If Cooktown were Darkest Africa – and some of it sort of is – then it’s the part of Darkest Africa where Livingston stumbles upon a lost tribe, finds them racing go-karts while high on fermented mango juice and there’s bunting strung across the witchdoctor’s hut that reads FUCK OFF.
Or, to paint it another way, the last mayoral race was between the only three candidates they could get: a Russian immigrant who speaks almost no English, a New Age lunatic, and the murderer who drives their school bus.
They are the few. They are the crazy. At least they are if you believe the motto of their cricket club: ‘somos pocos pero estamos locos‘. The Mexican ambassador certainly seems to. He’s the one who gave it them in the first place.