2003-03-17 - 12:38 a.m.

We have a random Cuban staying on our couch for the week whilst he attends an international book fair and basks in the wonderful luxuries afforded by living in a capitalist society, such as non-functioning public transport and overpriced tourist attractions. He's a very sweet middle-aged family man, and given that you don't get Cubans on your couch every day of the week, we took full advantage of his presence by plying him with our cheap imperialist wine, sticking Ruben Gonzales on the CD player and, in between getting basic samba lessons, talking so much shit about matters that "we", and by that I mean "I", know sweet Fanny Adams about, such as how things will change when Castro carks it. So, not in any way patronising AT ALL, though he didn't seem to mind much, and was even verging on semi-impressed by my exclamation of "Es una casa peligrosa!" when hereto sturdy bits of the house started falling apart at drunken hands. Unsure where that bit of the lingo came from, as the only phrase I remember from my high school Spanish usually is "No tengo un burro, pero...tengo un toro", though the precise context behind telling anyone that I don't have a donkey BUT I do have a bull remains clouded in the murky pools of history. I made seafood pasta and only one person out of seven spent the entire night vomming their stomach lining out, which is a culinary success in my book. Needless to say, my book isn't really awash with culinary success.