Bananas lacking Pyjamas.

I continue to be in Sucre. It is a lovely town. Young, studenty with really really good salteñas.

And, as is necessary to stop me developing deeper pyschosis than I already have, I have developed a little bit of a routine to fill my days in this most European of Bolivia´s towns. And keeping with the European theme, I have decided to go all renaisance on your chops.

My mornings are spent with my new Maestro, Jorge - painting all sorts of wonderous amazing things - Bananas, Apples, Jorge´s mother - that sort of thing. This generally takes three hours and while I have come close to producing something that could be said to be vaguely reminiscent of a overripe banana on a foggy day, sadly Jorge´s mother continues to bear a striking resemblance to a midget canary than the handsome lady that she actually is.

After that usually quite frustrating but educative interval, Jorge and I stroll down to the local market, talking of things as wide and varied as Bolivia´s political problems, Latin American countries with the most developed art scenes and whether or not Michael Jackson really would do such a thing to young boys. This always ocurs over a freshly squeezed juice or two- although this morning I was convinced to imbibe a nauseating mix of beer and egg white. Please, don´t pry further.

Tomorrow we are going on an art excursion, leaving the surrounds of Sucre to find inspiration in the mottley browns and greens of the Bolivan countryside. I feel like I am in an Oscar Wilde play. Regardless of the colour the scenery actually is, I of course will find a way to use too much yellow.

Maybe I should just stick to fruit.

Rock and Roll

Paddy.