A note from your Editor, Shagnasty: Greetings once again my brothers and only friends, what a month! Whilst it's impossible to ignore the terrible attack on the US last month, this site is about foolishness, so don't expect me to dwell on it too much will you. You have CNN for that. Besides, I promised to tell you about my holiday to the USA, not what I expected it would be but there you go... Keep Well & Enjoy... Your editor is: - Shagnasty Info DL Theme Tune 1.18Mb Enjoy!
Shagnasty's Holiday Report: The yearly POC outing to the US didn't exactly go as planned, but, some fun was still had. I report...	Tallahassee: Why the hell have I heard of it? I've been there now and I still cant think of a reason?		The Shagnasty Holiday Awards: All the categories you'd expect are here, and then some. Did you get an award perhaps?
Readers Submission: The Unpleasant Puppet was waiting in my Inbox when I returned. I've had to look at it, I don't see why you should get away with it.	Give to... "The Twin Towers Fund" Here. (Link now closed)		Readers Feedback: Your comments in print.
	Sponsors: Another name for advertisements people, well you can't blame me for trying can you?
Monthly thought: -		Peace Please! (Not too much to ask is it?)

"Shagnasty's Holiday Report"

Its four o'clock on a Saturday morning, bleedin' wet, bloody cold, and damn windy and despite the tender hour the motorway is still as busy as hell due to the fact that half of it is dug up, in short - it's England.
But not for long!

I'm in my car making my way to London's Gatwick airport ready to start the annual POC journey across the US. This year's trip should have been a reasonably simple affair, arrive in Orlando, leave Orlando as quickly as possible to put some distance between myself and the thousands of other Brits who do such a sterling job of embarrassing my nation whenever abroad, collect aircraft and commence flight to New Orleans where a POC reader has kindly volunteered to show me the seedier side of town. With, of course, stops wherever else takes our fancy on the way. Nothing simpler eh?

As we all know now nothing in the US during that particular week turned out like anybody had planned it, I'm no exception. But - for the purpose of this diary I'll do my best to cut through the horror of that Tuesday and bring to you the tale of my trip. Some of it fun, some bleeding awful, some of it hopefully of interest to you and perhaps might even make you smile once or twice.

^ The route we were supposed to take! ^

Saturday 8th September 2001 - GMT

04:30hrs
As usual Gatwick airport is its normal miserable affair, bland in appearance and absent of character. Doing my best to remind myself that this bit only lasts a few hours I drive into the long-stay car park pulling my normal groaning face as I glance at the parking charges that will await my return. The long stay car park at Gatwick is open air, totally unprotected from the rain and located over 2 miles from the terminal building. Ideal for people who will have loads of luggage - not! A rather nasty shuttle bus exists and it passes the various bus stops just infrequently enough to ensure that if it's raining, which of course it is, you will be nicely moist upon its arrival. My last action before boarding the bus is to make a written note of the car park and row number to give me a fighting chance to locate my vehicle on my return, a forlorn act as I know that like so many other previous trips I will do a sterling job of losing this note whilst abroad condemning me to roam the thousands of vehicles in search of mine. Nevertheless the note is made.

05:20hrs
Having located my brother with minimum effort, i.e., in the smoking area, we make our way to the check in desk. Both dressed to impress we approach the British Airways desk ready to switch into full smarmy-mode in the hope that should an upgrade be available we'll be offered it before those that are already dressed for the beaches of the Florida coast, a strange site leaving their inner London homes in the rain this morning they must have been. My efforts are as always unrewarded as the only conversation I can extract from the lady with far too much make-up is the usual round of security questions. Bugger, another 8-hour recreation of the inquisition within BA's cattle-class flight service awaits me.

07:32hrs
Only two minutes late the aircraft, a 747-400, rolls down the runway. This is always my favourite part of the flight as I make a point of looking around to see the expressions on the faces of the nervous. Generally I wouldn't claim to be a mind reader but at this point of any flight I can always tell the ones that are screaming within the confines of their skulls, "up, up, up ya' bastard" - its written across their foreheads clearer than a neon sign on a titty-bar.

During the flight I manage to blag a visit to the flight deck (SN: - I'm guessing that it may be the last time I do so!). This breaks up the trip quite nicely as I sit and chat with the captain and co-pilot. Having explained that I was a pilot they were politely making conversation with me about aviation related matters. Now I know that they were probably thinking, "oh I wish he'd bugger off so we can continue our chat about last weeks soap operas" but nevertheless I enjoyed it.

Saturday 8th September 2001

15:15Hrs
Hurray, arrival in Orlando airport. Mercifully in the UK the bulk of the children have returned to School so the normal family groups that would be arriving in droves to do the "Disney thing" are absent, this of course means that the normally present Micky Bloody Mouse that lurks in the airport terminal is equally absent. I'm pleased, as I despise the little git. My joy however soon turns to sadness when I realise that in my rush to escape the confines of the aircraft that had been my prison for several hours I had left my sunglasses on board. Not any old pair either, my special flying ones. Bugger! I watched the 747 taxi away from the gate pondering just how bloody awkward asking for them to be retrieved would be, and dismissed the notion. Something has to go wrong on any holiday, best get it out of the way early I thought. Hah!

16:18Hrs
Car collected, and were on our way to St Petersburg. Other than being mindful of the various other Brits, for some of whom driving on the right is a new experience, the journey was routine. As per our routine, we got lost!

19:25Hrs
Arrival at The Holiday Inn, check in, and crash-out. The plan was to remain within the hotel and get some much needed rest, adjust the body clock to US time and be fresh and prepared for our first flight the next day. That was the plan!
This was thwarted by means of a large flashing neon sign located across the freeway from my hotel room window, which was calling my name. Well, that's not exactly true, it wasn't "Shagnasty" up in lights but the word "Topless". On passing the friendly check-in girl she politely enquired "going out?". "Err, yeah, my brother and I are just popping out for a bite to eat" was my totally fabricated reply. Far too many hours later we both rolled back past the same girl, "good time in the titty-bar then?". To say that I was shocked is putting it mildly. "How did you know that's where we'd been?" I asked in astonishment mixed with deep embarrassment. "Because you have glitter stuck all over your face" she advised whilst giving me a sort of you've been naughty haven't you expression, the sort that I had become far too accustomed to during my school years.

Sunday 9th September 2001

08:30Hrs
The day starts with some very vigorous scrubbing of my face, resulting in it still being peppered with glitter, but now also looking and feeling quite sore! Dammit!

12:30Hrs
I take the pride and joy of the fleet up into the air. A brand spanky new Cessna 172 Skyhawk, newly purchased by the company we were hiring from. Bearing in mind that most aircraft I fly are approaching 25-30 years old this was a Rolls Royce to me. Knobs and buttons everywhere and what's more when you turned and switched them they didn't come off in your hand. I'm buggered if I knew what most of them did, but they looked very nice. Anyway, an hour and a half of emergency drills, practise landings and stalls with a US instructor and my American licence is reaffirmed and I'm fit to fly. Similarly my brother also repeats my experience.
(SN: - For those of you interested in aviation, I provide for you below a picture of the instrument panel with detailed explanations of the functions of each control or instrument.)

A = Primary instrumentation. How high, how fast, which way up are we. That sort of thing!
B = Something to do with the fuel.
C = How hot something or other is.
D = Dunno, some switches. One made a loud whirring noise so I didn't touch it again.
E = Steering wheel. Actually we pilots don't call them steering wheels, but its technical, I doubt you'd understand.
F = These two help you find yourself, so to speak!
G = Frankly this whole row is a mystery to me. Looks good though eh.
H = Nothing. But I cant help thinking something should go here.
I = Cabin heater controls. Never used em, too scared of engine fumes coming in.
J = Ooh, Ooh, I know this one. It deploys the flaps.

18:45Hrs
Having eaten and rested I settled down to watch a bit of telly, the excess of the previous night had not set a good start for safe professional flying and tonight I was going to be responsible. I recall drifting off to sleep during a Star Trek movie at about 21:00 only waking briefly again just past midnight to the sound of my brother scrubbing glitter off his face.

Monday 10th September 2001

08:00Hrs
Reporting to the airport nice and early we settle down to make some last minute checks to the flight plans and of course check the weather, which en route in the car was looking very English - not good. The excellent aviation weather services in the US are legendary in the UK, and on this occasion they only had bad news for us, low cloud. Whilst not getting too technical on you, I fly what's knows as VFR, essentially this means that I need to see the ground, essentially this means that I need to stay below any clouds, essentially this means that I'm going nowhere for a while.

12:30Hrs
After several hours sitting on the deck periodically peering out of the window at the clouds and then checking the computers satellite images, we eventually decide that the cloud has lifted sufficiently for us to depart. Bags placed in the aircraft, final checks made and we're off. The departure from St Petersburg is standard, climb out, a right turn and were off up the coast heading north to our first waypoint, Ceder Key, where I fully intended to make my now annual dive bombing run on the airfield as it tends to panic the cab driver that parks up there. After Ceder it's around the coast of the Gulf and a landing at Fort Walton Beach, lunch and on again to New Orleans where a night of depravity awaits me.

Well that was the plan!

Half way up the West coast of Florida the clouds started to get low again, about 1,000 feet. Now a thousand feet might seem like a lot when you're on a stepladder changing a light bulb, but when you're in an aircraft it isn't This prompted much discussion within about how we should proceed; turning back to St Pete was considered and dismissed, examination of the charts identified a town nearby with an airfield called Cross City. That would do nicely we though, why risk life and limb pressing on when we can land there, spend the night and continue the next day.

13:30Hrs
My brother, the Navigation God, calculates a bearing and I turn the aircraft accordingly. Before long the landing strip of Cross City is visible. All attempts to make radio contact with the airfield are met with silence, so a cautious approach and landing are made. On taxiing down the runway I note a very large prison adjacent to the field and at the other end several aircraft parked near what looks from the distance like an old shack. Parking next to the other aircraft I note that close up it sill looks like an old shack!
The after landing checks complete and engine shut down we both exit the aircraft to see a golf cart heading towards us being driven by a man who fulfilled every stereotype Hill-Billy I've ever seen. Stopping in front of us he greets us with a toothless smile whilst wearing a T-Shirt which reads - Where the hell is Cross City - "Have y'all come to see mah beer drinking hog?" he asks. Clearly this wasn't our prime reason for stopping but I have to admit being taken back by the question, "Err, err, what?" was the best that I could manage. "I got's me a hog that drinks beer, some folk come from miles to see it, you wanna?" My brother chips in with a firm "No" which clearly upset the man, "is it far away, perhaps we will take a quick look" I offer, keen to not offend.
The golf cart, which by now we had both boarded (with my grabbing the back seat), made an abrupt turn towards the edge of the woods that bordered the airfield stopping just short where Chris, for that was the pigs name, was lying in the mud. Huge, black and huge are the only words to describe the beast that lay before us. He stirred not a jot as the cart approached, nor when it screeched to a halt, nor when our driver screamed at it. This was either a very comfy pig or it did indeed drink beer and was sleeping off a mighty session from the night before perhaps. I'll never know as our driver tired of Chris and drove once again towards the shack, err, sorry, I mean terminal building.

Despite looking a bit dodgy on the outside I have to say that the inside was clean and tidy, a few tables, a telephone, a restroom and a whole wall devoted to Chris the beer-drinking hog including news cuttings, photographs and a guest book that we were also directed to sign. My entry read - I've seen Chris, a big fat pig, Shagnasty, 10th Sept 2001 - what it lacked in originality it made up for in accuracy I like to think.

The male airport dude wasn't alone, a female airport dude was also awaiting us in the "terminal", although she was waiting, her teeth were not. All appeared to be arguing and pushing for prominence at the front of her mouth. Mercifully I was distracted from gazing rudely at the fighting teeth by the sign above the door next to her. "Anybody caught letting T-Bone in the restaurant will find themselves looking for work" was the warning to the staff. I wasn't sure of the fact that the place I was standing in could really be called a restaurant but I was very sure that who or whatever T-Bone was, I hoped he didn't pick now to visit.

The lady spoke: -

(Actual transcript)
Lady - Where you boys from?
SN - England
Lady - How long it take you to fly from England to America?
SN - About 8 hours
Lady - 8 hours, in that itty-bitty plane?
SN - No, we've only flown that from St Petersburg
Lady - I thought you said you were from England.
SN - No, I'm from England yes, but I didn't fly here from England
Lady - How you get here then
SN - Can you call me a taxi please?
Man - [laughs]
Lady - No, no taxis here
SN - Can we walk into town then
Lady - I guess you could, it's about 2 or 3 miles I think.
SN - Can you give me directions
Lady - No, I don't know which way
SN - {Thinks - Jesus she's never left this airport}
Brother - Have you never been there?
Lady - Yeah, but not on foot, I think you can get there through the woods though.

My brother and I looked at each other and I clearly saw the words "Screw That" in his eyes, similarly on talking to him later he says that mine were broadcasting "No bloody way". I imagined the limited sympathy we would receive in the local papers if we met foul play en route. "Two stupid English white boys were found hung by their Calvin Klein chinos in the woods this morning" - a potential headline I wished to avoid. 

I asked the lady if we could both have a cup of coffee and she duly obliged, typically it was very nasty. Whilst pondering our fate and half expecting the male airport dude to say something along the lines of "you sure got a purdy mouth boy" I noticed that my brother had commenced haggling over the purchase of a "Where the hell is Cross city" T-Shirt. I think that $11.00 was the finally agreed price. The sale complete, I pulled him to one side and suggested that the cloud base wasn't that bad after all and perhaps we could continue to another airfield. He readily agreed, "where" being his only comment. "We'll decide when were in the air, lets get the hell out eh" being a panic stricken reply.

14:15Hrs
As I pulled the controls back and the aircraft lifted into the air the radio came to life "thanks for visitin' come back soon" said the lady. I wasn't sure if this was the comment of a genuinely friendly couple or the desperate mutterings of a lady disappointed that two had got away before all the other good ol' boys had arrived, banjos in hand, to party with the stupid English city folk. "Yeah" I replied into my radio.

This was a first for me, an airborne departure without a destination: - In the air again my brother suggested that Tallahassee was our best bet. "There's nothing high between it and us, and the book says that it's the State Capital, so I think they might have taxis". Flying at little over 700 feet we turned North-East and headed for the comfort of a city.

(SN: - I sincerely regret not taking any photographs of Chris or the airport dude but wasn't really sure how he, or the pig, would react to my asking to take his picture. I've searched the net for some reference to this pig, the news cuttings must have come from somewhere, but alas nothing. I'd be grateful to any reader who can point me to any net-based evidence as quite frankly my friends over here think I'm making it all up!)

15:05Hrs
Although the cloud was low forward visibility was good and we spotted Tallahassee Regional Airport whilst still 15 miles out. A quick radio call and landing clearance was granted. Once down I managed to completely misunderstand the taxy instructions from the tower and parked next to a Fed-Ex 767 on the wrong side of the airport. We shut our aircraft down and proceeded to wander about the airport for 25 minutes, luggage in tow, looking for signs of human life. The 767 was open and unmanned, as were the various warehouses full of parcels awaiting their journeys - note the lack of security!
Failing completely to locate anybody we got back into the aircraft and radioed the tower explaining that we were lost and that I was a berk, "I wondered where you had gone" the Controller said, "taxi out from wherever you are and I'll guide you to the terminal". This we did and a few moments later I was in front of the Flightline Services Terminal, two guys ran out, red carpet at the door of my aircraft, bags carried, aircraft parked for me, hotel arranged, shuttle called, arse wiped and the use of their daughters offered. Well ok I made the last two up, but the rest is bang on, better service I couldn't have asked for, all without charge of course and the beautiful Nancy and Pam as an added bonus!
Landing at a UK airport is not quite the same - land, pay them about $20.00 and get out before they throw you out.

18:30Hrs
Having had a rest in the Holiday Inn, it was time to "do" the town; Tallahassee was after all the State Capital and must therefore be quite a big and funky place. Asking at the hotel bar where to go to have a good time we were advised that we could go up the hill, or down the hill, and that was about that. Tallahassee was shrinking already. Electing to go down the hill we had a choice of effectively two bars - its getting smaller by the minute - we chose the one that was making the most noise from within. Although there were no windows giving any clues as to what form the lively sounds being made inside were taking, it looked the better option. On opening the door we entered a giant single room, totally devoid of any contents save for a bar running the length of one wall, some stools and a man sitting in the middle of a very large dance floor watching WWF Wrestling, full volume, on a giant TV screen suspended from the ceiling. A lone girl tended the bar, we approached ordered some beer-flavoured water, for you can't really call a Bud beer now can you, and sat on our stools.

The bar girl was friendly and we chatted whilst slowly getting merry, having moved to spirits in preference to the Bud for fear that I may explode later from the damn gas in that stuff. It slowly dawned on me that people were starting to arrive. We were no longer alone. Memory at this point gets fuzzy but I do remember seeing a sign above the bar offering a $20.00 bar tab to any person informing the management of any underage drinking. I explained that in the UK informing on underage drinking was a very Un-British thing to do and you would only be rewarded with a severe spanking from the numerous underage drinkers who would undoubtedly be present. Still, when in Rome eh, my brother and I therefore began accusing anybody who didn't look like George Burns of being underage in a rather desperate attempt to obtain free booze. It didn't work.

My dying memory of the night was a conversation with a group of lads who were explaining that they went to college with an English girl who played rugby. I explained that if she played rugby she was probably Welsh and not therefore English, indeed being Welsh it was debatable that she could be classed as human. "What's Rugby?" one person enquired. "It's like your American Football, but its played by men, not tarts in more armour than Sir Lancelot" I offered. Confused expressions were all that came back. One enterprising lad however had summoned up this girl who turned out to actually come from Liverpool, which unlike Wales does have one redeeming feature, even if that's only the fact that it's not Manchester. Any joy this girl had that some fellow countrymen were present soon diminished once my brother and I launched into the various Liverpudlian jokes they we know. "What do you call a Scouser in a detached house - a burglar" etc etc.

01:30Hrs (I think?)
The walk back to the hotel commenced but all we were thinking about was the fact that we should have walked up the hill, for had we done so, now we would have been walking down!

Tuesday 11th September 2001. Sitting at the breakfast bar with the TV on in the background and suddenly everything changed. News broke about an aircraft hitting the WTC. Being a pilot I watched the news with great interest wondering what could have happened, did air traffic say left instead of right? Then, watching live, a second plane hits the second tower. Now it's terrorists, no doubt about it. We watched in horror for several minutes before the shuttle bus arrived to take us to the airport. On arriving all there were naturally staring up at the TV, the FAA had already grounded all flights so we joined the other pilots with mouths wide open and spent the day transfixed at the screen.

As the day continued it became clear that we were going nowhere, and quite frankly we weren't really in the mood to anyway. The shuttle bus therefore returned taking my brother, all the other pilots and I back to the hotel. In a desperate attempt to keep a smile going we elected to return to the bar we had previously visited and spend the evening there. Of all the events, buildings and attractions that were either cancelled or closed that day I have to admit that the band due to be playing live in that bar that night were not missed by me. I don't have a clue what sort of music they played or with what degree of talent but quite frankly I'm reasonably sure that "Hairy Buzzards Gizzards Innards" wasn't going to be my thing. Even if the show was going to be "inside"!

Wednesday 12th September 2001. 

08:00Hrs
After a night of little sleep and lots of news watching, we again make the trip to the airport, the news is reporting that the FAA are going to lift the flight restrictions at midday. Upon arrival were advised that this is of course crap, the restrictions stay, and we stay grounded. My party therefore settles down to some more news watching along with the few pilots still present.

12:00Hrs
The airport manager advises us that we're going nowhere today, probably not tomorrow either and he can't be certain about Friday. That's that then, holiday over. Now the question is how do we get back to Orlando for our UK departure on Saturday. Pam and Nancy investigate a hire car for us with some local firms but at "standard rates plus $2.00 per mile" he's treated to my opinion of his mercenary attitude and alternatives are sought. The Flightline girls shiver with horror when I ask if the Greyhound is an option and I've frankly seen enough of your movies to know that's got to be a last resort. "Ok then, the train?" I enquire in all innocence. Had I known then what I know now I'd have bloody walked, as I was about to embark on a train journey that was going to account for 14% of my holiday.

    Amtrak : Hello
    Brother: Hi, we need to get a train from here to Tampa
    Amtrak : Ok, that'll be $78.00.
    Brother : Hang on a mo, what times the next train first?
    Amtrak : 12:30
    Brother : What today?
    Amtrak : Yes sir.
    Brother : But its 12:32 now, I've missed it haven't I?
    Amtrak : No sir, it's running a bit late. If you're quick you'll make it.
    Brother : What times the next one if we don't make it?
    Amtrak : Friday
    Brother : What!
    Amtrak : There are only three services a week out of Tallahassee Sir.
    Brother : (dropping receiver) Christ, we've gotta be quick, get a cab.

12:35Hrs
There now followed a swift goodbye to the ladies that had looked after us so well, a frantic dash from the airport and into a taxi. "$30.00 tip if you put your foot down mate" - good grief I regretted that, American cars aren't known for their great road holding at the best of times, combine that with a guy who possesses little or no driving ability and you have a white knuckle ride. He managed the trip in 14 minutes though and considering it's far from next door he did very well indeed.

12:49Hrs
We both screamed into the train station, which by the way looked like it was only visited by three trains a year, not what I expected from the State capital I have to say. "Have we missed it?" my brother enquired. "What?" said the lady behind the bullet-proof glass. I was tempted to reply "the second coming of Christ" but as all my other bouts of sarcasm had been met with little more than confusion by their targets I exercised some restraint. "The train Madame" he managed to give the correct answer in a sarcastic tone making up for my restraint. "Nope, it's not here yet, its running late". Thank God for that we both foolishly thought.
So, we waited for the train. Then waited some more, and a bit more for good measure. Five and a bloody half hours later it rolled in. Five and a half hours! That I'm afraid is not a "little bit late". Indeed in the UK I don't think it's physically or geographically possible for any form of domestic transport to be five and half hours late.
"Don't take the bus," they said, "It'll take about 8 hours," they said.
Whilst waiting for this train I had plenty of time to look around. Of the many things that I saw the most worrying by far were all the finger-like bones littering the train track. When asked, the lady said they were "probably" chicken bones. Well, my brother works as some senior something-or-other for KFC and damn well knows a chicken carcass when he sees one, he said they weren't chicken bones. The mind boggles.

17:28Hrs
Boarding a train a bit over 2 miles long was something to behold. With only two of its carriages actually fitting on the station I was surprised to see dozens of people pile out from them onto the platform. Wondering why we were the only two people boarding at Tallahassee whilst several dozen seemed to want to get off here it was explained to me that this was a smoking stop! "Arrrrgh, you mean I can't smoke on this thing". "No Sir" the conductor said with an evil grin. "People get off here for a smoke, the train pulls forward and you all get on again at the back". This we did, and for the record it took me nearly an hour to travel from the back of the train to the front. That's a first for me I can tell you.

Again the length of time I was on this train gave ample opportunity to explore it, carriage after non-descript carriage was basically the order of the day. I did locate an observation car, which afforded a nice view, well if it hadn't been so dark it would have. Strangely enough this car also contained various TV screens that showed movies, airline style. Except that is for one fact, they never showed the end of any film. My best efforts and enquires with the various conductors failed to yield an explanation as to why I was denied the last 20 minutes of A Knights Tale, Castaway or Heartbreakers - weird. If you want to tell me what happened in each case I'd be grateful!

23:35Hrs
The train pulls into to Jacksonville station, equally sparse when compared to Tallahassee. With no facilities to speak of save for a couple of vending machines, no buildings near-by and pissing with rain I resolved to wait the - wait for it - 6 hours! until the connecting train arrived. With plenty of people also waiting I anticipated having a few friendly chats with my fellow passengers, Americans always surprise me with their desire to talk to a total stranger. This is not the case in the UK. Sitting in the station as I was were I to say "hello" to the person next to me in the UK I would very quickly find myself having the bench all to myself. We don't talk to each other on public transport, its just not British.

However, the presence of a large TV set hanging from the ceiling tuned to CNN was obviously broadcasting content of a disturbing nature, passengers were transfixed to the screen. Whilst I was clearly interested and found the news upsetting being a Johnny Foreigner it didn't hit as hard as it did to those around me. I therefore sat fidgeting for the six hours with the only relief being provided by Chris "The Law Enforcement Dude" (flashes badge) who was explaining that he had to travel across three States to collect a prisoner, then his nose started bleeding and he ran off! The second moment of excitement came at about 03:00 when a station employee appeared from somewhere with fresh donuts. Bad news on the telly or not, this station was full of Americans and they therefore moved as one, each collecting a donut and returning to their seat. I'm proud to say that I managed to blag two of the little beauties claiming that I was getting one for my law enforcement buddy who was busy bleeding in the toilet. The keeper of the donuts was clearly too worried to question me and I was promptly issued a second. Oh yes.

Thursday 13th September 2001.

05:10Hrs
Hurray, the train arrives, and as before the first two carriages pull in, all currently on board get off, light up, I wait for it to pull forward and hey presto it starts moving, and doesn't stop. The damn thing disappears around the track. Under normal circumstances I would obviously have gained much amusement from looking at the confused expressions of the smokers who had nipped off for a quick ciggy who were now watching their train, luggage and presumably any non-smoking partners that may have been travelling with them vanish off into the night. Were it not for the fact that this was my train also, and having waited for six hours I bloody well felt entitled to it.

Just enough time passed by for people to start to get edgy and concerned about this when back it came, backwards from around the bend again. Had the driver forgotten us and though "oh bugger" a few moments later, as with the half movies I never got an explanation.

08:00Hrs (ish)
Hurray, the train pulls into Tampa, not long now I thought. It was at this point that I noticed the last part of my ticket had the word BUS printed on it. "Bus! A bloody bus, I bought a train ticket dammit". "You don't have to get on it" was the very sensible reply from the bus driver. I boarded the bus like a good boy.

09:10Hrs
As my bus had driven us both right past St Petersburg airport, refusing to stop, and into St Petersburg itself the hunt was on for a taxi. One located we were on the move again; our taxi driver explained that he had two newborn children, a cheerleader and a quarterback. And I thought the UK was obsessed with sport.

09:40Hrs
Arrival at St Pete airport, it's a ghost town. With no flights and security tighter than a whales arse at fifty fathoms the only activity we observe is a tow truck actively engaged in towing our car away. What! Leaping from the taxi the pleading commenced with the towing guy, clearly in a good mood we are allowed to reclaim our vehicle and after nipping into see the owner of the aircraft we had abandoned in Tallahassee to explain that it was abandoned in Tallahassee we return to the holiday Inn where we had started this round trip several days ago having completed a little over 2 hours of flight time and some 22 hours train time. Not good!

11:30Hrs
I attempt to stay awake not wishing to find myself sat up all night, I fail. ZZzzz

20:30Hrs
Now wide-awake with little chance of sleeping we elect to go out for the evening.

11:45Hrs
Return to hotel room and form queue at bathroom for glitter removal process.

Friday 14th September 2001.

10:20Hrs
On waking, and after another attempt at removing very stubborn glitter, the plan is to remain in Tampa and hit Ybor City that night for some serious drinking and misbehaviour before setting off for Orlando on Saturday to catch a flight that we knew wouldn't be departing. But, on checking the weather the US has another treat in store for us in the form of Tropical Storm Gabriel.

Bloody Windy doesn't come close...and it wasn't strong enough to be a hurricane...
and I thought we had bad weather in the UK!

11:50Hrs
We elect to quit Tampa for Orlando immediately for fear of getting stuck again. Thus the drive up the freeway commences, until that is Gabriel catches up with us and after a swift demonstration of her might in the form of a speedboat being flung across same freeway, we pull in at a place called Lakeland and hide like the cowardly wretches we are in a Denny's. The waitress explained that this is "but a little puff" and we should have seen Andrew, George, Michael and the names of various other weather nasties that have visited in the past. We were glad that we hadn't.

15:12Hrs
On the move again and the discussion this time is where do we go in Orlando, a place that I have to admit neither of us like much. If you're not there for Disney there isn't much else being the held view. The obvious choice is International Drive, that's where all the English families are all holed up, and that was enough of a reason for us to give it a wide birth. Orlando City Centre, Down Town it is then. Hotel selected, checked in, it was out for some fine dining and sophisticated service. To the telephone book we went to locate the nearest Hooters bar.

19:25Hrs
On route to Hooters my very sensitive fudge detection system, you may call yours your nose, went on full alert.  Church Street station, a fudge shop, me, two minutes later I emerge with a little over $25.00 worth of fudge. On seeing the alarm on my brothers face "Hey, its not all for me, I got some for you and I'm going to take some home as well" the look remained. "I got loads of different flavours" no facial change. "Sod ya, if I can spend 22 hours on a bloody train with nothing to eat I can damn well have some fudge tonight".

22:40Hrs
Returning from Hooters I settle in front of a movie in my hotel room, reach for my fudge and…. [lots of swearing].

Brother: What
SN: I've left the bloody fudge at Hooters
Brother: Telephone them and go get it
[ring : ring]
SN: Hello, is that Hooters
Hooter: Yes
SN: I've just been in and left a load of fudge behind in a black bag
Hooter: Hang on [pause], sorry, no fudge has been handed in [giggle]
SN: Are you eating my fudge?
Hooter No [firmly, then giggle]
SN: You are aren't you; you're eating my bloody fudge.
Hooter: I'm not.
SN: I hope it makes you fat and you have to work in Denny's.
Hooter: I'm not eating any fudge.
SN: I can see you all now, sitting in a circle gorging on my damn fudge, that's what you're doing isn't it, come on, own up.
[Click : Hung up]
Brother: Where are you going?
SN: To rescue my fucking fudge!

22:40Hrs Saturday 15th September 2001.

09:30Hrs
I can't bring myself to explain the events that took place during the previous evening, but suffice to say this morning commenced with my hotel room full of policeman and fingerprint dust being liberally applied, which I might add took me a bloody age to clean up.

12:40Hrs
We should have been reporting to the airport about now but on telephoning British Airways had been told not to bother, as they weren't going to lift us until Friday. Not being a great fan of Orlando and not being able to leave the area "in case" they telephoned with reserve seats we were stuck and somewhat depressed. Naturally therefore we headed for the nearest bar, which happened to be an Irish place called, err, something beginning with O' I think!

Salvation to our impending depression arrived in the form of two lads, Jake and Mike and several games of pool. Being from the UK we're obviously more used to playing snooker so not needing a pair of field glasses to see the other end of the table was a novelty. Perhaps the most surprising thing however was the fact that we won, this despite it being an away game, and despite our consuming several pints of draft Newcastle Brown Ale. The bar slowly filled with a mixed collection of people and a great time was had by all. I remember fondly the weird guy with the back-pack who bestowed several music CD's upon me saying "go on, take it, you'll love it" on each occasion. The man who looked alarmingly like Jeremy Beadle and thoroughly enjoyed a lively debate on all things political had an answer for everything, except that is why my brother and I insisted on calling him Jeremy. I enjoyed my rendition of various The Who tracks coming from the juke-box as the pool queue made an ideal prop for Pete Townsend impersonations and finally the beautiful Emily completed the compliment.

18:00Hrs
After much fun all elected to meet again later and Mike and Jake had decided it was their duty to show us a good time, we therefore wobbled back to our hotel with instructions on where to meet later.

18:15Hrs
I make a mental note to never again wet shave after so many pints of Newcastle Brown Ale. Ouch!

19:00Hrs
It had been decided that my brother and I would treat all to a posh meal. Posh isn't an easy thing to locate in the US but we did manage to find a place that was suitably horrified to see the 2 drunken yanks, 2 drunken Brits and the beautiful Emily appear at the front door. Nevertheless entry was granted and a damn fine meal consumed.

19:55Hrs
…and we're off. First stop a club called Barbarella where I have to convince the man mountain on the door that I am actually over 21. Whilst I think I was doing a good job on my own Mike, who appears to know everyone in Orlando, appeared and suddenly I'm in, and for free. I've been issued a day-glow orange wrist band which it was explained to me was my licence to drink, without it its fizzy-pop all night apparently. I cherished this item like it was my life. I was a bit surprised to see the words "Golfland" printed on it and wondered if the doorman had misheard me, I clearly said it wanted to come in to get pissed and fuck, not pitch and put.

Once inside I was surprised, nay, horrified to discover that Goth was alive and well in America. Actually "Well" isn't really the term, these people looked positively unwell, pale and skinny, male and female alike. I clung to the beautiful Emily as what is best described as a scene from The Lost Boys unfolded around me. My fear and concern was only heightened when the beautiful Emily explained that they had a Goth room - suggesting that I was in Goth Light or something. I declined to have a look at it. I similarly declined my brother's suggestion "you have to check out the toilets, they're weird".

Concentrating on consuming all that my wristband allowed several hours passed by to the sound of Blondie, Duran-Duran Culture Club and other such crap, it was as if I'd dropped through a hole in the space time continuum smack bang into 1985.

23:something-or-other...
Time to move. Leaving Barbarella we enter "The Cool Room". Cool, it must have been bloody freezing as its single room contained about 20 people all standing motionless, frozen if you will, in complete silence. This place even worried our hosts, we left.

On route to our next watering hole Mike was explaining that he had recently been arrested for Jay walking. This came as a shock to me as here in the UK we have a perception that this isn't actually a real crime, I mean not one that people actually get arrested for. This was however not as shocking as watching Mike actually get run-over just moments after telling me about his road-crossing-criminality. The sound of a Jeep full of girls laughing as Mike picked himself up of the floor will remain with me for a long time.

23:Christ knows
Into yet another club. Better this time, half decent music and I managed to commence the Smoothie English Cad routine with a girl with alphabet tits. That is to say that the alphabet was printed on her T-shirt. Things were going well until I explained that my favourite letters in the alphabet were N & T. Their strategic positioning on her chest told her all that she needed to know about me I guess, and she did a runner. Similarly my brother was busy explaining to all that would listen (most in fact) that I was a bit depressed as I was employed in London as the guy that winds up Big Ben and was losing my job because it was going digital! The number of people that believed this should make America ashamed I can tell you.

Sunday 16th September 2001.

Buggered if I know what time it is
Things got very hazy from here on in. I recall Mike purchasing a hot-dog for the express purpose, or so it seemed, of throwing it at a Policeman. I recall returning to the Goth Kingdom briefly, then blackness and silence.

Afternoon sometime
My brother and I awoke to several mysteries.

1. How had we got back to the hotel?

2. Where had the whole, untouched pizza placed neatly on top of the TV come from?

3. Why did my brother have purple and blue stripes painted on his big toe nail?

4. Why was my big toe broken, and hurting like hell?

(SN: - For those of you who may be making your own visual images to accompany this diary, you need to have me limping from now on.)

14:10Hrs
I learn from a phone call to home that Ian "Drunken" Smith has won the Conservative Leadership Election, which is good news as it effectively makes them unelectable for another four years - good, good.

15:32Hrs
The brakes on our vehicle screech as we stamp on the pedal having spotted a store called the UK Connection in a scruffy part of Orlando with a large Union Jack on the door. "Ah ha, a Brit shop" we say. We were right, British through and through, staffed by a miserable northerner and containing little more than a few bars of chocolate and some nasty tinned soup, of yeah and of course tea bags. We buy a British newspaper and get out as fast as we can, later to discover that it's printed in the US and is actually about as British as Pol-Pot.

17:28Hrs
A stop at a Starbucks proves surprisingly interesting. Whilst sat outside drinking our nasty coffee we're approached by a homeless chap, well spoken when he asks if he can have one of our European cigarettes that he's seen on the table. Obviously we oblige and offer him a cig. I then of course have to make the fatal mistake of asking, "what's your story then mate?".
Of the many answers I was expecting, like Vietnam Vet or wife kicked me out I wasn't prepared for "I've invented perpetual motion and the government and oil companies want me silenced". There then followed a detailed, very detailed, explanation of how perpetual motion had been cracked by himself. Basically though this involved placing an engine on a bicycle to make the frame wobble, and hey presto perpetual motion. My brother of course suggested that it might be better to attach the engine to a drive shaft to turn the back wheel and hey presto - motorbike. This suggestion was rewarded by a further ten-minute lecture from the man, who although nice and friendly, was clearly as mad as a bag of snakes.

17:49Hrs
I accidentally break my spare sunglasses. Bugger!

20:15Hrs
The still very hazy excesses of the previous night suggest some restraint this time so we stroll casually to the nearest bar. On arriving at the door we're greeted by a lady demanding $5.00 entry fee as "we've got the Proclaimers live tonight". Having obviously fallen through that hole into the 80's again we elect to give the bar a miss and retrace our steps back to the hotel - carefully!

Monday 17th September 2001.

05:13Hrs
For some disgusting reason we both wake up very early, horrified we go back to sleep.

06:00Hrs
Awake again, a quick discussion and we decide to pack all our bags and move on. 
After careful consideration of the options open to us for a days entertainment we decide that going to the airport and watching all the other Brits shouting at the BA staff might be kind of amusing.

12:30Hrs
On arrival at the airport we aren't disappointed, there are some 200+ Brits all still awaiting their flights, some as long as 5 days now, some actually having stayed in the airport all that time - Christ knows why.
My brother and I watch with an evil eagerness as the lady from BA stands on the check-in desk to call the names of those that can leave today. Although the crowd surges forward my brother and I stand at the back of the area, having been told we're not leaving until Friday there is no need to get involved in the mêlée that will inevitably follow.

13:45Hrs
We were both therefore rather surprised to hear our names called, "what, do you mean we can go?" I ask the rather obvious question. "Yes, obviously" comes the rather obvious reply - obviously. Despite the fact that it probably wasn't the ideal climate to be seen sprinting across an airport my brother and I managed to empty the hire car of our luggage (thank goodness we were moving hotels eh) and throw the car key to the Dollar guy in under four minutes, as to quote the BA lady "you'd better be quick, it's ready to go". We then waited an hour-and-a-half to board. 

Tuesday 18th September 2001.

07:45Hrs
Yeck - its England, bleedin' wet, bloody cold, and damn windy.

09:30Hrs
The usual hassle of luggage collection completed my brother and I board the bus to the long-stay car park. On arrival my brother reluctantly commences the tedious task of driving me around the car park because of course I can't remember the zone or row that I parked in. Dammit, I hate being right.

10:12Hrs
It all finally comes down on top of my brother when having spent over 30 minutes looking for my silver Honda, I remember that it's actually black.

But, if I thought that I'd been treated to some foul language that's nothing compared to what came out when he realised he'd lost his parking ticket. I don't know what the penalty for that was as I didn't stop but waved at him from my black speeding chariot. Until I got to the motorway of course where the road works limited my speed to a rather sedate 10-20mph. Holiday over, I'm back all right.

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