When it rains in Guatemala, it really, really rains.
All through last night, the rain lashed off the corrugated iron roof above my bedroom, and when I got up at 7AM this morning to watch the footy at a local pub, the vegetable patch at my homestay was a lake of mud, and the streets a river of water as the rain flowed like Grade 5 rapids down through the town of San Pedro towards Lago Atitlan.
I hurried through the pouring rain to a bar where England versus Ze Germans was showing, past several Guatamalteco´s lamenting the bad timing of the bad weather (this week is the San Pedro feria, the local equivalent of Strathaven Gala Day), and past a dead frog whose fatal injuries looked to be less likely caused by drowning, and more likely by a tuk tuk wheel.
The game kicked off at 08:00. At 07:58, the electricity went off in Bar Playa and the surrounding neighbourhood, and I started cursing more than just my soaking wet jeans and trainers. At 08:10, the bar owner got a text message that Bar Budha still had electricity and Ze Germans were 1-0 up. At 08:10:01, I hoofed it through the still torrential rain to Bar Budha, arriving to find Ze Germans 2-0 up.
Its now 11:06 and Ze Germans have won 4-1 and I bet the English are already bleating about Lampard´s non-goal being the turning point in the match. It´s still raining heavily, my jeans are soaking and I bet my damp trainers stink tomorrow, and the locals are talking about a possible hurricane if the wind picks up today. But I don´t care, as England are out of the World Cup and that is all that matters.
