A ripe old tale

WITHOUT Jacky by my side I’m lost here in Mexico. I may walk with a swagger exuding confidence, but I know that if I’m confronted and engaged in conversation all that confidence is lost.

I can openly admit that. It’s a fact, an undisputable fact.

As mentioned before I speak enough Spanish to get by (admittedly right up until the point when the other person replies…) and there are times when I am way out of my depth.

However, whatever country you’re in, there is this strange anomaly that is the ‘squeeze’ test when searching for ripe fruit.

And that’s what I really want to talk about here today.

Last week I went shopping with Jacky’s family for groceries while she worked.

I spotted a pretty nice-looking watermelon in the fresh fruit and veg section and intimated to her mother that Jacky would like it (imagine me simply saying “Jacky” and then giving a thumbs up).

Without warning Jacky’s mum began forcefully squeezing, slapping, knocking and tapping every watermelon in sight. And I mean seriously giving them a beating.

And no-one batted an eyelid.

I would have called it GBH on fruit.

Those who know the trick call it clever shopping I guess.

I have no point of reference over whether the noise generated by slapping a melon is good or not.

So there I am stood in the middle of the shop beating these things, and then asking random Mexican shoppers: “Esta bueno? Esta bueno?!”
How do you know if the slap makes the 'right' sound? Does this watermelon sound better than that one?!

I don’t even eat watermelon so how am I supposed to know how it's supposed to SOUND when you hit it?

When you buy a car you don’t jump up and down on it to test the suspension right?

Christ, maybe you do!

Witnesses sought for papaya assault

Anyhow, so who’s ever joined a group of people mid-conversation and laughed out-loud at the end to try and fit in, only for everyone to just turn stare, silently and blank-faced?

I think we’ve all been there at some point.

And it’s happened a few times to me here in the last few months.

While it wasn’t necessarily a conversation I was part of, this very thing happened to me last weekend at the cinema.

You see, every film screened here is shown in Spanish, or in English with Spanish subtitles.

Jacks and I went to see Skyfall and there were ample opportunity for me to make a fool of myself by laughing out-loud... solo.

I always forget that while I understand every gag immediately, (because it’s in English) it takes time for people to read the subtitle, digest the dialogue, and laugh.

While I didn’t turn around, I could feel 300+ eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.

Jacks just laughs at me instead of the film’s gag. And then proceeds to throw popcorn in my direction.

One thing I simply can’t get used to over here is the way people talk in the cinema. And I’m not talking about “wow, that was a great fight scene” or “that’s so funny”, I’m talking about full-on conversations about what they ate last night, what Rafael thinks of Marcella, or the new store that’s opened in the mall.

Jeez. Jacks and I were watching the latest Bourne film a couple of months ago and the girl sat next to me answered her phone and began having a whole conversation.

At least I learned some Spanish that day from Jacks.

Namely the word ‘callate’.

Oh, and what’s with people cheering on the main character and frikkin APPLAUDING at the end of a film?! Now that is weird. Are the characters going to bow as part of the credits?

Also, who’s been to a 4D cinema? My first experience was the aforementioned Bourne flick.

At times your seat shakes like you’re sat in the car taking part in the high-speed chase, fans blow when a scene is windy or exposed, and perfume and scent is pumped throughout the auditorium when the characters walk through a forest or wherever.

Pretty cool. Unfortunately Bourne was probably not the best flick to see in 4D. As you can imagine a lot of people get taken out by single sniper gunshots.

And as part of the experience of course you get a violent and unexpected jolt in your back from the seat.

Hey, so a big HELLO to all you new visitors.

To date the blog’s had nearly 4,000 page views since July, which is pretty great. Awesome in fact.

It’s been read in the UK, US, Mexico, Russia, Australia, Italy, Belgium, Libya, Canada, Qatar, Latvia and Sweden among many other countries.

For those who aren’t following me on Twitter or Facebook, I try to update the blog about once a week, once I’ve gone and made a fool of myself in some place or another.

Writing this puts everything in perspective and keeps me sane I guess.

Thanks for lending me your eyes.

Big love x

An Olympic-sized pain in the a*s

SPENDING just a few hours in America is enough to make you feel normal and sane.
People in the US are always keen to talk to you once they know you’re English or British.
And they seem to think we all personally know Prince Harry.
Sure I’ve met once, but we’re hardly ‘mates’.
I’ve now given up trying to explain exactly where I’m from in England.
The conversation generally goes: “Where you from there?”
“Plymouth, you know... in the South West of England.”
Usually at this point I draw a map of the isles in the air and point to the bit on the left.
“Is that in London,” they then almost always ask.
“Er, you know what? Yes it is... in fact, the WHOLE country is contained within London.”
I just can't be bothered.
I’ll never ever forget a pompous Aussie in Sydney asking me the same question.
When I replied “Plymouth,” and “it’s near where the best beaches are in England” his response was “you have beaches?!”
"Yes that’s right, because we live on a frikkin island.”
Mexicans are different.
I’m sure most Mexicans have never visited London but they seem to have a better grasp of the geography.
I can't be too critical of the Americans as their country is just so huge.
Bizarrely San Diego itself seems to be more Spanish than Benidorm. The closer you get to the border the more taco stands and Spanish-language signs you see.
When we’re in the US Jacky and I seem to swap roles.
In Mexico I let her lead the conversation. But in the US, being predominantly English speaking, I take the lead role.
It’s strange and I often forget, letting her stumble through a conversation while I stand in the fold.
It’s only when I open my mouth that I realise I can wholly engage in conversation again.
Most of the time though I can’t help but answer ‘si’ or ‘hola’. Weird huh?
Christ, I even order burritos when I’m the States.
As you can no doubt appreciate all conversation at the moment revolves around that small sporting event we call the ‘Olympics’.
Everyone keeps asking me if I’m ‘excited’ about the games.
So much so I reply, that I moved to a different continent.
Looking at friends’ comments on Facebook, I’m sure that given the chance many Londoners wished they had too.
London is one of the busiest places on earth, so what’s an extra few hundred thousand visitors?
A few extra cars, a few thousand more tourists with cameras.
I can only imagine what rush hour on the tube is going to be like. I feel bad enough getting in the way of commuters as I stare blankly at the tube map when I visit.
Imagine all those foreign visitors clutching huge maps and puzzled expressions. 
God, even the thought of it sounds like an Olympic-sized pain in the ass.
I really hope it does help to boost the UK’s economy and end this existential ‘funk’ which walks hand in hand with the double dip recession.
But hey, I couldn’t really give a toss about the games themselves.
To gain my interest they should introduce some new games.
Maybe a two-mile sprint event for footballers who have just been told they have had their Ferraris torched by Seb Coe?
Or how about an archery event with everyone aiming their arrows at Sepp Blatter in his hospitality box?
Or wait, how about an event where Gary Lineker eats as many Walkers crisps as there are starving children in the world?
One name captures my imagination, and his event is the only result l will listen out for. Tom Daley.
Smash it mate, make Plymouth proud and put the 'Great' back into Great Britain.

People are strange when you're a stranger

YOU know, most of the more interesting and funny moments of my new life in Mexico have happened around the dinner table.

Telling my girlfriend’s mother that I was feeling ‘horny’ when I meant to say I was feeling ‘hot’ (due to the sun) is a moment which those in attendance will never let me forget.

Another standout moment has got to be when numerous members of Jacky’s family tried to teach me to roll my R’s to get the perfect Spanish accent.

The sound that came out of my mouth was not a rolled ‘R’, it was more like the sound of a bee slowly dying (probably of embarrassment).

Having five or six people rolling R’s at me at the same time in perfect harmony was one of the most surreal moments of my life.

“It’s easy!” Jacky told me.

“Er... it’s really not,” I replied.

It is one of the most difficult things I have ever tried to learn. And now I am so self conscious of doing it wrong and simply making a noise at someone, that I can’t possibly EVER try it again.

I don’t understand how people can wake up one day knowing how to do it.

I’ve even tried googling it to find a video tutorial. To be honest the comments – mainly from half-wit Americans – are more entertaining.

So yes, I’m trying new things. I’m eating different food, I’m exploring new places, and I’m learning a new language (well, new for me).

An Englishman here in Tijuana (known as ‘TJ’) is a rarity.

And to say I stand out like a sore thumb is a massive understatement.

My skin colour is different, my accent is weird, and I’m literally about three feet taller than your average Mexican.

I stand head and shoulders above everyone. When I’m in a supermarket I peer out over the aisles like the Statue of Liberty gazing out over Manhattan’s ant population.

Jacky bought me a pair of boots as a welcoming gift and, while the size and length of the boots are fine, they are so narrow that I’m sure the daintiest British tinkerbell supermodel would have a job squeezing into them.

I now honestly believe that I – like many men who derive from the West Country – have ‘pasty’ feet.

Such has been the intensity of people’s stares here that they’ve nearly walked out into traffic.

I, more often than not, smile politely and say ‘hola’.

I’m not sure exactly what people expect me to say, but they often look bemused and give me a look to suggest ‘wow... it speaks’.

It’s strange being in a foreign land. And my foreign mind works in strange ways.

Wherever I am, somewhere in the chasms of my brain I immediately look for an indication of where the next toilet is. You know, just in case nature calls.

Last week Jacky and a contact of hers took me to a kind of TJ chamber of commerce event.

It was a weekly update for a huge expo style event called ‘Tijuana Innovadora’ going on over here in October.

It will undoubtedly be a big deal as they’ve lined up the co-founder of Apple as well as many other important speakers from the US and Mexico.

The event is all about celebrating TJ and its relations and standing with the world.

So unbeknown to me, my attendance at last week’s event – as an (award-winning... well, I can say that now right?!) English journalist – was seen as a ‘big deal’.

I walked into a room of around 100 people and people stopped talking and stared.

You know like the classic scene in a Western when the stranger character walks into the saloon?

People stopped sipping their coffee, they fixed eyes on me, the guy in the back stopped playing the piano... (okay, there was no piano player but you get the gist).

The next thing I know someone thrust a microphone into my hand and signalled for me to introduce myself.

I spoke some Spanish, I spoke some English, and I spoke something which is a cross between the two incorporating hand movements and weird facial expressions.

And I got a round of applause. Oh, and then everyone started dancing. Honestly.

I must have said something right? Right? People even wanted their pictures taken with me.

In that single moment I felt like I’d announced my arrival to potential future employers.

So watch this space.

At the weekend I also encountered something else which was new and weird in equal measure.

We drove past a hardware store (TJs equivalent to B&Q) and there was a large group of men shouting at the passing vehicles.

It turns out that these men were actually plumbers and electricians who were plying for trade.

Yellow Pages? Facebook group? Who needs em. Just shout loudly at your potential customers!

Personally I wouldn’t want to employ someone who scared the living cr*p out of me but hey, when in Rome... or Mexico.

It got me thinking that maybe I should just massively over pronounce my R’s and growl at people to show that I’m actually trying?

Hmmmm... maybe not.