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It’s not that I don’t like Monday’s I just don’t love them.

Monday was tough this week and I couldn’t work out it if was the shitty weather, the result of 4 days in a row of drinking or world war three erupting over the weekend. I called the old man last night who was back in hospital which was a delightful little garnish on my Sunday Scary’s. He is out of surgery today and doing better.

I’m never more delusional than I am on a Monday. The morning starts off with a big pat on the back that I’ve made it out of bed followed by a gigantic list in my head of all the thing I’m going to accomplish. Its Monday, let’s start the week off right, I tell myself. I always find time for a Monday afternoon nap which then leads to a sharp downturn in motivation and in tow; the opposite kind of delusion, the one where I start to justify a few more house on the couch and how I’ve ‘earnt’ a lazy night and some takeaway food. Listen to your body, I whisper to myself. Rest.

It’s almost impressive.


I found some internal solace through the doom-scrolling in knowing that, if the sirens start blaring to take cover from a nuclear holocaust, at least I’m not still clearing tables and explaining to people how to eat tacos and cups of corn in a Mexican restaurant anymore.

First published on Substack – https://tommydalts.substack.com/p/its-not-that-i-dont-like-mondays

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To remain elusive or to chronic overshare….

The irony is that when it comes to sharing online, I am constantly flip-flopping between two ends of a spectrum. On one hand, I’m terrified of sharing my writing, on the other, I’m more than happy to barrage my instagram following with an onslaught of photos after too many wines on the weekend. I like to think of this the next day as my way of showing gratitude for the good things in my life but it’s really just a very public photo album that probably doesn’t need to be seen.

While I was listening to ‘A Bit Fruity’ with Matt Bernstein the other day, specifically the episode “Why Nikki Minage threw it all away for fascism,” the co-host Olay was talking about how back in the 90s and early 2000s, there was mystique around female rappers, and that was part of the allure to them. In contrast to now, they are going on what she describes as twitter ‘coke-binges’ to take a swipe at their latest nemesis. She said, and I have to agree that – this phase of celebrity is far less appealing than back in those days – when the artists you looked up to were less accessible. People do not need that kind of access to your life.

Over the new years period, I watched a lot of the ‘ins and outs’ reels on instagram. I have to admit, I don’t mind them. I find it interesting reading people’s goals and ideas for the new year, but it’s also good to connect with people’s outs’ which I guess is the trendy way of expressing what we once called our new year’s resolutions. One particular reel I saw showed an ‘in’ from an influencer whom I hold in some esteem, and it stated that ‘chronic oversharing’ was back ‘in’. I think the justification was the vein of ‘stop worrying about what people think’. I am me, hear me roar vibes, you know what I’m talking about.

It struck a chord with me and I first thought the answer this year would be to share more about my personal life on instagram as a way of coaxing myself out of the state of failure I was in as a writer. Upon reflection of this in my recent weeks of unemployment, I’ve come to realise that the best way to stop being afraid of what people think of my writing is just to do the bloody thing and get it out there.

My real self isn’t snaps of me on holidays and various stages of intoxication shared many months after the fact. I know I’ll be successful in sharing my joy if I take the time to write stories online that mean something to me. It’s been a week since my first post, and so far I’ve had one view(mum), who told me yesterday she couldn’t even see the post. For now, I’m going to remain elusive on the gram and put my energy here where it belongs. One post every Friday, I might even share this with someone else this week.

Substack link – follow to stay up to date.

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One month later…

from substack

Thomas Dalton

Feb 12, 2026

Exactly one month ago I was fired. Even though I could feel something was wrong in my gut, it still came as a shock to me. A meeting that I had thought would bring some kind of resolution and a plan for the future ended up with, “ We don’t see a way forward”
I’ll spare you the details, for now, but as I left and the shock wore off, I made my usual call to my best friend to fill her in and then, I felt this instant surge of relief wash over me.

After almost 17 years I was finally done with hospitality. This was it. I’d been blessed to travel around the country working in this industry and made some life-long connections but as I went home to sit with it and over the coming weeks it became ever so clear to me. That chapter of my life was closed.

It wasn’t perfect timing but these things seldom are, my partner and I had recently become apartment owners and he was in Brazil at the time visiting his family but when you look at these things from the outside all I could see is how lucky I was to have these things both the material and the immaterial.

The months leading up to this had been intense. My now-ex business partners and I had been renovating and rebranding the restaurant, ready to re-open, when my grandfather passed away after over a year of being in and out of hospital. A few weeks later, we moved into our new place. I sat in that apartment wondering what to do next.

The following day I went to the beach. By that afternoon I had secured a casual job helping a friend’s brother out delivering produce to restaurants during the Australian Open. Three days later I’d completed my white card training, a safety card which is needed for any construction or work site. Anybody who has met me would be gagged at the thought of me in hi-vis but fuck it, its time for something new.

I started working on my novel again. I went to gigs every weekend, keeping a new years resolution I had made for myself. I caught up with friends and family. I started looking for what was to come next with curiosity not despair.

I had planned to keep this from my partner as I didn’t want him to be stressed out on his holiday and wanted to tell him in person, but one day it just came up and I told him. I fell even more in love with him that day, I felt so supported and understood. He knew I wasn’t happy where I was and he said he wanted me to be happy.

Here goes…something!

P.S – I’m yet to grace a worksite with my presence as I’ve been busy chasing other dreams, but at least I now know how to put on a hardhat.

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“…despite all the problems they have…”

I left Cuba pretty confused. I wasn’t sure if I loved it or hated it or fell somewhere in the middle. The more time passes since I’ve left and I still find myself pretty fascinated by the country. I still can’t forget the day Tomas and myself checked out the revolution museum. After a two hour accidental detour we found the place and as we approached the building I noticed a dog that looked like it was chewing on a big piece of meat, rolling it around in his mouth deciding on whether or not he wanted to eat it. I walked past the dog and then turned around to notice another female dog sitting in the gutter about 2 metres away. She looked exhausted and had her belly facing upwards exposing her nipples and it was then I realised that the first dog held its newborn pup in his mouth and was trying to bring it back to life. Around them, taxi drivers stood hassling tourists and the police across the road stood in silence looking rather bored; everyone was just doing what they had to.

Our second week in we found a book at one of the casas with the following quote;

“All journeys have a secret destination of which the traveller is unaware.”

-Martin Burber

Underneath written in sharpie was a message from my friend Mahmoud;

“I leave this book for all the brave travellers who have travelled this route to discover Cuba and its people despite all the problems they have.”

As you’ll see below it looks like he has crossed out the word warmth and replaced it with people, which is something I’ve only noticed months later.

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Hitchhikers Guide to West Cuba

(Havana to Vinales via local ‘bus’) image I don’t know how much rum we consumed or how I got back to our room last night but I can tell you I was still wasted when I woke up. Next thing I remember is Tomas being there and Zag and I packing our bags whilst shouting at each other about something. Then we were on our way to a local bus which we caught with ease this time, then 40 mins later another bus, then 20mins later standing on the side of the highway in what felt like the hottest day in Cuba.

My head was throbbing and Zag who wasn’t speaking to me (and wouldn’t for the next day), had found a tiny patch of shade to hide under. It just covered the width of his body so he had no other choice but to lay down in order to fully protect himself from the sun. As bus timetables or signs don’t seem to exist in Cuba we sat there waiting, waiting waiting for a truck to come past which we would flag down as per our instructions from Magnolia, the host from the hostel. Nobody seemed all that enthused with our presence on the bus, giving them the benefit of the doubt, could be a result of the fact that being herded around like cows was part of everyday life for them. They probably couldn’t imagine why a few tourists would want to get around that way especially in this heat. image image image I can’t get over the run down state of the schools here. There seems to be an abundance of people working on tourist attractions while their kids are at schools with smashed windows, lucky to have one ring on their basketball courts. The next few days were by far the most confronting. We’d been in Cuba for nearly two weeks now and the isolation was definitely starting to get to Zag. I’d been lying if I said that I wasn’t feeling it myself but for him being on his first trip overseas I imagine it would’ve been full on. image The three of us boys had decided that we would get around from town to town by hitchhiking, only taking taxi’s when we had to. After one night in Vinales we took a truck to Santa Lucia a town close to the east coast of Cuba. The first day we got lucky and managed to score a lift to the beach with an old french couple in their rental car. The beach was beautiful and parts of it were relatively empty. The couple were even nice enough to take us back to town in the afternoon, we didn’t ask but they offered. Day two we were not so lucky. None of the locals would pick us up and the tourists in their rental cars weren’t stopping. After about half an hour in the hot sun we took shelter in a bus stop and took turns in flagging down cars. For local vehicles you point to the ground and rentals you stick the thumb out, the western way. Another half hour went by along with a few squabbles over who’s turn it was to stand in the sun and point and finally a couple of Spanish girls stopped and agreed to take us along with all our luggage to the beach. imageimageimage

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Trinidad, Cuba

Trinidad.

Varadero was fun. We spent the days at the beach and the nights at the Casa Del La Musica(House of music). The best night was probably their version of a uni night as there was tons of local people there and not many tourists. Tomas met up with a Chilean girl we had met at the beach who conveniently for Zag had lots of friends…one in particular that looked like she’d just jumped off the cover of a magazine. The worst night there was the tourist night, the cover charge tripled and the place was full of Canadians learning how to salsa. Plus side? Open bar, I think we smashed about 10 Mojitos each and a few beers then bailed(with about 5 beers stuffed in our pockets as they weren’t opening them.) Cheers!

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Our taxi driver from Veradero to Trinidad was a rude ass, piece of. After charging us more to leave at a certain time of day, he was two hours late and then spent the whole 5 hours screaming into his phone while the four us of tried with varying levels of success to sleep. My iPod JUST managed to drown out the sound of his voice until he started slapping me on the leg asking for something. I had no idea what it was and Tomas(Who was even angrier then I) told us that it was paper. I got my notebook out of my bag, open a page which he grabbed and tore out a piece of paper before yelling “PEN!”

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The following day we walked out to the cascades or waterfalls. Most people take a tour which includes horse riding but we opted to walk(The horses are in pretty bad conditions). Took us a little over an hour and we arrived to discover that due to the time of year there was no waterfall. Massive waterhole though which we jumped in an swam around for a bit.

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In complete contrast to most displays of Cuban Hospitality, the man living across from our Casa was a top bloke. After chatting to Tomas across the street from his first floor balcony to ours, Pedro invited us over for and sent his two daughters off to get a bottle of rum and his wife brought out snacks. It was cool getting to know some locals, he worked as a maintenance man at one of the hotels and his daughter was studying whilst working at the Casa Del La Musica. I’d heard a few people talking about the ‘Mountain Club’ in Trinidad so was really excited to check it out however she informed me it was ‘closed for renovations’ which, being in Cuba, could mean it would never open again. Pedro challenged us three boys to a push-up competition after a few rums which he drew with Tomas and Zag. This is my way of saying that I lost.

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After the warm rain cleared we headed out again to the Casa Del La Musica which we were told is the best in Cuba. Looked like a great space but was closed. Before moving on somewhere else I was approached by one of three young cuban guys dressed in what I could only guess was their attempt at looking….gay? Two of them were wearing these shiny tacky looking snapbacks and they asked me for a lighter despite all three of them having lit cigarettes in their hands. As we headed off to another club the one with beautiful blue eyes yelled out ‘I love you’ to me which I found hilarious as its totally something I would do. The rest of our night involved a tonne of rum, meeting some prostitutes who were relieved to find out I wasn’t interested in what they were selling, doing the Macarina around the streets and Kim and Zag fighting. The latter being the funniest, she started chasing him around the streets screaming at him about something….
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ANZAC day in Mexico

While those admirable and able were braving a cold Melbourne autumn morning, waking at the crack’ to head to dawn services I rolled over in my bunk bed sweating with the sun in my face and the sound of 3 different languages around me. Shamefully this was he first time I’d be awake at the right time/in the right state for the dawn service in years and unfortunately I was on the other side of the world.

I decided to take a walk around Playa Del Carmen by myself in the blistering heat before stopping at a street stall to grab some breaky. I was pleasantly surprised when I opened Facebook at the amount of people finishing up at the service. Being a man of leisure these days I’m finding more and more time is being spent on facey and only last week became one of ‘those people’ I can’t stand. Some cyber war had started aimed at a local water company in Australia which had put out a warning to residents to boil their tap water until further notice. The complaints flowing in really had me in a rage; why don’t these people understand how lucky they are to have tap water in the first place? I took the bait called them all whingers and stated the above, not caring what the backlash would be for my keyboard hero attempt.

It’s not just tap water we seem to take for granted in Australia. The ability to so easily express ones opinion is simply non-existent in Cuba, along with wifi and easy access to anything outside their country. Every Mexican I’ve met in the last two months has told me tales of lost family and friends, all of whom meeting their maker too soon and too horrifically for many Aussies to imagine. High school friends chopped to pieces before graduation, uncles gunned down on their way to work, sisters being pulled over on the way to their wedding by cartels because her driver honked his horn at them.

Later that day I sat on a rooftop of my Israeli friends hotel as he showed me photos of the boys he knew who died during their compulsory service. “It’s sad because we all can’t wait to come here…” He says pointing at the view we had of the beach from the pool. Playa is full of Israeli’s at the moment all here after there 3 years compulsory military service straight after high school. No ‘schoolies’ for this lot. Three nights ago we were downstairs in their kitchen partaking in 2 minutes of silence at 3am, the sound of a siren playing through the Israeli radio. It was Memorial Day for Israel and I’m told the entire country stops at the same time(including the highway) for the whole two minutes.

Whilst being the first to admit I’ve not always shown adequate respect on ANZAC day in the years previous, it really saddens me to hear the issues we as Aussies get so hung up on. What does give me hope, is seeing snapchats from my friend Cheree, awake at whatever hour it was heading to show she cares. Or my friend Quinn telling stories about teaching her kids the meaning of such an important day. And the beautiful photos my old boss took of the trail of poppies down St. Kilda road, one comment saying the turn out was record breaking. There is no doubt in my mind that I was born in the luckiest country on earth and it has made my heart swell with pride seeing people all over Australia/NZ get together to show that they not only agree with me, but they say thank you to the ones who have given this to us. Lest We Forget.

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Sun, Rum and a lost Kiwi…

Veradero, Matanzas, Cuba

Unless you can fully go undercover, looking and sounding like a Cuban, the best option for travel is to just get a taxi. After yet another struggle getting there, we spent the whole day at the beach in Veradero a tourist town located on the north coast of Cuba. The section of the beach we hung out on had a bar where the beers were $2 and the mojitos $4, you beauty. If your staying at one of the resorts the chairs and drinks are free which I guess if you have the ability to consume an excessive amount of alcohol could be worth it! The first half of the day consisted of Volleyball and swimming, the second half of drinking. Zag disappeared in the afternoon with a guy he met on the beach to go buy cigars and rum and we made friends with the lifeguards and police who were more then happy to share the rum with us. 

   

   

As the sun set, the lifeguard told us about a party happening about 5 mins out of town at the amphitheatre. We were all pretty sauced up at this stage so decided to head for some burgers before going. Kim also wanted to go check out some accommodation in this town as we all agreed that it was better to just stay here rather then in Matanzas. Kim was on the home stretch of her journey and so became our ‘wallet’ consistently on the hunt for a better offer. The last we saw of her she was stomping down the street headed god knows where but she ended up loosing us and getting a ride back to the Casa by herself after arguing with the employees at the bus station for an hour. She would later admit that she protested to the overpriced bus by pulling out her beach town and setting up a make shift bed in the middle of the bus station office and refusing to let them close. 
   

   

Meanwhile, the three of us boys had notified the police that we had lost Kim, only to be reassured by an officer that she had been seen getting a lift in the direction of our town. Our worried minds were put at ease at the extremely accurate description of her so we jumped in a taxi and headed to the amphitheatre. The place was packed when we arrived and we ended up paying some random guy in a suit to get us in quicker, which basically consisted of him grabbing us and pushing our way to the front of the line. Turns out the band playing that evening were extremely popular in Cuba and there was a crowd of around 6000 Cubans and us boys in our board shorts and thongs. Tonight would be the first time that my phone would get stolen although I must add two points. The first, it was hanging out of my loose boardies kinda asking to be taken and secondly I was given the opportunity to purchase the phone back for the sum of $35CUC. I stomped back to where the other two were and warned them, snatching up our belongings like a paranoid lunatic. The response from the two boys was exactly that “You’re being paranoid,” however Tomas would return home that evening without his phone and without the opportunity to buy it back. 
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How to NOT find a taxi in Cuba. 

I’m sititng in a park right now somewhere in Havana. Zag and Kim the kiwi girl from our hostel are sitting across from me on park benches with both their back packs and Tomas’ bags as well. The three of us have no idea where we are and no idea where Tomas’ is, he disappeared with our ‘taxi’ driver about 45 minutes ago to ‘get the car’ while we waited with the bags. A Cuban man stands before me attempting to practise his english which is difficult for both of us and can only go so far due to my complete lack of Spanish. Before continuing his walk through the park he asks me if I had any english reading material he could have but I’m completely distracted by our scenario to remember I have a copy of GQ (with Pharell on the cover) in my bag and he leaves empty handed. Its such a shame as he is dressed quite well for his old age and the image of him strolling around the streets with it in his hands is quite an amusing one. 
A man walks through the street with a vegetable cart and we’re in the process of buying a few tomatoes when the car pulls up and Tomas, the man who we are about to discover has stuffed us around and our actual taxi driver get out and begin loading our bags into a taxi. Its been about 2 hours since we left the hostel that morning and we still hadn’t left Havana yet. It was worse for Tomas, he had followed this guy on foot, bus and taxi to get to where the actual taxi drivers were. Yes, they took a taxi to go find a taxi. What a waste of time. I shudder to think how this process would’ve gone today without Tomas’. He’s from Hungary but speaks 4 languages fluently, including the same Spanish that they speak here in Cuba. He learnt in the Canary Islands off Spain which is lucky because I’ve spoken to several central/south americans who say that even they have trouble communicating with the locals! 
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The drive to the coast took about 3 hours. Magnolia, the host at the hostel, had organised for us to stay at Matanzas which is a town about 30mins away from the beach. We went for a walk around the town but there was sweet-FA to do in the town so we did what you do in Cuba when you have nothing to do; buy rum & talk shit.