Searching for Xilitla

It was one of those rainy evenings in Mexico City when you can feel the water pumping through your hair. I was stood with a friend on a balcony watching traffic wade across the streets below, discussing how much I enjoyed being one of a small number of Brits living in Mexico.

“In a way I think I just like to be different,” I said.

“Different?! But there are loads of British people here!” my friend snapped back at me. “Sir Edward James – now he was different.”


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