In which I am mature and serious

Oooh, I’m excited!

Matthew the Obnoxious Englishman* has asked if I want to be the centre's barperson while he is away (in Northern Mexico where they have another growing season) for six months.

The downside is there is actually some barpersonning involved, which means spending some of my time at social functions behind the bar instead of on the dancefloor.

The upside is The Power! Specifically, the power to organize more social events on Friday evenings – at the moment they’re pretty few and far between and most of the time the Rincon (our bar) is dead – and hopefully even form a social committee. I’m seeing dance nights, themed parties, I’m seeing dominoes and poker and bingo evenings, I’m seeing lists of people willing to DJ and work behind the bar and all that stuff…

He’s given me a day to think about it, but really, woohoo!

Already I am afraid if my social-event-organising skills are up to the job. Agh.

On another note, I felt guilty about moaning about the coldness of the weather here in a previous post, when it’s probably pretty miserable at home. Until I spent a whole day (Friday) shivering and feverish and clinging to my heater then an evening at home feeling sick because of the gas fumes from the heater of doom, and all the skin on my hands went weird and sandpapery, and my lips cracked into a million pieces, and I think I got a small chilblain but am not entirely sure because my primary knowledge of them is through literature, and when I did a google image search I got horrifically advanced cases I was afraid to look at. So I promise not to moan any more unless my fingers turn blue and fall off (and then I won’t be able to type, so not even then. Or maybe I will moan very slowly with my nose…) but really if Father Christmas thinks I haven’t been good enough for presents and brings me coal instead I might just not be sorry…

I went to a famous market on Sunday at a town called Chiconcuac, where there are literally thousands of stalls selling (mostly cheap) clothes and enormous crowds of people come to buy them. It’s quite an experience. I discovered why lots of Mexican women seem to wear poorly-fitting, too-tight clothes – most things come in one size, or two or three at the most. Which is odd, and a little bit depressing when you are shopping with the girl with the perfect body, my friend Isabel (and she’s gorgeous too…pchah). I did however buy the coolest poncho in the world, which would be helpful for the whole keeping me warm whatsit (which was sort of the aim of the exercise) if I didn’t feel just a bit too silly to wear it on an everyday basis. It is in fact a Little Red Riding Hood cape in bright red fleece, with a hood and tassels and ribbons to tie it up at the front, and it makes me feel like I am in a fairytale and it’s entirely brilliant. Isabel bought the black one, so she is the wicked witch.

I also bought some fuschia pink tracksuit bottoms. I am such a practical shopper.

Oh yeah, and I was very amused by the brand name ‘Willy Jeans’. I’m mature too.

* In a Funny way, not a Bad way. Anyone who can write this paragraph in an email to the Director General gets my vote:

"However, this year I have identified a willing volunteer to take over the responsibility of opening the Rincon during my absence that being Eloise [my name] the new intern from communications. English barmaids are well known for their authoritative, no-nonsense manner and so I have complete confidence about her ability to maintain the tradition. In addition she has a love of Latin music and is the proud owner of several pairs of dancing shoes, so she tells me."