Roadtrippin'

My love affair with American roads, like all good romances, was brief and ended badly.

We now have the grand total of 1,000 miles under our belt - only about another 8million left but hey it's the journey not the destination right? It started well. Every road is still straight, unblemished, and glistens in the sun. But their perfection has been ruined by a horrible strain of virus....Americans.

Put it this way. Every American we have met so far has been utterly delightful. They shake your hand, make you instantly feel like you're their best friend, and when they tell you they hope you have a nice day you know they actually mean it. But put the buggers behind the wheel of a car - and they turn into pathological psychopaths.

Somebody literally tried to kill us today. We had to drive 400 miles from Orlando to Tallahasse on the interstate which was pretty sketchy because its Memorial Day Weekend so there was loads of bank holiday traffic. At one point, we needed to be in the lane nearest the middle to turn off at a service station to refill petrol (I refuse to call it gas - it is quite obviously a liquid). We were slowing to make sure we didn't miss the turning when this mentalist maniac deliberately accelerated as closely as he could behind our car so we were almost bumper to bumper. If I had dropped my speed by one mph - we would of all died. When he overtook us, the delightful gentleman rolled down his window to give us the finger, before deliberately cutting us up in another dangerous manoeuvre.

And it wasn't just us. We have seen many other motorists adopt this 'Crime and Punishment' behaviour. No wonder this country has the death penalty. You can't even switch lanes at the last moment because you're lost without some American motorist mentalist taking it upon themselves to 'discipline' you for your mistake. Also, nobody lets anyone in. Ever. Nobody indicates. There is no lane discipline. And interstate exits appear out of nowhere at the click of your fingers.

Love affair definitely over.

There is one redeeming feature of American roads though - and that is the billboard and traffic signs along the way.

Brilliantly, the traffic signs are so precise its hysterical. For instance, if you don't give way to a pedestrian at a crossing you will be fined $166.50. How precise a fine is that?! And how did they come up with that figure? In St Petersburg we also passed an electronic sign that said "BUCKLE UP YOUR SEATBELT". We thought that was all there was to it, until the yellow wording changed to say "NO EXCUSES". Like the sign-maker-people have already anticipated someone won't wear their seatbelt, will be pulled over by a cop, and start saying they forgot/were on their way to hospital/didn't wear seatbelts for religious reasons etc. Then all the cop has to do is point to the 'NO EXCUSES' part of the sign before slapping them with a ticket. Always so time effective. Then, when we were driving through roadworks and told to slow down, a sign written in the STYLE OF A CHILD said 'PLEASE SLOW DOWN SO YOU DON'T KILL MY DADDY'. How manipulative is that?

The billboards are definitely the best though. There's lots of scary 20-foot-faces of lawyers along the highways telling you they can sue people for you. Driving along the interstate today we passed by at least ten anti-abortion sign posts. They all had the picture of a fully formed baby with a speech bubble that said:
'MY HEART BEATS ON ITS OWN AFTER ONLY 18 DAYS'
Maybe they were hoping to catch people driving to abortions and think a garish billboard will suddenly make them change their minds?

My absolute favourite so far - and I don't think it can be beaten - we drove past today. Just as we started along the I-10 (the road we're basically following for the next 4,000 miles) we passed a giant sign that simply said in giant neon letters:

"SEX WITHOUT CONSENT IS RAPE".

Seriously, what kind of country is this where you have to remind people of that? On the motorway? I honestly don't understand where the idea came from. Are they hoping that a mental case with a terrified girl tied up in the boot of the car planning to sexually attack and murder her will drive past the sign and go "Whoops. I forgot! That's rape." And then drive her safely home?

Absolutely mental. But I'm loving every second. Well apart from the slightly near-death experience.

Love to you all

Holly

The Good, the Bad, and the really really Manky

Orlando.

We've spent two days here and our time has been a 50/50 divide of having brilliant fun and being utterly miserable. Basically when its daytime and we're off in Disney being giant children all day - it's brilliant. But when we're stuck in the motel of doom - it's ghastly.

I'll start with the good things.
Yesterday we hit Typhoon Lagoon, an outdoor water park in the Diney complex. The place was designed by some sort of ride-genius and I regressed to being about 5-years-old again. Its so hot that everyone wanders around the place in their swimsuits to enjoy the water-themed delights on offer. There was a half-mile long lazy river ride, countless water flumes, plummet slides (one I re-named the giant wedgie for obvious reasons), a shark reef you could snorkel through, and raft rides. But the main focus was the giant wave pool in the centre where we spent most of the day. Every minute, on the minute, you hear a giant 'BOOM' and suddenly a six-foot tsunami wave catapults towards you as everyone screams. Before you have time to think, you're obliterated by the white water, and dragged around underwater as you accidentally rub body parts with total strangers. Incredible. The wave, not the rubbing of body parts - obviously.

Then today we went to Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure. The tickets have completely blown our budget - but it was so utterly worth it. Theme Parks over here are on just a completely different scale. Every ride has a 'story' which continues throughout the ride, the accompanying area, and the queuing process. Our favourite two rides was The Simpsons ride where Sideshow Bob is trying to kill you and you run away from him in Krustyland. The second was the Jurassic Park River Adventure, which is a log flume but with the most realistic dinosaur robots ever. The realism was so intense that I spent most of the day believing everything and therefore screaming and almost pooing myself with fear every five minutes. We got a glimpse of the new Harry Potter themepark - but unfortunately they are behind building schedule so its not open until after we leave. All in all - great days. Well during the day anyway.

Onto the motel. Now, I'm aware this place is probably the Ritz compared to hostels in India vacated by proper travelling people. But I grew up in Surrey. I deliberately picked to come to the USA because I have obsessive issues concerning hygiene. And the closest I've ever come to slumming it was Reading Music Festival 2007 - where I bought a suitcase on wheels along with me as well as organic cous cous.

When we first got into our room - knackered from a day at the water park - I'm ashamed to say I actually cried. I'm not sure where to start describing it. Maybe I should begin with the giant 'NO PROSTITUTES' sign on the check-in window. Or the sign next to it which has no words - just a symbol depicting a shotgun with a red cross over it. Or I could tell you about the stains on the toilet which I'm quite convinced is dried vomit. It won't come off so we have to cover the most-offensive stains with toilet paper before we use it. It's also worth mentioning that there's a bloody helicopter launch pad less than 50 metres away which does helicopter rides over Orlando (seriously who would pay to do that?) all through the night. The go-kart race track next to it was also an unexpected bonus. Then of course the fridge doesn't work, neither do all but one of the lights, I'm quite certain the beds have bugs, the door doesn't bolt properly, two of the cars in the parking lot have been smashed in, and everyone who works here is like some sort of character you would expect to see in a horror-remake of Alice in Wonderland. The icing on the cake is that the owner has obviously tried to distract disappointed guests from the mankiness by painting the entire exterior neon purple and decorating it to look like a castle?? I'm serious there are turrets and shields all over the place - and they appear to be made out of cardboard and stuck to the walls with superglue.

Ooooh hang on... what's that? The people upstairs are having a loud party? Perfect.

But its dirt cheap. Obviously. And armed with industrial earplugs, anti-bacterial spray, deodoriser, and a sense of humour - we're doing OK. Just one more sleep and then we get to leave.

Tomorrow we're heading up to Tallahasse to stay in a 'grassroots' community with some of Dad's old friends from his 'hippy' days. Yay - no more horrid motel!

Hope you are all having a fabulous weekend.

Lots of love

Holly

A musical interlude

I think I have worked out the fundamental difference between English people and American people...

American people dance.

The world can be easily divided into three types of people:
- Those who get up and dance.
- Those who hate dancing.
- And those who don't dance but get home and wish they had.

From what I can tell in my whole week on the West side of the Atlantic - most Americans fall into category one.

Well they certainly did last night when Adam, Bob's son, took us out to see two of his favourite local bands. The first bar we went to was just like the ones you see in the movies. They were waitresses who served beer to you at the table, bowls of nuts, sticky floors, and undesirable toilet sanitation. I was probably far too excited by all this than I should be. I mean, its like an American going into The Bell on Reigate High Street and getting excited by the curtains. But the whole place was just so....American. I loved it.

The band was amazing too. They were called the Greg Billings Band and, at the risk of sounding like a 14-year-old emo, you should really check them out on myspace. The lead singer, Greg Billings, was in a band that was apparently quite big in the eighties so they were all these groupies in the bar requesting their old favourites. And the moment the band began, people started dancing. In that brilliant don't-give-a-damn way. It was fantastic.

From what I can tell from two days in St Petersburg is that everyone is ridiculously laid back. Nobody seems to have any type of 'proper' job and if they do its only to make ends meet so they can indulge their passions. I met this incredible lady who cleans rich people's houses four hours a day then spends the rest of her spare time singing and making records. In the space of about five minutes I had also learned that she's recently lost about six stone, used to date the drummer and feels awkward about it, and then she tried to get me to beat up a girl in the toilets so she could steal her dress. Am beginning to really love that American-openess.

After about an hour we moved on to Ricky T's (again) to see another one of Adam's bands that was equally fantastic. It was only Wednesday but everyone was wasted. And from what I can tell by people's behaviour at the baseball game - everyone was wasted on Tuesday night as well. There's no 'oh no, I can only have the one, work tomorrow and all that....'. People in St Petersburg don't give a sh*t - and I love it for that.

So it was with a slightly heavy heart Rich and I left there this morning to explore the theme parks of Orlando. If anyone, during any point of reading this blog, has felt jealous that I'm here and you're not - then you're about to feel a whole lot better. I'm writing this from the most horrendously disgusting motel room that I think ever exists. The state of the place is a whole other blog in itself and I will bore you all with the slimy (literally) details another time.

But the Internet works (though its the only thing that does, I'm hunched over the only working lightbulb in the corner to write this) so I thought I would grant people's requests for more videos and give you a taste of yesterday's musical action.

So here it is. A low-quality video of the Greg Bilings band. Now please, lose the stiff upper lip, and dance around your study.

I'm off to put some socks on so I don't contract a disease from this carpet.

Lots of Love

Holly xxxx

Take me out to the ball game

Ok. I officially have life envy. Big time.

Yesterday Rich and I left the beautiful shores of Sarasota and drove over the Sunshine Skyway to visit one of my dad's oldest friends in St Petersburg. His name is Bob and he lives the kind of life one dreams of living if you weren't too neurotic and self-conscious to do so.

He owns a chain of comedy clubs around the area - one of which is part of a 5-five beach resort. So, as I'm an underground English comedian over here to try and see if my jokes are funny (wink wink nudge nudge), Rich and I have been given a free room ready for my big 'debut'. It's a beautiful hotel but we haven't really had time to appreciate it as its been a whirlwind since we got here.

We rocked up to Bob's house at noon yesterday. He lives in an area that is actually called 'Treasure Island' and his house really fits the bill. It's made entirely from wood and is on a giant pair of stilts (?). The interior is kitted out as if a teenager had run amok with his parent's credit card. The television is about the size of a small swimming pool, there's a hot tub on the deck overlooking the bay, and photos of famous musicians are up all over the place. That's another thing about Bob. He knows just about everybody. I've been introduced to so many people they all fall into a blur. Last night for instance I met the best friend of the lady who's married to the lead singer of ACDC - much to my great excitement. And Bob's son, Adam, is an aspiring musician who's just had his record produced by the drummer of Nancy Grittith's band. Mental.

Anyway, name dropping aside, he's a great guy. Within less than an hour of turning up he had taken us to his favourite bar 'Ricky T's' which is right on the beach. The place is incredible. You can sit up at the bar and order a drink with the sun beating down on your neck. There's live music every night. And everybody knows everybody. It's like Central Perk but with alcohol. Rich and I were considered such great attractions that the band stopped playing and introduced us to everybody on their microphone. And we had shots bought for us by some man who was just celebrating retiring after 25 years in the navy.

About halfway through our first visit, Bob turns to us:
Bob: There's a major league baseball game on tonight if you fancy it?
Me: Oh my god. Yes. That would be amazing (little bit of wee comes out with excitement).
Bob: I don't have tickets.
Me: (face falls) Oh.
Bob: It's OK. We'll find some cheap ones off somebody and then when nobodies looking we'll sneak into the hundred dollar seats.
Me: Err.....OK.

But he came through. After a quick check-in at the hotel we arrived back at Ricky T's where I was presented with a Tampa Rays hat and tickets. They were playing the Boston Red Sox which Rich described to me as 'The Man United of Baseball'. I think that means Boston are pretty good.

The arena was insane. Because the heat is so intense its fully enclosed, and is apparently the only indoor baseball stadium in this area of the country. Bob gave us a tour and, according to Rich who knows about these things, its completely and utterly different from English stadiums. We were taken to see the 'Tampa Rays' - not the actual players - but a tank full of sting rays who support the team and if anyone hits a home-run it falls into their tank. There was also a restaurant with ceiling-to-floor glass windows so you can watch the game as you gorge yourself on hamburger and fries. There's a party deck which is basically just a balcony full of drunk young people drinking neon-alcholic beverages out of over sized plastic cups whilst they watch the game and start fights on each other. But the best part was the cigar bar. Where you pay to get into the stadium, and then you walk to a dank little room full of cigar smoke and leather chairs with televisions all over the place. So you can watch the game as you smoke a cigar. God knows why you can't just do that in the comfort of your own home for free - but hey.

Anyway we started watching the game, which supringly made sense after a while. Rich refused to talk to me after I asked him if "so it's just those three men looking after that entire patch of lawn?" - but luckily Bob was more patient. It turns out though, that not a lot of actually watching the game happens when you're at a baseball match. Everyone is up and about, buying hotdogs and nachos and beer, changing seats, playing in the arcade downstairs, feeding the stingrays (?) etc. We only sat in our real seats for about the first two innings before, true to his word, Bob found us seats really near the front. Unfortunately, after about three hours, the Tampa Rays, lost - but to be honest I didn't really care. What was funny was they didn't segregate the two sets of supporters so Boston fans were sitting with Tampa fans. The best part was hearing the insults hurled at each other across the seats.

So that was my first experience of a major league baseball game. And I think I found a sport I actually like.

We ended up going back to Ricky T's for a few more drinks where I was introduced to some of Bob's stand up comedians and musician friends. The only bad part was people's reactions when we told them what our plans are for the trip. When Bob told them we were driving all the way to San Francisco, the stock answer was 'Oh my God. Really?'. Which doesn't fill me with encouragement. We got a lot of good advice though - and most of it has led us to believe we need to completely re-think our route. We had planned to stop at El Paso but have been told its 'the homicide capital of the USA' and told not to go anywhere near it. Nobody had anything pleasant to say about Texas either so we're thinking of bombing through that and maybe spending more time in Arizona and California. Rich and I have spent most of today pouring over our road atlas and our copy of the Lonely Planet trying to re-jig our mileage. It's been holiday time here in Florida - and we still have about six days left - but once we leave Tallahasse we're very much on our own with no friendly American acquaintances to help us out. So I better get back to it.

We're off to see some of Adam's friends play tonight on the beach which should be awesome. Oh my god - my first written awesome!!! Then we're off at the crack of dawn tomorrow to hit Orlando spending two days doing theme parks. Our motel there only costs about £30 a night and tripadvisor people have warned us there will be cockroaches so I doubt they'll be internet access there for me to bore you with any further witterings.

So I'm off now a few days. But love to you all. I hear that English weather is behaving itself so I hope you're all bulk-buying barbecues and infesting every available green space in the vicinity to sunburn yourselves. Just remember - your bottom can burn!

Holly xxx

What I've learnt...

OK - So I'm only on day four. But there have been some things I have learnt in, and about, the USA that I thought I would share.

1) You can't actually walk anywhere.
I always thought this was a myth. An excuse used by overweight Americans for their fourth spare tyre- but its true! Pedestrians just don't exist. You only get the odd mental jogger running around with some weights at 7am in the morning. On our first day, Rich and I made the mistake of trying to walk to find a local grocery shop. It turns out - local anything - doesn't exist. We ended up nearly getting run over twice, Rich has blisters on his feet and I got sunburnt. You drive to the beach, you drive to the shops, you drive to go out for dinner, you drive, you drive, you drive. Sorry Mother Nature - but you're screwed.

2) The food here is actually mental.
Like proper mental. You cannot for the life of you buy anything normal. When we finally admitted defeat to the whole walking-agenda and drove to a 'Publix' to buy food it took about 2 hours to decide just what juice to buy. There isn't just thing as normal orange juice. You can't just squeeze an orange, collect the juice, and put it in a carton. God no. The orange juice has to either have 'Added Calcium' or 'Extra Vitamens' or 'bonus Vitamen C'. And milk. There is no such thing as milk that comes from a cow. Again there is 'added bonus nutrients' or 'this came from a cow that knitted its own jumpers'. (I made that last one up). I asked an American about it and they told me they have to do all this weird shit to the milk because farmers here feed cows corn instead of grass because "it makes them grow quicker but it means all their hormones are whacked". Craziness. Plus, all those briliant sweets and treats that you loved as a child - they've not been discontinued - they're here in America. Lucky Charms, Pretzel Flipz, Pop Tarts - they are all here waiting to make you fat and die. Which leads me to my next point....

3) It's impossible not to get fat.
Trust me. I'm really trying not to do a Claire from Steps but its impossible. We navigated our way through the cereal aisle to try and buy some 'healthy cereal' for the days we weren't stuffing our faces with pancakes. After much debate, we picked a box called 'Raisin Bran' which had 'added fiber' (God knows how they added it). Surely Raisin Bran would be healthy? What can you possible do to raisins and bran to make them into a heart-attack-inducing breakfast choice? Well we found out. When we opened our cereral the next day we discovered every flake of bran and every lone raisin had been carefully coated with a thick layer of refined sugar. So much sugar that it left crystals in the milk at the bottom of the bowl.
We were also looked at like mad people when we decided to share a 'small' pizza. The thing was so big you could have sailed it into the ocean and declard yourself Queen of your own country. But we were looked at like anorexics. Plus, and this is the really annoying thing, because of all this sugar and refined crap - everything tastes just so much nicer. Bran has never been a fun start to the day. But once you add 19grams of sugar per serving - it's f*cking lovely. I'm thinking about booking an extra seat for the other half of my arse for the plane journey home.

4) Everyone is very excited. All the time.
It's brilliant. It's like everyone here snorts Prozac in the mornings with their sugar bran. My theory is that some kind of happiness thief came to England and raped and pillaged everyone of their optimism, put it in a giant bag, got on a plane, and set it all lose Pandora's-Box-Style on the other side of the Atlantic. Rich and I have just come back from watching the sun set. And when it had finished, everyone on the beach actually applauded. And earlier on the beach today I was eavesdropping on two American's who had just realised they run past each other every morning. They litreally couldn't believe their luck at this discovery. They actually hugged. And then organised to have lunch together. Just because they run past each other every morning. Mental. But very contagious. I found myself using the word 'Awesome' today without any hint of irony or self-awareness. When I realised I went and shut my head in the door.

5) Potholes? What potholes?
I don't know why I have got so excited by the state of American roads - but the high standard of their tarmacing really makes me happy inside. Maybe its all those stories I had to write about potholes for the Surrey Mirror. But the roads here are actually perfect. They are straight. And they make sense. And there isn't any roundbaouts. Considering you have to drive EVERYWHERE it makes the experience much more pleasurable. On our way to Sarasota, Rich and I were driving down an impecccable road and signs were warning us 'restoration work' would soon be taking place. On a perfect road. Utter motoring bliss.

6) It is impossible to sunburn your arse.
I learnt this amazing piece of knowledge to my detriment. And Rich's vast amusement.

Anyway that is all my insight so far. Tomorrow we leave beloved Sarasota and we're driving up to St Petersburg to stay with one of my dad's oldest and dearest friends. He owns a chain of comedy clubs, and dad has described him as an '17-year-old trapped in the body of a 60-year-old' - so it should make for a few interesting days.

Peace and Love and lashings of Aftersun

Holly

Welcome to Paradise

I'm living in a postcard. An actual postcard.

As a writer I don't use the word 'beautiful' very often. It makes me cringe and wince slightly whenever I hear anyone say it. But Sarasota in Florida is beautiful. Stunningly so. We're staying on Siesta Key, which is a small island connected to the city by a small road. The beach boasts at having 'the whitest sand in world' and its no lie. It actually hurts to walk out onto the seafront without sunglasses. The weather is perfect everyday -so hot that a film of sweat erupts all over your body the moment you leave the airconned motel room. There's palm trees wherever you look, and mahogany people smile at you as they pass. I actually challenge anyone to come here and try to be miserable - it's impossible.

Rich and I have been trying to overcome jetlag by lying on the beach. It's a hard life. The island we're staying on has a stretch of beach about four miles long and the edge of the turquoise water is full of Americans walking or jogging back and forth. There's a surprisingly (and slightly disappointingly) few amount of stereotypical 'fat' people here. In fact its more the other way. Rich and I have been basically ignoring each other as we check out every rippled tanned six-packed body or toned gorgeous beach goddess type that walks by. Despite applying liberal amounts of Johnson's holiday skin and doing my Davina workout DVD at least twice before I came out here - I feel like a stereotypical pale blobby English person.

We've done a lot since we got here. On our first day we visited this amazing marine laboratory that looks after all the marine life around Sarasota. This meant getting up and close with manitees, dolphins and sea turtles. One of the turtles was an albino and wasn't allowed out in the sunshine which I found half hysterically funy/half really sad. We went out last night to 'Siesta Village' - a small beach-driven community - and drank bottles of remarkably cheap beer while people played the steel drums in the corner. But I suppose the best thing we've seen is the Drum Circle - which I've just come back from tonight.

We were told to go down to Siesta Beach on a Sunday night to check it out so we turned up apprehensively about an hour before sunset. A huge mass of people were congregated in this giant circle on the sand. About two dozen people had brought drums with them and they were all playing together as people danced. It was astonishing. People from every social spectrum were there enjoying it. The popular jocks and cheerleaders, aging baby boomers, uptight-looking middle aged women wearing bumbags, kids running round chasing each other. Everyone was moving their bodies to the beat in such a primal way, and as the sun set the drummers built to a crescendo and it turned into a carnival. By the time it was dark there was over a hundred people dancing, about 200-300 people watching, and dozens of people doing fire-poi or running around with glow sticks on. I couldn't believe it was a Sunday night. It certainly beats watching the Eastenders omnibus while it rains outside fighting the desperate urge to slit your wrists (or is that just my Sunday night ritual?) I took a low-quality video on my camera is a desperate attempt to try and capture what it was like before the sun set - which I've added for your viewing enjoyment. But wow. Seriously. Never witnessed anything like it.

Sorry. I know I'm going on and on, and I hope I'm not turning into one of those travelling people I've always hated. If it makes you feel any better: I've not witnessed any poverty, I haven't yet had the shits, I'm sunburnt, and I in-no-way feel a growing infinity to the un-noticed beauty of the world. I just got quite excited by the drum circle.

Anyway I'll stop rambling on and should probably try and go to sleep. Rich and I have an exciting early morning date tomorrow at this place called 'The Broken Egg'. A place just off the beach that is apparently voted the best-breakfast-place in Florida. I plan to get very fat indeed.

The First Day of Doom

Oh my God. We're here. We're alive! I'm still in shock.

I am writing this first In-America entry on about four hours sleep after spending two days travelling so please forgive me for all the spelling and grammar mistakes and sorry it what I write doesn't make any sense.

I have to admit. I'm a little bewildered to be here, in Sarasota, Florida, looking out at of my motel window to see real-life palm trees. I was so utterly convinced i would literally die on my way here, that now I'm here - still live and kicking - I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.

First things first. I'll answer the boring statutory flight questions....
Q1) How was your flight?
A) Very f*cking long but not bad, thank you.

Q2) What films did you watch?
A) I made the mistake of watching 'The Lovely Bones' which really doesn't put you in a holiday mood. Child being raped and murdered not quite the best choice for happy holiday fun.

Q2) What was American security like?
A) I'm still shaking in terror. Never before have I felt so guilty after not doing anything wrong. And they take all your fingerprints digitally AND a RETINA SCAN to be allowed into the country. I was about to crack some brilliant Minority-Report jokes but Rich thumped me and told me this wasn't a time for funniness.

Anyway- after the flight things got a bit hectic to say the least. Rich and I were both that kind of knackered where nothing seems real so were both pretty much useless. We managed to find the shutter bus to the car-rental place by Rich basically standing in front of it and waving madly. From what we could tell by all the other confused English people who clambered thankfully onto the shuttle bus after us - that is the only way to do it.

The experience of renting a car was somewhat hindered on the discovery that between Heathrow and Miami - I had lost the paper part of my drivers license. I actually cried in public. Like a baby. Whilst Rich stood there, very thankfully adding to the already-distressing situation, by repeating 'We're f*cked, we're absolutely f*cked' over and over. Luckily we weren't f*cked and somehow I managed to drive a car the half mile to our Holiday Inn where we collapsed for the night.

Our room overlooked the scariest-mother-f*cking intersection I have ever seen. I am a nervous driver anyway and was bricking myself about the 400 mile drive I had to do the next day. So I was up til late, despite jetlag, just watching the intersection and trying to teach myself how the hell to drive like an American person. (See above photo of terrifying intersection view)

I woke up at 4:30am in a cold sweat. I decided the only way to conquer nerves was to just get out there and do it - so I woke Rich up (haha) and we were on the road by 5am. It was probably just as well because I got us lost twice and at one point drove down the left hand side of the road. We would have definitely been killed in on-coming traffic had the roads not been totally empty so I believe my early-morning-idea worked out well. And Rich didn't mind because he wasn't dead.

Anyway we drove through the Everglades with the sun rising behind us and it was bloody beautiful. And now we are here, on Crescent Beach, Sarasota, already sun burnt and thankful for our lives.

I'm not going to bore you/make you crazy with jealously about how beautiful it is here yet. I'll save that for another blog. Lucky you.

Anyway I'm off to try and FINALLY sleep.

Lots of love

Holly

xxxx


ps: Crazy American Person Watch No. 1: At Heathrow Airport, Rich and I spotted a young American couple actually wearing adult sized babygrows. In public! The blokes was lime green and the girl's was baby pink. The worst part was they wore them without the slightest hint of irony or self-awareness. They just carried on their business as normal DRESSED AS GIANT BABIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let me introduce myself.....

Hello. You found me. Well Done.

Now, if I allow myself to entertain the idea this blog will be read by people other than my parents checking to see I'm still alive - then I suppose I better introduce myself.

My name is Holly. I am 24. And until recently I was a local news reporter. I've spent the last two years running around Surrey (where I grew up) pretending to be a grownup, profiting out of people's misery, doing death knocks, getting death threats, writing inspirational copy about the local summer fetes, and planning my escape from day one....

Unfortunately, shortly after accepting said journalism job, the world collapsed. Bummer. So my amazing plan to stay at the local rag for six months before being discovered by the nationals fell through. I sucked it down, stuck it out and got experience blah blah blah.

But after two years, with a 'sensible escape option' still vastly undiscovered, I decided - on a whim - to quit and book a plane ticket to Florida. Not very sensible...But so what?

So, on Thursday, my wonderful boyfriend Rich and I (who was usefully made redundant just as I decided to quit) are flying out to Miami. For the next two months we will be attempting to drive across the USA.

Our vague travel plan is as follows:
- Get to Miami and stay there for the minimum amount of time possible
- Hit Sarasota for a few days
- Drive up to St Petersburg to meet my Dad's college roommate
- Orlando, theme parks, you know the drill
- Tallahasse - staying with my dad's ex-hippy friends
- New Orleans - can't bloody WAIT

........ not really figured out the middle bit yet........

then...

- Grand Canyon - well duh, obviously
- The Vegas
- Orange County (Still arguing over this destination with Rich but I am DETERMINED to stroll along the beach pretending to be a rich upset person)
- Los Angeles - only for a day in case we lose our souls, start eating egg-white omlettes and blahing on about 'hiking'
- Then up to Yosemite National Park for my cousin's wedding.
- Finish in Sanfranciso
- Come home, sign on, and cry indefinitely.

So that's it.

If you have any interest in knowing what happens then check out this page every couple of days or so and I'll attempt to delight you with my literary genius.

Or you could just go away and never come back again. I wouldn't blame you. I don't really understand blogs either. Plus, I'm on holiday and you're not. Therefore, I understand hearing about how much fun I'm having will make you feel even more miserable than you already feel.

Will update when I'm actually there (if this bleeding volcano stops erupting that is)

Over and out

Holly