After lunch, I visit a café with WiFi to research stories and keep up my correspondence. However, I am being stalked from place to place by James Blunt. He appears in the most unlikely venues (surely, I would be safe from his MOR intrusions in somewhere called Beiruit?). I’m not sure what makes me more uncomfortable, whether it’s the proclamations of my beauty or the laments over our ill-fated love. Pull yourself together man.
To try and sweeten the pill, I tried to buy a beer. Again I was thwarted, this time by the law. It would appear that, in addition to its religious significance, Easter in Bolivia means a four-day festival of drink driving. Four thousand extra police hit the streets to try to stem the exponential growth in road accidents over recent years and, crucially, the sale of alcohol has been prohibited. But I don’t even have a car! This would never stand in Dalston.
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