Crispian woke me up lying on the beach in Acapulco. I have to say, I had the most horrendous hangover. And whilst my head hurt it did not hurt as much as that of the imbecilic Passepartout I was travelling with. You see as soon as I realised what had happened I battered him with a hand Boogie Board over the head for about three hours.

It turns out that when I discovered his mistake at taking me against the grain of our journey that I fell into a deep depression. The kind only sated by Plymouth Gin, which when found in a high class beach hotel was liberally applied to my liver. Crispian, in my bad books, had been tasked with keeping these drinks flowing, so much so that he soon ran out of money. Nevertheless the Mexican idea of Macho allowed for a man to draw on the funds of his wife.

You heard right. Crispian pretended that I was his wife. More than just a cultural faux pas, it was a sickening idea which could only be absolved by more drinking. Which is what I proceeded to do until somewhere along the line in a small church attached to the hotel I ended up ACTUALLY MARRIED to Crispian.

The ring was cheap plastic, but it was there. At least I knew it had not been consummated. But the time it would take for me to get a annulment would eat into our precious time. Not to mention that the whole affair appears to have eaten completely into all of our funds. I ended up on a Mexican beach, married to a simpleton and no way across the Pacific. At least battering Crispian made me feel better.


What is it about black US vocal groups from the sixties and songs about Mexico? Is it some sort of suggestion of sophistication, that they have nipped across the border and are now cosmopolitan enough to order refried beans? Whatever, they are not convincing anyone with this Burt Bacharach song that he shat out one lunch hour.

The Drifters were named after the rubbish version of a Twix which the biscuit taken out, and were themselves a rubbish version of the Four Tops. Skip back to yesterdays entry to see what I think of the Four Tops and therefore the complete and utter disdain in which I hold the Drifters. One which was held by the Drifters management who on a number of occasions fired the whole band for the temerity to demand wages. Like they should be paid for this crap. The Drifters therefore existed in about eighteen different versions, all of whom tour today, and there is some talk of them setting up their own nation state where Up On The Roof will be the national anthem (with me shouting, ?Go on then, jump? directly afterwards).

Possibly the most famous member of the Drifters was Ben E.King, latterly famous for having a hot in the eighties with Stand By Me. Whilst this went to show how poor music in the 80?s were, his resurgence in popularity was merely because kids wanted him to go on Saturday Superstore and ask him if he was a Ben E tied to a tree.

Mexican Divorce is an unusual song in as much as it pretends to have a point, and yet never explains it. What exactly is a Mexican Divorce? It seems to be relatively quick, ending a love affair overnight. Perhaps it is the kind of love affair people had with Drifters records. One day on sale, next day free: you can?t sell crap like this. Still, as I said, the absolute poverty of talent on display is not all the Drifters fault. Songwriting God* Burt Bacharach was responsible for this along with Bob Hilliard ? and its clear why Bob did not stick around writing lyrics for long. Burt was responsible for many records of mass destruction in the sixties, but this ones make mariachi stylings are just offensive. This is a killer combination, and one which therefore should have ended with both parties banged up. Or at least deported to Mexico.

*God of terrible songwriting.