Mexico. Cancun. 1998 I think. Then again, it may have been 1999. It’s a bit difficult to remember. Not just because it was quite a long time ago, but mainly because, due to the effects of tequila, its pretty much two weeks of my life I can’t remember a great deal about. This was a post-divorce holiday celebration. Me and Ady, fed up in February, decided to go somewhere hot. I nipped round to a local travel agent (in pre internet days when you still did that sort of thing) and in no time at all we were off on our South American adventure. For those of you that haven’t been to Cancun, it’s basically a string of American hotels on the Yucatan Peninsula. It could be anywhere really. There is a Cancun town which provides the labour force for the hotels. (We visited the town for a beer – in a rare break from Tequila – and experienced two things you don’t come across in Northampton. First, guards armed with machine guns outside the bank and secondly a bloke who offered us the se