Saturday, June 29, 2002

My neighbours (V&J) are having a Latin/Dub/Reggae party - whatever that is - with Williams Cumberbache. It's a funk, afro-carribbean rhythm, descarga happening. And it's in my garden.

They set the sound system up at around 3pm. I am going, don't worry. It's just that I know this party will go on till like next week, so I thought I wouldn't get there too early. D is coming over later, because he can salsa. And also has a cuban-gangster beard-tache combo to die for. Though I'm never sure it goes with his leather trousers. But I think his overall look and lingusitic ability will go down well with the crowd. Which is good, as I speak neither spanish nor brazillian portugese. Nor, for the record, do I have leather trousers. Or even f(aux)leather trousers.

I'm just looking out of my spare room window, and all the men are tall, tan, tightly-t-shirted and have upper arm muscles to die for. All the women are zeitgeistly hip, and many are wearing that bandana-tied-tightly-around-head look which makes them look uber cool but would probably make me look like someone's cleaner.

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