is the day that neil h. posts "Sunday Links".

Sunday is the day that neither of us visits his blog.

neil h.'s links will destroy the rest of your day. No matter how you feel about one or two of the links there is always something that will suck you in. Last week I spent an hour or so reading (and following further links). Two weeks ago Maria spent four hours playing a game. I have mentioned before, on here, the addictiveness of Desktop Tower Defender - a game that Maria managed to avoid for several weeks. That was until neil h. casually posted a link to another version that sucked Maria in.

And then there is Ikariam. A month and a half ago I followed a link to this game. A month and a half later I now have four towns on four separate islands. I would say that I spend about half an hour a day on the game. Maria will say that I spend three hours a day on the game. The truth is somewhere in between. But, seriously, nearly two hours a day on a computer game? No wonder I haven't read a book for a month!

In an attempt to claw back some of our lives we have come to a mutual decision not to visit neil h.'s blog on Sunday, the day of the links. Unfortunately, come Monday, one (or both) of us ends up there, and by Monday night we have lost some time, following some strange (but ultimately fascinating) link.

Therefore, in an attempt to pre-empt neil h. at his own game, and cause him much consternation, can I present my Sunday link:

Dogfish Head - probably the best beer in the world!

I am, at this moment, enjoying a bottle of Dogfish Head 90 Minute Imperial IPA. It is pure heaven!

The joy of this link is totally and utterly personal. It is knowing that neil h. will now want to taste:

A big beer with a great malt backbone that stands up to the extreme hopping rate.

9% abv

90 ibu

Tasting Notes: Brandied fruitcake, raisiney, citrusy.

and yet will be totally unable to. Hopefully, his desire to savour this nectar from the gods will keep him up at nights.

This is my version of payback!

thank you neil h.

The luvverly neil h. has written a haiku for my birthday:

Tijuana Will
Quintessentially English
Has found his home

As I said...isn't he luvverly :^)

breaking down the stereotypical walls

What's the difference between a Yorkshireman and a coconut?
You can always get a drink out of a coconut! Boom-boom!!
Thank you. I'll be here all week. Try the chicken.

The thing about a Yorkshireman is that he will always call a spade a spade.

And then, of course, there is always this:

Now, I'm allowed to type this/post videos about Yorkshiremen because I am from Yorkshire. Whether I agree with these statements/video is, actually, irrelevant. I know that I am always the one to buy the first round of drinks, but I also know that I can wax lyrically on about "t'good old days of yore". I suppose that it isn't my place to discuss a stereotype from Yorkshire. Of course, I could go on about people from Liverpool/Manchester, Lanchastrians, soft-Southern Jessies, Cockneys, Midlanders, Cornwallians (don't think that is a word), and that is if I just stick to picking on the inhabitants of England. Don't get me started on the Welsh, Scots, Northern Irish. Or even Europeans. Heck, I could probably rant (quite happily and I would think amusingly) for hours about most groups of people. But a blog is not the place to do that. Also I might find that I have offended all of my readers (both of them) and I would be a lonely blogger, rolling around in my own bile.

And, of course, internal stereotyping isn't just an English trait. No matter what country you are from/in  there is always a certain section of the populace that is portrayed one way by the rest of the inhabitants. Mexico has been a learning curve for me. The first hurdle I had to get over was where the fuck Mexico was! I had an idea about Mexicans (sombreros, mariachis, tequila, moustaches) but (honestly) thought it was a South American country. It's not! It is North American (and pity the poor fool who makes that mistake!). Plus, it is also a country the size of Europe+. This means that there isn't really a typical Mexican. What you (as a non-Mexican) may think of as a stereotypical Mexican is not what a Mexican thinks of as a stereotype.

Within the country there are many different types of people. I am going to talk about one stereotype - the people of Sinaloa. I know about people from Sinaloa because I have sat in conversations with Mexicans who are not from Sinaloa. Fact: All Sinaloans are drug dealers! That's all you need to know!! And if you sit and listen to the chattering classes, here in Tijuana, you will quickly become informed that most of the drugs/kidnappings/shoot-outs in this fair city can be traced back to one group of people - Sinaloans!

Except - there is a guy who works at the school. He is the nicest, kindest man I have ever met. He as a great sense of humour, he is fun to talk to, he is fun to hang out with. He speaks no English at all and yet I count him as a good friend. The other day he spent some quantity (and quality) time with Maria. They talked for hours. It was wonderful. She got to tell him all about me, he got to tell her all about him. By the end of the conversation they were best friends. However, by the end of the conversation he was still using the Usted form when he talked to Maria. Although she told him, several times, that he needn't be so formal, he couldn't stop himself. He is an exceptionally polite, kind man. He is from Sinaloa.

Except - there is this parent who found my blog. He commented on a post, a post in which I mentioned his daughter. This freaked me out. However, the next day, his daughter talked to me, passing on a message from him. That day we had an email conversation. Friday, his wife talked to me and I got to meet him face-to-face. He's a nice man. A very nice man. He has also become a blogger - he'd been thinking about it for a couple of months and discovering my blog, pushed him over the edge! So, in the links, at the side, you will see two new links, because the man hasn't just opened one blog, he's opened two! One in English, one in Spanish. Please visit them, read them, feel free to comment in them.

Oh, and I might have forgotten to mention - he's from Sinaloa. Me thinks that, as he continues to write, and I continue to read, my opinion of Sinaloans is about to go through a major-overhaul.

the unwritten list

Originally, when Maria organised this trip, it was going to be a quick in-and-out. She'd leave Friday afternoon, be back Sunday morning. She was nervous about the whole trip and, the last think she needed, to add to her worries, was me. So my activities were planned:

She'd drive me to work in the morning.
I'd get a lift back from school.
I'd enter the flat.
Lock the door.
Never leave.

Whilst in the flat I was not to shower, not to shave, not to drink to excess, not to watch "Field of Dreams" (or any other film that would make me morose - so, no "Fiddler on the Roof" either).
Ideally, I should get home, crawl into bed and not move.

These plans when slightly AWOL the minute the Governor got involved. He wanted to be present at the meeting Maria had to attend. He couldn't make Saturday, so the meeting was changed to Sunday. There are no flights out of Torreon on Monday or Tuesday, the first flight was W*dnesd*y. Suddenly it became a whole different ballgame.

I would have to drive. I had to get to work Monday, Tuesday, and W*dnesd*y.
I would have to shower. I had to go to work Monday, Tuesday, and W*dnesd*y.
I would have to shave. I had to go to work Monday, Tuesday, and W*dnesd*y.
I would have to leave the flat. I had to go to work Monday, Tuesday, and W*dnesd*y.

I promised that I would not get involved in accidents whilst driving. I wouldn't light cigarettes, answer my mobile, and drink coke whilst trying to negotiate a roundabout. I wouldn't drive like an Englishman (because I'd end up in a road-rage incident) and I wouldn't drive like a Mexican (because I can't). I wouldn't drive anywhere else other than school. There would be no popping-out to the shops. No cruising the mean streets. No drag racing. I would drive to school, I would drive home from school, I would not drive any other time!

I promised that I would not dance in the shower. Nor would I drop the soap, accidentally step on it, go arse-over-elbow, and break my neck. I would not drink the shampoo. I would not wash the soles of my feet. I would not take a football into the shower and practise my keepie-uppies.

I promised that I would only shave on Monday morning. I would use the blade that is in my razor, not put a new blade in nor use an old blunt blade. If, five minutes after shaving, I found that one area I had missed (which always happens), I would not rush back into the bathroom and attempt to shave the whole side of my face off. I would live with the irritating patch until W*dnesd*y.

I promised that I would only watch films that were positive, upbeat, included lots of violence (yeah, I see the irony), and had no connection to either my father or my children. Anything with Schwarzenegger was good, anything with father/son, father/daughter, family relationships in them was evil.

I promised that if, for any reason at all - and it had better be a fuck of a good one, I had to leave the flat to purchase anything, I would to go round the corner. No further.

Now, I realise that this set of rules sounds a bit lot like (1) I am a total idiot, incapable of being left alone and (b) Maria is a total control freak who doesn't trust me to be left alone. However, in her defence, she didn't make the rules. I did. I am a total idiot. She knows this, I know this - hell, you probably know it as well. I am also a magnet for trouble/problems. I have discovered, in my long (long) life that, if anything can go wrong, it invariably does. [However, don't get me wrong, I am an optimist. When things go wrong I normally end up saving the day with a winning smile, my good looks, and soft English hair. Also I get some great stories to tell!] I love Maria and would never cause her any pain, if possible. So, to help set her mind (partially) at ease, I made this list of rules and promised to adhere to them totally and utterly! I am a good boyfriend!

And it all went to plan! I drove to school, no problems. I drove back from school, no problems. I spent a couple of hours in the internet. I had two beers (on a Friday night). I cooked ribs and fat chips. I settled down in front of Invincible (don't watch it - it is turgid  crap). I was settled for the night.

And then the phone rang.

I left the flat just after 9pm and got back just after 2:30am.

No broken bones. No police incidents. Safe and sound. In fact, no interesting stories to tell. I had a good night, a fun night - gotta lurve people who take pity on the foreigner stuck at home all alone.

But I broke my promise. I broke my rules. I am not a good boyfriend.

Time to start all over again. I have May's lessons to plan. I have The Longest Yard and Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels to watch. I have an internet to surf. I have blogs to read. I have emails to write. I have a bed to sleep in.

Now I just have to wait to see what else can go wrong with my plans :^)

using my power for evil

1.  My god, you are competitive.  :) *

Yep, I really, really am. My mum used to say (probably still says it): If a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well. Except, because I am like that, I heard: If you can't do something well, don't do it at all. Unfortunately, what I heard probably worked in a negative way with me. I didn't apply myself. I don't like failure. I don't like not quite succeeding.

I have eleven O Levels. These are the exams you take when you are 16 in England. A C is a pass, an A is a very good pass, and an A* is excellent. However, I learnt that people are more impressed with the quantity of qualifications, rather than the quality. I have 11 of these things. To the disappointment of my parents, my teachers, nine of them are at grade C, two are grade B (in fact, if you want to be really pedantic William, you only have nine O Levels and two AO Levels). I have two A Levels. A pass, at A Level, is achieved with a grade of E or higher. My two A Level grades are E and D. I have a degree with Honours. There are four different grades for an Honours degree: A First (1.1), a 2.1, a 2.2, and a Third. I have a Third. You see, it's not the taking apart, it's the taking part. If I'm going to do something, and I know that I can do it well, don't stand in my way. Seriously, when I get involved, when something takes my fancy, I am more determined than a T-1000. I am waaaay too competitive for my own good.

Oh, some stuff I have managed to rein in. I don't play Monotony Monopoly to win any more. I'm having a really hard time trying not to win at Scrabulous when I play with Maria (or play with Alan and Maria) - I'm learning to just enjoy it for the fun of it. I've been through my "competitive dad" streak. I've realised that my children didn't learn by being beaten at sport/games/anything I could come up with, they just learned to sulk (Maria's kids are having a much easier time). As age has descended on me I have become more mellow.

Except I haven't.

And I blame it all on neil h.!!!

Before I go any further I should mention that we love neil h. He's our type of person. Does what he wants, is who he is, he's brilliant! Gotta lurve neil h. So, you have it in your mind - neil h. is a luvverly person, wonderful guy. He's the guy you'd want to spend several hours with. He is well read, in that way that he reads things that you've never thought of. He likes so many things and talks about them with such enthusiasm that you want to do those things. He is just brilliant. We love neil h.

neil h. is destroying my life!

It started with Desk Top Defender. DTD is crack cocaine for the non-console owner. Hours/days/weeks have been spent on becoming good at this - and, if you want to log on to the casual collective and check your scores against mine, I own you!

It has moved on. Somehow my competitive nature has sucked me into joining Mixclub. Because I know, I KNOW, that I can produce the bestest ever CD.

However, all of these things are done in the confines of our flat. On the whole, I am not going around and forcing my DTD results in anyone's face. Nor am I forcing anyone to listen to my music. And I am definitely not forcing anyone to go to Casa de Adobe.

No, I'm not! Just because every other week I mention that you should click on the site, doesn't mean that I am forcing it upon you. Except, I am competitive. I really want to succeed at this. Hell, it's nothing. It's just clicking on a site and having the counter convert clicks into people. But I'm competitive.

So I told my 6th Grade class about the site. Yep, I used my powers for evil. Suddenly I have a bunch of kids building their own mini-cities and visiting mine. And look! I have risen into the 300s. I am knocking on the door of being in the top 200 biggest cities in Mexico.

I am a bit sad really. I am that worst kind of person. I am terrible.

Please help me. Please, I have the kids at school improving my population, I just need help with my transport and industry. I am this crap :^)

* thanks Vanessa

messing with the clock

Two weeks holiday. Two weeks to accomplish anything you want. Two weeks is enough time to fulfil most dreams. It is now two weeks exactly since I walked out at the end of a video presentation and I have done...well, very little.

When I talked to my brother I mentioned that I was on holiday. He asked me where I was going, on my holiday. We'd had plans. Maybe we'd drive down to Torreon and see Maria's family. Maybe we'd drive over to Phoenix and see a friend. Maybe we'd drive down the peninsular and see more of Baja. However, before we did any of those things we knew we'd have to get the car checked. We'd put aside $400 (USD) expecting to have change, maybe enough to buy a tyre or two. Three hours after dropping off the car we got a phone call. It was the workshop with a list of things wrong with the car. Of the fourteen things on the list we could only afford the first six. Worse, two of the things further down the list could well cost more than $500 (USD). It always amazes me how the roads seem to be full of cars that are more beat up, more in need of repair, than the car I am driving. And yet, it is always my car that is in the garage. Is it just because I'm a bit of a freak? Anyhoo, the point of the new truck was that we would have a beaten up car that we could drive around with warning lights on and not care. We got the first six things done and we'll worry about the differential later. Yes, we are driving a car around that isn't as good as yours! It is good enough for going to the beach, going for tacos, and going shopping. It isn't good enough for driving to Torreon, Phoenix, or down the peninsular. So, I answered my brother, why would I go anywhere? I'm in Mexico!

I have to take my driving test. At some point I needed to sit down and go through the written part of the test with Maria. No matter what Emilio says, I wouldn't even know how to start bribing an examiner nor, to be brutally honest, am I brave enough to actually do it. My fear of Mexican jails is a lot stronger than my fear of failing a test. It probably goes without saying, but that has never stopped me, we haven't sat down and studied yet (as if the yet means we will).

I am getting hellishly unfit. Since breaking my foot, at the end of last year, I have done no physical activity. Before this holiday started I thought that I might take up some sort of exercise regime. You know, start slow - bit of walking - and then build up to something a bit more strenuous - maybe running. Of course I didn't start at the beginning of the holiday because, well because I was on holiday! I needed a break! However, as the days have progressed I have managed to not start. And now, it is so near the end of my vacations, that it just doesn't seem worth it. I'm sure that once I get back into the classroom, I'll start walking around (instead of laying on the sofa eating crisps and drinking beer) and that will suffice.

I have managed to read - success. Reading is a joy that I always rediscover. This year I have already managed to read nine books and I am loving it. I have just started another book (having finished two books this holiday) and it is wonderful to start immersing yourself in another world. My problem is that the book (Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrel - if you're interested) is over 800 pages long and I am worried that I am just not going to get enough time to read it when school starts again. With only a couple of days left I should be spending time with Maria but all I want to do is read my book.

Time with Maria - success. It always amazes me how much I love her. Every day I think that's it, I've reached the point of how much I love her, there can't be anything more, I'll just sit on this plateau. And then something else happens and I learn to love her a little bit more. Life is wonderful and the spectre of returning to work just means that I will lose eight hours a day not with her. But, the important fact is, we are in a better place than we were two weeks ago - and where we were was wonderful.

My body clock - success! The first week of the holidays I was still waking up just after six, even though the alarm wasn't set. True, I would roll over and go back to sleep but, at the back of my mind, I was still thinking that when the holiday ended I would wake up, on the first day of work, ready for action. Somehow I've managed to screw that all up. The kids stayed with us until Tuesday. While they were here we went to bed at ten, the flat is small and once the kids are settled into their beds there are only two rooms left in the house - the bathroom and our bedroom. However, Tuesday night we were on our own and ended up watching tele until 2am. W*dnesd*y I still woke at 6am but fell back to sleep almost immediately. That night we again didn't go to bed until after 2. Thursday I woke at 7, rolled over and didn't get out of bed until midday. Thursday night we went out, after 10, to a friend's house. We stayed until after 3am. This morning I woke at 9am and didn't get out of bed until after 2pm. I already know that tonight will be another late night - hell, we've only just got up! This will continue through Saturday and Sunday. Because it is Benito Juárez's birthday on Monday (yes, I know he was born on March 21st but the Queen has an official birthday which is different to her real birthday, so I am not saying a word), I have the day off work! This means that at about 10pm on Monday night I will suggest that we go to bed because I have to get up and go to work on Tuesday morning. Of course, the act of going to bed will not mean I will go to sleep. I have screwed with my body clock. Monday night I will go to bed, read, talk, read, switch the light off, toss and turn, talk a bit more, put the light back on, read a bit more, switch the light off, hopefully fall asleep at about 3am. The alarm will go off at 6:15am. I will go into school and the first question will be:

Enjoyed your holiday?

Followed by the obvious question:

Are you well rested?

To which the answer is:

NO! I had such a good holiday I've managed to mess with my body clock. I've had three hours sleep and I really don't want to be here.

Gotta lurve going back to work!

[May 1st is Labour Day in Mexico. It is a Thursday. May 5th is the anniversary of the Battle of Puebla. It is a Monday. May 10th is Mother's Day. May 15th is Teacher's Day (it is also my birthday). For those of you who are now worried that I am not getting enough free time, I have the following days off:

May 1st to May 6th. May 10th is a half day. May 15th. Kids stop coming to school on June 27th. Teachers stop coming to school on July 4th.

Gotta lurve being a teacher in Mexico.]

good will writing

A couple of years ago I wrote this blog post about a night in a bar on the 16th of September. What made this night special is that 16th September is Independence Day. I wrote that post two years ago and promptly forgot about it - the post that is. I haven't forgotten the evening nor the sentiments it invoked. Oddly enough, well odd to me, someone hasn't forgotten the post. In fact, it now turns out, this someone has been regularly the post to people up and down Mexico. He loves this post.

He's also a good friend, Efraín. We have spent many nights drinking and telling stories. Now, none of you have ever met me in real life, so you have never had to actually sit through me telling you a story (lucky you). But it appears that I am a good story teller. I tend to be an active story teller, I am passionate as I speak, I am engaging. Efraín loves watching me tell my stories.

Under normal circumstances these two facts wouldn't lead anywhere but these are not normal circumstances. Efraín is a qualified engineer who works very hard (and successfully) at his job. He has now reached a point where he is so successful that he can satisfy his one major desire - to make films. He is attending night school where he is studying a course in film direction and he is, already, writing/directing/producing short films.

He wants to make a short film about my blog post.

At the moment it is still in the negotiating state. He has his ideas, I have mine. I think that it is mainly going to be a "talking head" type of film, with me sat at a table telling the story. However, it will also include cuts (ooo, get me with my movie-talk) that will include me re-enacting events of the night as I tell the story - yep, there will be two of me on the screen at the same time...or not,it depends on how he wants to do the whole thing.

Anyhoo, all films start with a script. And that is where I come in. Before the project goes any further (into the storyboard section for those of you who are enjoying this slight brush with the bizzness) I have to sit down and write a script. Which I've done. Obviously, there is a good chance that this will go nowhere. So, rather than have my script hanging around in limbo I've decided to publish and be damned!

For your reading pleasure:  Download script_for_a_short.doc

humour - it's a funny thing

There is a moment in The Shield when Dutch loses a police laptop that he was using to research child porn on. When it turns up there is a certain amount of teasing that goes on in the station. I don't know if you watch The Shield but Dutch gets some of the best lines. His reply to the joshing he receives is simply:

Not funny now - funny later.

It became a sort of catchphrase in our flat and is occasionally dug out when one of us finds something amusing and the other doesn't - I get my head stuck in a saucepan, Maria rolls about laughing, I spend time walking into doors. [In passing, does anyone ever really get their head stuck in a saucepan? In my childhood, doctor's surgeries in comics always seemed to be full of kids with saucepans on their heads. This made a large enough impression on me that I have never stuck a saucepan on my head. Maybe that is how governments should get kids to say no to drugs. Fill comics with pictures of doctor's surgeries full of kids with saucepans on their heads and doctors shaking their heads, tutting and pointing out the danger of drugs. Drugs would look one hell of a lot uncooler then!]

Anyhoo, if there was on incident in our lives that was always going to be: "Not funny now - not funny later", it was the car crash incident. That was the single worse night of our relationship. There was no way that we could ever imagine that night would be funny. But it struck me, at the beginning of W*dnesd*y night, that eventually, most things in life become funny. [I say most things because it is obvious that some things never become funny, as was pointed out to me the other day: hemorroids are only funny to the people who haven't got them].

Maria has already written about the events of W*dnesd*y night and I have briefly mentioned it in a post already. A quick re-cap for those of you who have already forgotten/can't be arsed to go back and check: an ex-lover of Maria's was in town and wanted to meet up. He got very drunk. It didn't go well. I didn't hit him. We dropped him off at his hotel. Maria owed me bigtime - I didn't hit him!

As I sat in the car in, it has to be said, a fairly good mood considering that I had just been introduced to one (one? you mean that there might be more out there?) of Maria's exs, Maria and her ex-lover (yes, I am going to bang on about this fact for most of the post!) played catch up. They spoke in Spanish, Maria translating odd bits of the ex-lover's stories but I know enough Spanish, and I know the stories, that Maria's tales went untranslated. However, Maria started to tell a story that I recognised - or I thought I did - it was the story of the night of the car crash. However, after about ten minutes I realised that I must be wrong or at least confused. The ex-lover was laughing away like a madman (oh, why wasn't that a danger sign?) but strangely Maria was also giggling along. I looked at Maria with a raised eyebrow. Yes, she confirmed, she was talking about the.worst.night.ever. and yes, she was laughing and joking her way through it all.

Not funny then - funny later I thought.

The night was a disaster. Well, it was a disaster for the ex-lover (he really needs to think carefully and try to read a copy of: How to Win Back Girlfriends and Impress Them) and a source of upset and embarrassment for Maria. For me it was mainly irritating and annoying, but that was just the living through it. By Thursday morning it had just become an event in the rich tapestry of my life (wow, there are moments I sound like a wanker). Sometime, Thursday afternoon, when Maria was apologising for the seven hundreth and thirty sixth (or was it seventh) time, I mentioned that she really should stop apologising because the event was funny. She looked at me:

Not funny now - funny never.

At the end of the evening we attempted to leave the restaurant - actually, we didn't attempt, we left quite successfully, we just didn't get out the door with the ex-lover in tow. The meal had not gone well. He had ordered several tequilas, had messed up paying the bill, had hit me twice, had managed to announce (for the second time) how much in love he was with Maria  but failed to announce it while I was in the restroom (the  second time), annoyed most of the other patrons, upset the staff. We announced we were leaving and set off outside. We sat in the car for five minutes while the ex-lover tried to buy another tequila, was refused service and then finally ejected from the premises. Fortunately he slept on the short drive to the hotel.

When we got to the hotel Maria decided to forego the parking ritual and pulled up at the front door, we both leapt out of the car, round to the back passenger door, opened it and waited for the ex-lover to get/fall out of the car. He didn't. He couldn't. He couldn't undo his seatbelt. At that moment there were two grown people desperate to get this man (ex-lover) out of their car but neither of them wanted to actually lean into the car and undo his seatbelt - Maria was worried that he would assault her, I was worried I would assault him. We stood there, stepping forward, stepping back, neither of us willing to commit to getting the bastard out of the car. Eventually we simultaneously agreed that, much as we loved the car, it wasn't that important to us. We would just leave the car there, with the ex-lover inside, and walk home. Unfortunately the hotel staff weren't too happy with this. By now there were three of them demanding that we move the car. We couldn't move the car with the ex-lover in it, we replied. Then get him out, they demanded. We don't want to, we whined. GET HIM OUT, they demanded. I stepped up to the car, reached over the ex-lover, pressed the red button, the seatbelt flew up, he fell out. As he staggered to his feet we both hugged him in a definitely-no-contact-there hug. Informed the hotel staff that he was their problem, got in the car, and burnt rubber getting out of the car park.

I told this story to Maria on Thursday afternoon. She joined in with the telling. As she told her bits, the bits she was thinking, she smiled. By the end of the story we were both laughing. You see:

Not funny now - funny later.

[Oh, in case I didn't mention it, this bloke was an ex-lover but, you know me, I'm not the sort of person who would hold that against anyone.]