"It's all crazy now" Thursday, July 21st:
(Sometime last week...)
I'm going to have to send this before I sober up, because, in the words of the prophet Noddy, 'It's all crazy now'...and who am I to disagree...which I believe are the words of the great prophets Dave and Annie...but then if we're going to continue in this vein, everything will be sacred and I'll be out of business.
Moving swiftly on, I'm in Barbados...for the last time. I'm packing up and heading back to Blightly, for reasons I really can't be fucked to go into right here, right now. Just believe me when I say,' It's better this way'. Corrosive heat and cheap rum have taken their toll and I am no longer the person you used to know, or would recognise. It's time to jump ship and head with the rats to dry land, or a larger piece of land than this. This is a hellish place to make camp. The locals drugs to want sell drugs you. Sell you locals drugs want the to. They're lovely really, and loud talk is the only way of stopping them, and if that fails rum will do...but only just. There is a thin line between drugs, rum and beer and sunning yourself quietly on the beach, and if you do like Skywalker Senior, and tread the wrong path, you're doomed, doomed I say!
I will lose a day tomorrow–or today as it is. I'm in no fit state to face its heat and nothing will get done. So I'll give it a niffty body swerve, keep my eyes shut and pretend it didn't exist. This is the way around here if, like me, you hang with the Roadview Crew, to whom Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays are the new Friday and Saturday. Einstein would have hated this place because things are most definitely different for different observers.
The fridge was initially well laden, but is now bare; that quantity of beer would have lasted me months on any other patch of the planet, but here it goes like charlie at The Brits.
I have five days left here, and I can feel the heavy stuff moving inexorably in. I have at least three more days of heavy hitting in me, but if I pace myself, I may be able to stretch it to four; five is out of the question because the plane ride home will get ugly and bouncing around in a tin can 40,000 feet over the Atlantic is a bad place for things to get ugly. I'm Premium Economy on Virgin and although you get Champagne and a copy of The Times, wild eyes and the shakes is no more acceptable here than it is in cattle class.
Time to stop. Spellcheck is running far too hot and something is biting my leg.