Down Mexico way

Nogales, Mexico

After the purgatory of Arizona, I was so happy to cross the Mexico frontier I could have French-kissed the filthy streets. It was just like home in Africa. Meat tasted like meat and meals were eaten to a joyous soundtrack of buzzing bluebottles. Stray dogs basked in sunshine among wrecked cars as music cascaded down streets. Maidens had nice, healthy bottoms and men were encouraged to whistle their appreciation. We drank beers in Sonora’s desert air and Our Lady of Guadalupe stared down kindly on all her Catholic sinners. Oh happy, happy Mexico!

Arizona, by contrast, was beyond dreadful. ‘We’re the skin-cancer capital of the world,’ they said to me proudly. I asked, can boredom or American TV give you cancer? Or hormone-injected chicken? Or does American food let you off with just a pair of bitch tits and an involuntary sex change?