Planes, Trains and Automobiles (and Stagecoaches) or West Side Story: Not the Musical

On April 13^th 2019 I got married to my friend and accomplice. We didn’t go on honeymoon immediately because we're teachers who work for The Man. The Man dictates when and only when we can have our holidays. He denies us the chance to go to Glastonbury Festival, to book cheap flights away, to holiday at a regular rate of inflation as opposed to the Weimar Republic  hyperinflation we must endure. The thirteen weeks of vacation we get is immaterial. Yes, it’s nine weeks more than the typical Brit. Thirteen weeks more than the typical American. For all of that though, we’re awfully hard done by. With this in mind The Girl and I didn’t take a long honeymoon straight after a wedding, instead we waited until we could stretch out our getaway on the great, long sunbed that is the six week break. We had booked to go up the west coast of America, to journey essentially from the Mexico border to the Canada one. It was going to be a busy two weeks, so we would need some relaxation before it began. Thus, this tale begins in the Business Lounge of Heathrow Airport.

Wednesday 24^th July

The Girl and I booked our holiday through Trailfinders, Britain’s best and largest independently owned travel company. (This blog is read on average by twenty people per week. In many ways this makes me one of those social media influencers, therefore by name-checking a company I’m hoping they will offer me some sort of reward in the future. Trailfinders: I’ve always wanted to go on the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express train #justsayin’.) Because we booked through a travel company, they buy up loads of hotels and flights, which means although you have less choice, you get a better discount. Going with this operator meant we could fly business, paying a few hundred pounds more, as opposed to many thousand you normally pay. As it was our honeymoon, we decided to fly business, just on the outbound leg mind.

So here we are in a departure lounge that resembles a supersized John Lewis café. Only it’s a John Lewis café with a difference: you have the run of the place. Whatever you want is yours. Food, drink, reading material. No costs. Just go to the trough and have your fill. They do give you small plates though, so my advice to you is bring your own Alan Partridge one. I had a lovely buffet and a can of pale ale, then washed it down with an Edinburgh Festival magazine.

We were then ushered through a separate security gate first onto the plane. Greeting us was champagne and a centre cubicle where we could put the sides up and block out the rest of the world. The best thing was undoubtedly the seats. I’m a tall man with a gangly frame; going on a plane often involves me flatpacking my body into a tight place. Here though, you could make your seat into a bed with sheets and quilts included. After watching Fight with my Family and Can You Ever Forgive Me?, I laid back and thought of all those poor suckers in economy class. For a few hours I was a high roller, a buy-sell bawler, the embodiment of champagne socialist. Then the plane landed and I was back to being a paid up member of the trade union, ready to tell America about the beauty of our NHS.

I didn't want to wear flight socks. My wife insisted.
I wore them. This is compromise. (All pics. The Girl.)

After a short taxi ride we arrived at our first hotel, Loews, in Coronado, just outside San Diego. By the beach it had a resort feel, just the tonic following a long year at school. Following a charcuterie board and a round of drinks, we headed to bed. No need to count states, we were asleep in minutes.

Thursday 25^th July

I awoke early and took my bed to the balcony where I read whilst The Girl slept. On rising she went with me down to the restaurant where I had some doorstop fried bread and contemplated my arteries. It being the first day we vowed to take it easy, so we just walked to the neighbouring beach Silver Lake. After walking to the far end of the beach, a 4x4 pulled up alongside us. The man was in military uniform. ‘Excuse me, do you know you’re walking on a military base. There’s a sign back there that should have informed you.’ We had no idea and saw no sign. It wasn’t in our itinerary to be arrested on espionage charges the first day, so we conceded ground and made our way back to the public beach. On reaching there, we saw one small A4 sign, pegged into the sand, notifying us of military land. If this is America’s homeland security, then they should be very afraid. For two unassuming Englanders to infiltrate a military compound is a worry. It also served as a fitting metaphor for a Trump's regime: an ego built on a pillar of sand.

After busting out of jail, we donned our bathers and lounged by the pool. I got into conversation with Dale, a gas worker from Kansas City. We talked politics in trunks for an hour. (Mental note: new TV idea for Netflix, where I go to beach resorts and interview holiday Joe’s on politics.) Bored of hearing us debate public vs private ownership, The Girl told me to join her for a swim. The water was lovely.

Dry and revitalised, we had dinner at the hotel restaurant. I had booked us a table overlooking the mariner earlier. When asked if it was a special occasion, I told the gent it was our honeymoon. Later into our meal two glasses of champagne were brought over to us. We thanked the elderly waiter, a man that resembled the movie trope of ‘wise, kind old man,’ and he told us it was his pleasure, welcoming us to "paradise." As we looked out onto the boats under the sunkissed sky, it was difficult to disagree.

A light breakfast.

Friday 26^th July

Being based in Coronado, we had to go and see where Some Like It Hot was filmed. The Hotel del Coronado is where much of the film is set. Consequently, we took the hotel shuttle into town and did our first bit of movie gawking. Knowing that Billy Wilder, Marilyn Monroe and Jack Lemon were here was very special. Wilder is one of my heroes, directing Sunset Boulevard, The Seven Year Itch and the great, great The Apartment – to see a famous film location without yet reaching LA really whetted the appetite.

Some Like It Hot.

Next, we took the ferry over to San Diego. On route we saw the impressive buildings as well as some jumping, bounding sea lions. In the city we walked up and over it, seeing the baseball stadium, famous Gaslamp Quarter and the incredible Bilboa Park. Walking back down, we took in the waterfront before heading back to Coronado.

Here, we popped into an old school 50’s diner where small jukeboxes decorate the table and root beer is served cold. We then had at delicious seafood at Brigantine.

Saturday 27^th July

It was time to check out of San Diego and ring the reception bell at LA. First, we had to arrange our method of transport. My brother had told me that hi-tech Uber was the way to go in the old US of A, so after working out the options I joined the 21^st century, within minutes one was there. We then hopped on the two hour train to la, la land; the place where faces and dreams are made.

Arriving earlier than we thought, we had an extra evening to explore. We headed to Hollywood. First, we did the Walk of Fame, looking down on the ground like detectorists, our internal buzzers going off when we saw a name we recognised. Interestingly, the likes of Frank Sinatra and Orson Wells had more than one star. Apparently, if you’re famous in different fields you got more. What was interesting as well was where people have their stars. Outside premium locations like The Chinese Theatre and Dolby Theare, you get a better calibre of star: your Clark Gables and Rita Hayworths. Outside tourist tat and vape shops, you get the kind of people who only their mothers know. Apparently, Harvey Weinstein’s star has been moved to a sewer grate- or the floor of a public toilet- I can’t remember which.

A bit of LA is Watford FC.

Following this, we walked down to Paramount Studios to see the gates that have welcomed the great and the good of Hollywood. Shut out from this fantasia, we were forced to face reality: it was late and we were miles from a metro station. I sent for our chauffeur, Mr Uber, and arriving back our eyes faded to back.

Sunday 28^th July

Up early, we made our way across town to Griffith Park. Griffith park was donated by Griffith J. Griffith, a mining magnate, who possessed a huge fortune and stupid name. Amassing great wealth, Griffith wanted a public observatory to be set up in his name. This might seem very philanthropic of you, Griffith Griffith, but try walking up to your ‘gift’ on a hot LA day. At the top of the hill, I was cursing his stupid name, ready to graffiti his gravestone with the heading, ‘Here lies Griffith J. Griffith. Son of people too lazy to name him properly,’ until I saw the view from the top. The Hollywood sign, stood majestically, a come and get me plea to all aspiring actors, a monument to marvel at. The observatory was beautiful too. Well worth the walk.

At the Observatory.

Later in the evening we met up with my brother’s godparents, natives of LA’s Orange County. Yes, you heard right: my brother’s godparents. My mum and dad saw fit to christen one of their sons but not the other. If you think about this, this is favouritism of the wildest kind. Forget ‘you got him a bike, you only got me a unicycle.’ (I don’t care about the extra wheel.) My mum and dad have given my brother eternal paradise, whereas I've got interminable limbo. 

We had a lovely meal at ‘The Six Chow House’ and my brother had even phoned up in advance to get the table champagne. (It’s the least he could do, given he’s going to have a much happier afterlife than me.) It was lovely chatting to Rita and Leslie. Hopefully I did enough to convince them to be my godparents too. I need to get on that heaven train.

Monday 29^th August

This morning, we headed to Studio City to do the Warner Brothers tour. The Girl and I were debating before we went what studio to go to: Universal, Paramount or Warner. Universal we felt was a bit too actiony for us. We like a few blockbusters, but really our heart is in movie history. Warner seemed to have a nice mix of classic Hollywood and modern sitcom – two of our favourite things.

The tour was brilliantly led by KC, who said we would ‘be her sunshine band for the day.’ She took us on carts round the lots where Casablanca, Rebel Without a Cause and Jurassic Park were filmed. The sets are clever as they can double, triple, extend to being multiple things. For example we saw the police steps where James Dean is dragged up in Rebel- with a bit of magic and signage though this building has been used as an exterior for other films.

We also went to Stars Hollow and saw the Gilmore Girls set with Miss Patty’s dance studio and Lorelai’s house still in its original condition. Having watched the zippy, screwball series last year, to be in it this year was great. Further, we went into the living studio where Ellen is filmed. For us Brits, Ellen is only a minor deal, but in America she’s a huge name. Some of the people on our tours literally fell over themselves once they caught a glimpse of the sofa (the woman was ok. Just some minor bruising. Nothing some ice won't fix).

A really cool bit was where we did the ‘self-tour’ at the end. The Girl and me got our picture taken in Central Perk, went into a sound studio to see how a film is mixed and got to hold an Oscar. I hope me holding an Oscar will inspire other Anglo-Asian men to believe they can break through in Tinseltown. If I can do it, then you can too.

Warner Brothers.

After this, we took an Uber to the Sunset Strip where I got to see the LA Comedy Store, an important landmark for stand up fans. We then enjoyed happy hour at multiple rock bars. The last one we went to, ‘Rainbow Bar and Grill,’ seemed to have a Lemmy from Motorhead theme. I don’t know how pleased they were that I put our first dance on the jukebox: a Johnny Cash-Bob Dylan duet hardly has the pinball ferocity of ‘Ace of Spades.’

Tuesday 30^th July

This was the day we got the Amtrak Pacific Surfliner, so called because it rides the west coast of America. The Girl and I had heard great things about the view from this train so neither of us were bothered that we’d be spending eleven hours on it. We were not disappointed. Paying twenty dollars extra for business class (we were getting the taste for it), we were treated to an executive lounge: free tea, coffee and biscuits. Also, we were escorted down by Amtrak ‘red caps’ to our platform; this involved hopping on a mobility type scooter, veering between posts and columns, straight onto the train. Maybe America’s obesity problem is down to the perks of business class: they won’t even let you walk to the platform.

Once on board we left Hollywood, but not the movies. For along the coast we experienced scene change after scene change: beach, cliff, farmland, quarry and city – all shot in sweeping panorama. With an observation desk housing wide windows we saw the movie of Americana play out in front of us. Personally, I was most excited to go into Steinbeck country. John Steinbeck is California’s great writer; Grapes of Wrath is one of my favourite books and Of Mice and Men is one I’ve taught for years. To see the gabilan mountains and Salinas river, referred to in Of Mice's opening chapter, was a real highlight for me. When something has been part of your imagination for years to see it physicalised was quite something.

The train that hugged the coast.

Later on the train, we went into the dining cart and enjoyed a meal whilst the landscape turned like a flip book before us.

I love a train ride. I have a chance to read and daydream, coupled with my best mate and the best landscape it was practically perfect in every way.

Wednesday 31^st July

We were now in San Francisco’s ‘Hotel Vertigo.’ Named because Alfred Hitchcock filmed Vertigo in San Fran and because the hotel boasts a vertiginous staircase, like the film. We headed out early to secure our departure time for Alcatraz. With this secure, we made our way to Lombard Street or what some of you know it as ‘The Crooked Street.’ Apparently there is one other street more crooked in the world, but as hairpin bends go this takes some beating. The facts it’s beautified with lovely flowers helps too. Cars lined up at the top to go down it: one driver we saw had a GoPro set up so he could film his landmark breaking.

After we took a walk up the bay, along the numerous piers of San Francisco. America doesn’t just do one pier like Southend and Swanage, it has a whole multitude of them. We went up nearly every one, taking in an old fashioned arcade, sea lion gathering and restaurants. When it was time we headed over to the pier housing the ferry that would take us to Alcatraz.

Alcatraz was where Al Capone and other serious mobsters and murdstars were held. Because it’s on a rock in the middle of the ocean, it was seen as impossible to escape. Whilst over in Alcatraz we learnt about two attempted escapes: The Battle of Alcatraz and Escape from Alcatraz. Let me just say, I think Stephen King must have done the same tour as us, as his story ‘Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption,’ owes a heavy debt to these actual events. What I also found fascinating was what happened after the prison closed: Native Americans staged a sit-in to protest against sacred land being repossessed. I had no idea about this. Travel broadens the mind, I guess.

Looks quite nice from here. Probably wasn't nice if you were there in the 30's though.

In the evening we took a night trip across the ‘jealous older brother,’ the Bay Bridge, to Treasure Island where we got a view of San Fran’s skyline. Despite its beauty, I was so cold. Even the hot chocolate I bought could not detract from the biting winds San Fran is known for. Which just goes to prove you can be looking at most beautiful thing, but if you don’t have appropriate clothing it may as well be a sewage plant. Try going to the Taj Mahal at monsoon season without a serviceable umbrella - you’ll see.

Thursday 1^st August.

Are you still reading?

Today, we went to the bike hire shop ‘Blazing Saddles’ to rent some cycles. We had booked some E- bikes in advanced, told that electrical power was the best way of negotiating the city’s crazy hills. Unfortunately, I am no cyclist. A few years ago, I went to Rome with The Girl, and knowing she wanted to take a bike ride, I thought I best brush up on my cycling. I hadn’t been on a bike in over twenty years. As a child most of my cycling experiences ending up with me crying, a stinging nettle affixed to my lip. So three years ago my dad let me on his bike and held onto the back in a way a parent would for a three year old as opposed to a thirty year old man. I just about managed to stay upright. In Rome it was just a big park we cycled around, so it was fine. Today though, I was going across a bridge that I once watched a suicide documentary about. Getting on the E-bike in the shop, I found I had no control. The member of staff said, ‘I can’t let you ride this. You’ll have to have a regular one.’ It’s these kind of indignities and personal embarrassments that keep me humble.

Somehow we got across the bridge. (In all honesty I’m fine at going, it’s slowing down and stopping I struggle with). Reaching the other side, we explored Sausilito, a beautiful place where only people on The Sunday Times Rich List live. Here, the weather is Mediterranean, far removed from the icy blasts you get across the water. Taking our bikes on board the ferry (there was no way I was getting up that hill), we made our way back to the bike shop for a refund. ‘Just out of interest, why didn’t you get an E-bike?’ the assistant asked. My wife stepped in, ‘We just didn’t like the feel of them,’ she said. Most wives complain about picking their partner’s pants off the floor, mine, I imagine, gets tired of picking my dignity.

Our downgraded bikes.

Friday 2^nd August

We were leaving San Francisco and heading to Yosemite National Park. With no direct public transport, we needed to drive. I was assigned to be the driver, The Girl my navigator. Picking up the hire car, we were told to go into a neighbouring garage. Now I had visions of burning down the American highway, blaring out ‘Born to Run,’ whilst our wheels tore through the road like an 80’s Milky Way advert. What I did not envisage was having to ask a man to come over and tell me how to start an automatic car. How was I to know you had to press the break to shift the car into drive? Again, it’s these humiliations that keep my ego in check.

With The Girl reminding me to ‘keep on the right,’ we made our way out of dizzying city traffic onto the highway. After getting to grip with the lanes,-some had seven- I grew in confidence and started to overtake mobility carts. Actually, it became a lovely drive, leaving the highway it was just us for hours, crossing no man’s land, deserted desert terrain, seeking Yosemite beauty.

Paying our $35 dollars to enter the national park, we drove for twenty minutes before reaching our accommodation. I knew nothing about Yosemite. Yosemite was The Girl’s doing. We had booked into a cabin without knowing much about Wawona where we were staying. Our place, the cheapest on our trip, was my favourite. To stay in a cabin in the forest was something I thought I'd never do. Our wooden home was the slice of American pie we were hoping for. They say ‘a happy heart makes a happy home;’ I disagree: ‘a sofa makes a happy home.’ After staying in hotels, the chance to lie back on a sofa with my nearest and dearest, adopting our default home setting was a lovely thing indeed. To cap it all, we had a covered patio running along the back and side of the property. With a gas barbecue provided, we headed to the local store to get dinner.

Home for a few days.

Saturday 3^rd August

We awoke early. (I’ve said this a lot now that it’s starting to look like a shit catchphrase. From now on take it as read that we got up early). Our plan for the day was to go to see the sequoia trees as Mariposa Grove. These trees are huge. Really huge. Like bigger than your house huge. Some grow to three hundred feet too. And think of basketball players feet, as opposed to hobbit feet. The trees were incredibly beautiful, Tolkienesque in their size and grandeur. There was one you could walk through, one that fused at the top ‘the faithful couple’ and a great, big massive one ‘Grizzly Giant’ that if a person would put its balls on the table and say, ‘no ones are bigger than this.’

A pretty big tree.

An hour drive and we went to the general store for food. There, we saw a stagecoach set up, offering $5 dollar rides. The Girl and I jumped at the chance to be taken around the site by a man who went by the name Buckshot. After our horse and trap ride, he told us about being a driver since the age of fourteen, growing up with hundreds of acres, and his brother working the rodeo. He also revealed how he was cowboy cook and served Prince Philip (a horse and trap enthusiast) when he came to America. An interesting man. I wish I got his number; it would be good to have a ‘Buckshot’ in my phone book.

Back at base we checked out a local waterfall and river. Seeing other swimmers, I said to The Girl, ‘Let’s get our bathers and swim the waters.’ (This is how I talk). After consulting the information book at the cabin, she discovered it was safe to do. Swimming in a river made me feel pretty good about myself. Like I was adventurous or something. I have a reputation for being quite sensible, so next time someone says, ‘You’re quite a plain kind of a guy.’ I’ll stick my river anecdote down them.

Sunday 4^th August

We awoke …

We actually woke up really early because we were going to the main Yosemite Village and heard queues can be hours long. We arrived in an hour at 7.45, where few people were there. This gave us the chance to see Lower Yosemite Fall without many people for company. Looking up you can see the Upper Yosemite Fall converge with the lower one to make it one of the biggest and most breathtaking waterfalls in the world.

We then hopped on the shuttle to see El Capitan, the granite monolith that stands about 3000 ft in height. Now I had heard of the structure because it featured in Free Solo, the Oscar winning documentary about ‘free solo’ climber Alex Honnold. I hadn’t seen the film but I heard the awestruck reviews of the incredible lengths that were taken to get this incredible attempt on film. Honnold scaled the rock face ‘free solo’ without ropes in just a few hours. Looking at El Capitan, I couldn’t fathom how this was done. It simply isn’t built for man to conquer. It is the vertical sibling of Alcatraz: impenetrable, unbeatable, a dizzying reminder of untameable nature. On the flight home we watched Free Solo in awe. Watch it. Through your hands.

After, we walked down to Cathedral Beach which put into perspective how beautiful nature was. With my toes in the water, I saw sand, I looked up again and saw trees, from there mountains, and only craning my neck, sky. I had somehow walked into a painting by one of the great masters, everywhere I looked was peerless, pristine. Beyond Yosemite the world was a mess, but here, pure and unspolit everything was right.

The rest of the day felt like I was in a HD fantasy film a la ‘Lord of the Rings.’ I really hadn’t been as anywhere that came close to Yosemites beauty. It inspired in everyone a degree of reverence: there was no shouting, no arguments, no phone calls. There was just a feeling of happiness that we were humble guests in the land of giants.

A good nature picture involves reflection - or so I'm told. The Girl was very smug about her photography skill here.

Leaving, we had to descend our very own crooked street. It’s no exaggeration to say to get down from Yosemite Village you have to drive down the windy, windy roads for 45 minutes. I had to be really concentrated the whole time, only breaking character to see The Girl holding her seat for dear life. One wrong move and we would go the way of Thelma and Louise. For a Hollywood adventure it would be an apt way to go. Fortunately, we survived the mountain and retired to bed.

Monday 5^th August

We…

The final leg of our trip involved us going to Seattle. To get there we had to fly via Sacramento. It was a good, easy drive that only involved one person swearing at me. (I forgot momentarily the fast lane was on the left: poodling along a woman waved her fist at me with a vigour that suggested she wished me, my wife and our family dead.)

After just a two-hour flight, we were in Seattle. A short taxi journey led us to the Edgewater Hotel. The Edgewater is aptly named: it’s on the edge of the water. After checking in, the receptionist asked if we were for any occasion, we said the magic words and were upgraded. Previously we had booked a Garden View balcony, which turned out to be overlooking the front: a car park. Now that it was known were honeymooning, we scored a sea view balcony. As we stepped on, the sea was below our feet. Not literally mind, we weren’t walking on water like Jesus. But beneath the balcony was the sea. I vowed to wake early in the morning to have a coffee overlooking the great blue.

It being late we walked down to a neighbouring restaurant ‘Anthony’s.’ There, we took our seats outside and enjoyed the view. Here, the seafood was quite sublime. I had the seafood chowder to start and salmon and mash for main. The Girl had something; I wasn’t paying attention: if you don’t get to eat it, what’s the point of registering? Focus on your food and luxuriate on your own taste buds is my own advice.

The city at night.

Tuesday 6^th August

We …

Our first stop today was Pike Place, the historic Seattle market. Part of local legend, it was at risk of closure until the local community rallied around it. Now, it’s thriving, a photo opp for tourists and commercial centre for natives. What’s so loveable about the place is it’s performative nature. The traders aren’t just selling their wares, their selling themselves too. The fishmongers are a Greek Chorus, chanting in unison, slinging fish back and forth at one another like an NFL training session; the greengrocer sings the refrain to 90’s MTV tune, and the bakers break the fourth wall to offer you samples. We didn’t need to pay to see a show in Seattle; the market is a show in itself. 

Pike Place: where the market is the hottest ticket in town.

I loved the market. The secondhand bookstores were great. (Buying a book firsthand in America is costly.) We also went to Uli’s where you can get the best sausage in Seattle. (Take your mind out of the gutter Carry On fans.) Here, we had a smorgasbord of sausage (please…) and it was all very delicious.

We then took a whistle-stop tour of the public library, Colombia Centre (taller than the Space Needle) and up, across the waterfront. After a quick change we were back out to go to Pike Place Brewery. Somehow The Girl managed to have a gluten-free meal. As a coeliac, it can be difficult to find places to eat. Let this be a lesson restauranteur: if she can have a gluten-free meal, in a business built on gluten, then you can be more accommodating. I had all the beers. I ordered the paddle of beer so I could try each. I had a bet with myself that I would like the Pale Ale the best. I didn’t. I now owe myself a million pounds. I’ll be paying that back long into the afterlife. Fortunately, I’ve got years in limbo to save up.

Wednesday 7^th August

Well, you know how it started.

Our plan for the day was to head to the Seattle Centre. The Centre is the cultural hub of Seattle, housing the Museum of Childhood, Museum of Popular Culture, Chihuly Garden and Glass – and, of course, The Space Needle.

My brother had recommended the Popular Culture so we headed there first. This museum is as modern as its subject material, being thoroughly interactive, allowing you to pick up and play instruments, scream into photo booths and get on Prince’s motorbike.

The bottom floor is devoted to genre: there’s a room for horror, sci-fi and fantasy. In other words, it’s a shrine to geekdom. In horror we found out about the secrets of scares; how and why we crave fear, and how movie directors create safe spaces to experience our worst imaginings. Then, we were into sci-fi and got to operate the controls on some spaceship. (I think it was Star Trek related). From there, we were into a fantasy world, learning how the geeks have inherited the world, and how this much maligned world has become cool.

The other floors were dedicated to the Seattle music scene, spearheaded by Nirvana and Pearl Jam. I was a big Pearl Jam fan in my teens. And although I now find their music a little earnest, I appreciate their politics if nothing else: they have raised a huge amount for local homeless charities. My favourite bit was the other music sections where we got to go on Prince’s bike from Purple Rain and got to have a play upstairs on all the music equipment. The Girl on the decks really was something. She may look Home Counties but she turns table like an efficient waiter, drops beats like a clumsy Cali farmer and scratches like a savage cat.

The next place blew my mind. Chihuly Gardens is named after the glassblower that created the works of art. Through that technique, he is created technicolour sculptures that are a sight to behold. Losing the sight in one eye means he now has to direct other glassblowers to achieve his vision. The structures are remarkable and I’m glad my dad had heard about it to remind us to go.

All made from glass.

Finally, we went up the Space Needle, a monument to The Space Race. Built in the 60’s to encourage innovation and exploration, it might not be the biggest building in Seattle but it’s the finest. The Girl was a lot braver than I was up there. She leant back on the glass like someone with a death wish. She said to me, ‘Just lie back and think of England.’ And I thought, ‘I’ll just lie back and think of falling 604 ft to my death. No thanks.’ I was brave to go downstairs to the glass floor. To prove my masculinity, I even did a jump. Although this jump wasn’t like Charlie from Busted, more like Big Girls Blouse from Dunstable.

Leaving, we walked arm in arm through the glittering streets to bed.

Thursday 8^th August

After seeing the city skyline from a vantage on the other side of town, we made our way back to the hotel. There, we looked back at all the photos, re-living, re-experiencing the memories of the two weeks. Those memories were bought by you and made by her. I probably wouldn’t have gone up the west coast of America without having someone to share it with. I’m so glad I saw it with her. We’re both so appreciative of your generosity that made it happen. Thank you.