Update.

They say that no news is good news.

But then I was never the bearer of good news. So you can just consider me your very own Grim Reaper (with a tad bit more flesh to him... just a tad mind you) as I impart to you all the happy and not so happy details of my rollacking jaunt.

So here is the low down. The what´s up. The Where have I left my pants again?

I am still in the Madge. And dear god, I want a hot shower! Please please please can someone find me a hot shower! At this point I am considering getting someone to throw a luke warm cup of tea over my left shoulder to get some small iota of satisfaction.(And those of you who wish to suggest that if I can obtain a hot cup of tea I should be also able to obtain hot water for a shower can kindly be quiet! Logic will not be tolerated here.)

The week of festivities for the foundation has come and gone.. and boy was it fun. Although I am disappointed to report that the lovely lady who I judged to be the most suitable Queen of the Pueblo only managed to achieve second place. The outrageous bias of my fellow judges was so heinous as to be absolutely unforgivable! They seemed to think that it was unreasonable to judge entirely on potential semblance to Shakira. And to answer a well put question from the unsurpassable Fyfe-ster... sadly there was no swimsuit category. There was however a ´How much do I love Peru?´section which I think was unfairly heavily weighted. I would have much preferred the more useful ´Let me explain why Peruvians think it necessary to turn off the fridge each and every night´ or a ´Where in God´s name can I find a decent cup of Red wine?´ sections. But small quibbles, as always, just small quibbles.

The dancing was great fun as well. Oh yes, a drunken night mixing it with the brightest and best of the Madge´s A-list out in the town´s hippest venues.(In this case, the local soccer field). What a highlight! Beer a plenty, good music, beautiful guys and gals and songs with a bass line strong enough for me to manage to keep my feet in time. Up till four then stumbled home accompanied by a veritable crowd of protecters - everyone here is convinced that their sleepy little town is a seething pit of violent crime. We are constantly told not to walk down this street or the other. The fact that everyone knows each other and that no place is more than 45 seconds walk away from the other (at the very least a firm ´HELP´ would suffice) does nothing to dampen this paranoia.

Ah, its the little imperfections that make you love a place.

Rock and Roll

Paddy.