I really am the worst culprit for getting swept up and carried away.

So my spiritual fad didn’t last long, but I’m continuing to ride high on the wave of my German New Year. I must explain however that this German phase is only one of my many obsessions with foreign cultures.

When I came back from living in France for a year, I was simply insufferable. Dressed head to toe in black, with a chic neck scarf and a Longchamp handbag, I was a walking, wannabe  Parisienne. Sadly my airs and graces were not limited to style – in every walk of life I wanted to appear nonchalantly French. I even went as far as drinking every hot beverage out of a bowl!

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But my greatest and most dramatic cultural obsession was not France, it was Cuba.

At the headstrong age of 19, I went to Havana alone with the intention of learning Spanish and Salsa dancing. I casually booked the tickets on a whim, without really knowing what I was letting myself in for.

After only two weeks away, I returned to England transformed. I was a Salsa-dancing, Rasta-loving, raving Communist. My favourite colour was red, my latest crush was Che Guevara and my catchphrase became ‘Vive la revolucion.’ I had become hideous. Utterly utterly hideous.

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I lectured anyone who dared to listen about the evils of Capitalism and I tut-tutted as we walked past the heaving shelves at Tescos. I was starting a revolution on my own.

Alas, as time went on, I got yanked off my high horse. I began to enjoy having lots of choice back in England, I began to enjoy feeling safe and free, and I recognised just how great Blighty really is.

But every once in a while, when I sling back a mojito, my spirited Socialism will raise its agressive head!

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