There’s a super-chic, magnificently accessorized Italian Señora: I recently bought a strip of brightly coloured Mayan fabric, which I use a belt, specifically because I saw her do the same and it looked so good. She wears lots of jewellery and looks bohemian and eclectic. If I did the same I would look like a kid who’d broken unto mummy’s jewellery box and was going to get in so much trouble later.
There’s Paul: American, early 60’s, writing a novel (aren’t we all), who told me his wife left him because she wanted to move to Mexico. He said fine, she asked why he was agreeing so easily, he said it was to make her happy, she said this was not a good enough reason. So shortly after they moved here she left him and returned to the States, abandoning their 32-year marriage. I suspect there might be a little more to this story! He recently had a Birthday Party and ostentatiously invited the three, beautiful, 20-something waitresses, I don’t know if any of them went.
Yesterday, there was a new character: once upon a time Playa del Carmen was a cool, hippy hangout and there are still a few relics from that age wandering around in their Grateful Dead t-shirts and Willie Nelson style hair braids, looking vaguely bewildered by the city that has grown up around them. This guy looked like one of that tribe: long grey hair, frosted blue eyes, very much like David Carradine, with a ponytail. He sat across the room for me and started talking to someone on Skype. I wasn’t intending to listen until something he said caught my attention:
"So I dreamt that these two guys were dead, then yesterday I walked down and there’s the ambulance – turns out one of them is dead and the other's in a coma! I have to be careful what I think about cos I’m making it happen!"
I am a sceptic, so of course, I assumed he was a nutcase. He was, after all, old enough to one of the acid pioneers and they are known for their fluid perception of reality. But suppose it was true? Suppose I was in the presence of a dangerous and bizarre psychic phenomena. Any day now Americas Most Haunted (or do I mean Most Wanted?) will descend upon us with Geiger-counters, clipboards and a near hysterical anchorwoman. He was speaking in nervous, hushed tones so I missed the next part of the conversation, but then I heard,
"Well now I am emailing positive images out all around the globe...," emailing? Emailing? Is he using a modern term for sending out vibes? Or does he actually email photos of happy faces and great achievements out into the ether? Surely he’d be better off making a YouTube video or joining Twitter – perhaps I should suggest that?
"I’ve been spending a lot of time focusing on these pictures and thinking about good things, so no one else gets hurt"
How sad, he believes he has this extraordinary power and he’s hiding away, hunched over his computer studying ‘positive images’, terrified of the damage he might do. I missed the rest of the conversation. But shortly after he hung up, a burly Texan, in a faded ‘One-Star Rodeo’ tee shirt bellowed across the room,
"Was that Callie? Did ya tell her about the dude you killed?"
Mr Carradine nodded, anguish etched into his features, and the tears welled up in his eyes.
Question: I had a really fat customer the other day. I mean really, really fat. It was interesting for me, logistically, because fat is buoyant. It’s actually very hard to sink that much fat. The obese need a lot of weight, but carrying it can be a problem as they are generally not strong, very unfit, awkwardly shaped and difficult to handle. Getting a weight belt done up for example: do you politely ask them to lift their rolls so you can assess where their waist might be? Suppose their belly is too large for them to lift single-handed?
Some of my readers are fellow divers, so they might be interested in this situation. I was not planning to be nasty about the guy; he seemed nice enough (although you have to wonder about the self respect and intelligence of someone who chooses to be in that condition – and yes, I do believe it is a choice). But what are the ethics of blogging about this? Is it cruel? Is it bitchy? Is it a breach of confidence? Unprofessional? Can I make jokes?
To tell the truth, the blog has been written... but should I post it?