Myrtle Beach, Memphis, New Orleans
As I'm sure you all know, when the last ever episode of Star Trek - The Next Generation (Season 7, Episode 176) was aired back in 1994, it's title was "All Good Things...". And so it is for me. Tomorrow, I'm travelling to Houston and then leaving on a jet plane, as John Denver used to like to say... before he was killed in a plane crash. (Irony is such a fickle fellow with a hell of a sarcastic laugh.) Exactly a year to the day since I left for my 2003 USA trip and I'll be back in the UK to pick up my glittering financial services career from where I left off or perhaps finally answer the call from Parkhead to step in to Henrik's shoes.
Since I wrote last, I've won some golf games and lost some golf games, said hello to some old friends and goodbye to another, visited the homes of both Country & Western Music, the Blues, Jazz and the King and still had time left to play football on the grassy knoll in Dallas. And I... eh... had a birthday, which could have been traumatic seeing as it involved a "0" and a "4" but it turned out to be the best since I got the full Ajax football strip all neatly packaged in a little, cardboard Gola suitcase back in the 70's.
Long before I gave up work, responsibility and all semblance of a secure financial future, some friends and I from the Bank planned a week long excursion to Myrtle Beach in South Carolina to battle out a Ryder Cup style team competition. The courses were all in pristine condition, the weather was favourable and my team was fortunate enough to walk away with the spoils but better than all of that was simply the camaraderie. A night spent playing cards, drinking beer, eating pizza and talking absolute bullsh#t may sound ordinary enough but when it’s intensified by a shared history, a common vocabulary and a collective love of the most surreal cultural reference points, it is without equal. 
I haven’t laughed as loud or as long since Hearts lost the league title back in the 80s. Safe to say that I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour or ten! And when that was all over I got to play even more golf with my brother Keith and his pals, narrowly losing that competition, but enjoying the occasion equally as much.
As I'm sure you all know, when the last ever episode of Star Trek - The Next Generation (Season 7, Episode 176) was aired back in 1994, it's title was "All Good Things...". And so it is for me. Tomorrow, I'm travelling to Houston and then leaving on a jet plane, as John Denver used to like to say... before he was killed in a plane crash. (Irony is such a fickle fellow with a hell of a sarcastic laugh.) Exactly a year to the day since I left for my 2003 USA trip and I'll be back in the UK to pick up my glittering financial services career from where I left off or perhaps finally answer the call from Parkhead to step in to Henrik's shoes.
Since I wrote last, I've won some golf games and lost some golf games, said hello to some old friends and goodbye to another, visited the homes of both Country & Western Music, the Blues, Jazz and the King and still had time left to play football on the grassy knoll in Dallas. And I... eh... had a birthday, which could have been traumatic seeing as it involved a "0" and a "4" but it turned out to be the best since I got the full Ajax football strip all neatly packaged in a little, cardboard Gola suitcase back in the 70's.
Long before I gave up work, responsibility and all semblance of a secure financial future, some friends and I from the Bank planned a week long excursion to Myrtle Beach in South Carolina to battle out a Ryder Cup style team competition. The courses were all in pristine condition, the weather was favourable and my team was fortunate enough to walk away with the spoils but better than all of that was simply the camaraderie. A night spent playing cards, drinking beer, eating pizza and talking absolute bullsh#t may sound ordinary enough but when it’s intensified by a shared history, a common vocabulary and a collective love of the most surreal cultural reference points, it is without equal. 
I haven’t laughed as loud or as long since Hearts lost the league title back in the 80s. Safe to say that I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour or ten! And when that was all over I got to play even more golf with my brother Keith and his pals, narrowly losing that competition, but enjoying the occasion equally as much.1,500 odd miles from Myrtle Beach back to Austin offers up plenty to see and do and after a short ride on a Greyhound bus (well, I had to make at least one such journey), I met up with my friend Meredith in North Carolina for the road trip back.
At first we followed part of a route that I'd driven last year, over the Appalachian Mountains through Great Smoky Mountain National Park and down the other side to Tennessee. This time, I really did have a strong notion to go to Dollywood (if only to be able to rip the absolute piss out of it) and I got as far as the parking lot but at a prohibitive $38 per person to enter, I discovered quickly that it was Dolly that was taking the piss.
Tennessee is fortunate to contain not one, but two great centres of American popular music. First up was Nashville which, unsurprisingly, houses the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum and the legendary performing venue, The Grand Old Opry. The Museum turned out to be far less cheesy and over the top than I expected, a pattern that would be repeated throughout the week. It explained in fascinating detail the history of the genre, celebrating reverently all manner of different artists and their equally varied and different styles.
A couple of hundred miles to the west lies Memphis, home and final resting place (or is it?) of the King. Elvis's house, Graceland, is actually a relatively small residence and the tour started off slowly as we got herded from room to room with the rest of the tourist sheep. My initial excitement got the better of me when I blurted out the hope that perhaps we would see the actual toilet where he died with his pants at his ankles. Nearby, a security guard whispered into his sleeve and followed me round for the rest of the morning.
But the tour got better and better as it moved into the grounds to some of the out buildings housing collections of his recordings, awards, stage costumes and photographs galore. Then you come to the tranquility garden where the entire Presley family was laid to rest and it just doesn't feel right. Okay for the beloved family hamster maybe, but not the king of rock 'n roll.
As good as Graceland was as an attraction, even better was a visit to the original Sun Studios where Elvis began his recording career. It's virtually unchanged since the day back in 1953 when he walked through the front door for the first time, paid his three dollars and recorded a little ballad for his Momma's birthday. Aaawww, nice boy. I could have stayed there for hours just standing where he stood or playing the piano that Jerry Lee played or holding the microphone that Bono held when U2 visited in 1987. Brilliant, emotive stuff.
Travelling south out of Memphis, I was keen to visit a quaint little town called Vicksburg located on the banks of the Mississippi in the south west corner of the State of... eh... Mississippi. A few Christmas's ago, the BBC showed a fantastic documentary about the American Civil War and Vicksburg has a vast National Military Park to commemorate the many battles and long siege that happened there in 1863. It was late afternoon as we toured around and it was eerie and slightly haunting to see thousands and thousands of unmarked graves and ornate memorials in such a quiet, peaceful and serene place. Well worth a visit though. And sunset on the hilltop overlooking the mighty, muddy and awesome (yes, awesome) Mississippi? Gorgeous.
Generally, everywhere you go in the southern States, the people are very, very polite, falling over themselves to call you "sir" (or "ma'm" if they see your long hair before noticing your beard!) at every opportunity. Even when confronted with an inane question or two from a tourist, they seldom allow the veneer of cordiality to drop, always charming with a warm, lyrical accent.
Desperate to reacquaint myself with a triple venti caramel macciato, I asked a waitress in Vicksburg if she could direct me to the nearest Starbucks. Initially, I think she thought I'd asked directions to the local Klan gathering as she took on the horrified look and shocked manner of the recently lynched but quickly recovered to reply,
"I'm terribly sorry, sir. We don't have any Starbucks here in this small corner of Mississippi."
Actually, her exact words were more like,
"Yawl 'n Miz-zip now honey. Ain't no such faincy kaffee hee."
See, sheer poetry.
And yesterday I returned to Austin after a short jaunt to New Orleans, (or 'Nawlins' to be colloquially accurate) one of the biggest party towns in the country. It wasn't Mardi Gras or Spring Break time but there was no shortage of enthusiastic drunks swaying up and down Bourbon Street in the French Quarter to the ever present sounds of jazz and Cajun music.
It was good to see that this most famous part of Nawlins had not succumbed to the recent nationalistic fervor of renaming all things connected with the peace loving French otherwise I would have been strolling round the Freedom Quarter munching Freedom Toast for breakfast and Freedom Fries for lunch... and who knows what Freedom Kissin' must be like. Instead, I was able to sit peacefully in the famous Café du Monde sipping café au lait and wolfing down a few tasty beignets, pronounced 'ben-yays' if you're French and/or sophisticated (it is possible to be both) and 'French Donuts' if you're not!
And now my bags are packed, I'm ready to go. I bought a ticket to the world and now I've come back again. I've travelled the world and the seven seas, through villages and towns and, may I say, not in a shy way. But you know I won't be travelling forever and because home is a love that I miss very much, (and the Homeland Security people are on my tail) it's time to go.
Finally, the lyrics game. By now, you should have accumulated the names of (at least!) 14 different artists and 14 corresponding song titles, culled from the eloquent prose of these e-mails over the last seven months. If, however you've casually deleted the e-mails after (or perhaps even before) consumption, then fear not. Thanks to the genius, creativity and generosity of my young brother Stuart, you can now access them all (plus some special bonus features) on a brand new website, www.neilwritestheworld.com, the perfect 40th birthday gift.
So if you're interested in submitting your answers (complete or not), you have until Friday June 12th to send them in to me. The person with the most correct answers will win a truly stunning first prize acquired in a mysterious and far away land. (20/02/07: This competition is now closed.)
And there you have it. I can't put it any more eloquently than Bugs Bunny when I say, that's all folks!
Love, Neil x
P.S. Anyone know of any interesting job vacancies???
At first we followed part of a route that I'd driven last year, over the Appalachian Mountains through Great Smoky Mountain National Park and down the other side to Tennessee. This time, I really did have a strong notion to go to Dollywood (if only to be able to rip the absolute piss out of it) and I got as far as the parking lot but at a prohibitive $38 per person to enter, I discovered quickly that it was Dolly that was taking the piss.
Tennessee is fortunate to contain not one, but two great centres of American popular music. First up was Nashville which, unsurprisingly, houses the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum and the legendary performing venue, The Grand Old Opry. The Museum turned out to be far less cheesy and over the top than I expected, a pattern that would be repeated throughout the week. It explained in fascinating detail the history of the genre, celebrating reverently all manner of different artists and their equally varied and different styles.
A couple of hundred miles to the west lies Memphis, home and final resting place (or is it?) of the King. Elvis's house, Graceland, is actually a relatively small residence and the tour started off slowly as we got herded from room to room with the rest of the tourist sheep. My initial excitement got the better of me when I blurted out the hope that perhaps we would see the actual toilet where he died with his pants at his ankles. Nearby, a security guard whispered into his sleeve and followed me round for the rest of the morning.But the tour got better and better as it moved into the grounds to some of the out buildings housing collections of his recordings, awards, stage costumes and photographs galore. Then you come to the tranquility garden where the entire Presley family was laid to rest and it just doesn't feel right. Okay for the beloved family hamster maybe, but not the king of rock 'n roll.
As good as Graceland was as an attraction, even better was a visit to the original Sun Studios where Elvis began his recording career. It's virtually unchanged since the day back in 1953 when he walked through the front door for the first time, paid his three dollars and recorded a little ballad for his Momma's birthday. Aaawww, nice boy. I could have stayed there for hours just standing where he stood or playing the piano that Jerry Lee played or holding the microphone that Bono held when U2 visited in 1987. Brilliant, emotive stuff.
Travelling south out of Memphis, I was keen to visit a quaint little town called Vicksburg located on the banks of the Mississippi in the south west corner of the State of... eh... Mississippi. A few Christmas's ago, the BBC showed a fantastic documentary about the American Civil War and Vicksburg has a vast National Military Park to commemorate the many battles and long siege that happened there in 1863. It was late afternoon as we toured around and it was eerie and slightly haunting to see thousands and thousands of unmarked graves and ornate memorials in such a quiet, peaceful and serene place. Well worth a visit though. And sunset on the hilltop overlooking the mighty, muddy and awesome (yes, awesome) Mississippi? Gorgeous.Generally, everywhere you go in the southern States, the people are very, very polite, falling over themselves to call you "sir" (or "ma'm" if they see your long hair before noticing your beard!) at every opportunity. Even when confronted with an inane question or two from a tourist, they seldom allow the veneer of cordiality to drop, always charming with a warm, lyrical accent.
Desperate to reacquaint myself with a triple venti caramel macciato, I asked a waitress in Vicksburg if she could direct me to the nearest Starbucks. Initially, I think she thought I'd asked directions to the local Klan gathering as she took on the horrified look and shocked manner of the recently lynched but quickly recovered to reply,
"I'm terribly sorry, sir. We don't have any Starbucks here in this small corner of Mississippi."
Actually, her exact words were more like,
"Yawl 'n Miz-zip now honey. Ain't no such faincy kaffee hee."
See, sheer poetry.
And yesterday I returned to Austin after a short jaunt to New Orleans, (or 'Nawlins' to be colloquially accurate) one of the biggest party towns in the country. It wasn't Mardi Gras or Spring Break time but there was no shortage of enthusiastic drunks swaying up and down Bourbon Street in the French Quarter to the ever present sounds of jazz and Cajun music.
It was good to see that this most famous part of Nawlins had not succumbed to the recent nationalistic fervor of renaming all things connected with the peace loving French otherwise I would have been strolling round the Freedom Quarter munching Freedom Toast for breakfast and Freedom Fries for lunch... and who knows what Freedom Kissin' must be like. Instead, I was able to sit peacefully in the famous Café du Monde sipping café au lait and wolfing down a few tasty beignets, pronounced 'ben-yays' if you're French and/or sophisticated (it is possible to be both) and 'French Donuts' if you're not!And now my bags are packed, I'm ready to go. I bought a ticket to the world and now I've come back again. I've travelled the world and the seven seas, through villages and towns and, may I say, not in a shy way. But you know I won't be travelling forever and because home is a love that I miss very much, (and the Homeland Security people are on my tail) it's time to go.
Finally, the lyrics game. By now, you should have accumulated the names of (at least!) 14 different artists and 14 corresponding song titles, culled from the eloquent prose of these e-mails over the last seven months. If, however you've casually deleted the e-mails after (or perhaps even before) consumption, then fear not. Thanks to the genius, creativity and generosity of my young brother Stuart, you can now access them all (plus some special bonus features) on a brand new website, www.neilwritestheworld.com, the perfect 40th birthday gift.
So if you're interested in submitting your answers (complete or not), you have until Friday June 12th to send them in to me. The person with the most correct answers will win a truly stunning first prize acquired in a mysterious and far away land. (20/02/07: This competition is now closed.)
And there you have it. I can't put it any more eloquently than Bugs Bunny when I say, that's all folks!
Love, Neil x
P.S. Anyone know of any interesting job vacancies???
