So when i left you i was sitting in Starbucks waiting for Rachel to get back. And now i'm back in Chicago, doing the same thing, but this time in the comfort of the living room, watching sport and drinking beer. I think i prefer it this way. For a start there's no scary looking waiter glaring at me and there's not the the same freeform jazz C.D on endless monotonous repeat (and by the way let me take this opportunity to assure you i have nothing against jazz. It's just somehow Starbucks manage to play it at that special noise level, you can't quite hear it well enough to appreciate it but it's loud enough so you can't quite block it out. Rather like a nagging wife.)

So let me fill in the gaps. Realising i had to do something to fill the next eight hours i took Rachel's advice and went to the cinema. I saw two movies. The first was 'My Super Ex Girlfriend. I would reccommend that you watch this film if you like completely stupid movies with no plot. I also saw 'You, Me and Dupree'. I would reccommend that if you like marginally less stupid movies involving plots with the same depth as George Bush.

Of course, in many ways it doesn't matter what you're watching. American audiences clearly don't understand the principal of silence. Messages for turning off cellphones are nice but utterly useless if you don't have the additional warning for Americans to shut their mouths. I don't want whooping. I don't want 'uh-ohs' when someone does something stupid. I don't want screaming at the very mildest of shocks in what i would class as family films (unless of course it's somebody who's snapped and is yelling at the imbecils who just won't shut it). I don't want clapping after the film let alone in the middle, i don't want sweets bewing unwrapped, drinks being slurped and most of all i don't want the moron next to me telling his equaly pathetic friend what other films the main actors have been in everytime his tiny brain manages to identify someone. And don't get me started on the people who seem to believe that wispering can't be heard except by them and the person sitting next to them. They'll find out how silent it is when i finally pluck up the courage to wisper at them to shut the fuck up.

But yes, that's how i got through my day, and afterwards, we went to Indianapolis for a night in yet another hotel, then Rachel went to work whilst i kipped on one of her friend's couches for the day and then we came back to Chicago, via her dad's house, where we had a delightful tea.
Now, as yet, i have yet to put any pictures on this blog page thing. There are many i would like to put on, but not having a digital camera they are on my phone and i can't get them on the computer yet. So instead, i figured i'd give you a flavour of America, a picture that has in a way encapsulated my stay (taken when yoinked Rachel's camera). I thought about it for a long time. Maybe a picture of that strange Kentucky lady with the biggest she-mullet i have ever seen. Maybe a snap of the numerous giant patriotic American flags that fly on every street corner. Maybe just a picture of fat people. Nope, after careful thought i am going to post my favourite picture of Las Vegas. It might not be what you expect, but i think it was my favourite part of the sleezey town that never sleeps. Sometimes i really worry about Americans...

I think there comes a point in everyone's life, where you're sitting in Starbucks, stealing wireless internet from someone next door drinking your fourth cup of coffee before ten o'clock and wondering what to do with the next eight hours. Or that's how i'm spending my morning. Perhaps you're doing something different. I don't know, but i'm pretty sure you know how i feel. A sense of boredom creeping in, knowing that there's no way to end it in the immediate future.

But wait, let me set the scene. This morning is the beginning of the end of a rather large roadtrip that the lovely lady and i have been on for almost a week now. It started in Las Vegas where we went for Rachel's uncle's wedding. After returning to Chicago for two hours sleep, we promptly set of to Louisville down in Kentucky for a couple of days and tomorrow we're off to Indianapolis for yet another night in a dodgy hotel before returning home.

And so it began with a trip from Chicago O'Hare airport to Las Vegas. Most people know my feeling on O'Hare airport. You ask an official to point you towards your gate and they look at you like you're asked them if you can pop your penis in their mouth. Ask them where you can find a trolley and you're bloody lucky if you don't get shipped to Guantanimo. Well no that's a lie. But you may well get deported immdiately. However, i'll be honest. I will have to change my opinion somewhat. It's only the INTERNATIONAL terminal where the employees are complete and utter bastards. You know, the terminal where all the foreigners and immigrants come in. In the internal flights department they're nice as pie. Can i help you here, let me give you a hand with your bag there and please sir, definately DON'T go to hell over there. But there we are. I (once again) have got sidetracked.
So how did i end up here?

Stop 1. Las Vegas. This is quite possibly (and by quite possibly i mean definately) the sleaziest, dirtyiest most desperate place i have EVER been. Imagine blackpool, but 20 times as big, and 50 times as filthy in 115 degree heat and with a large quantity of scantily clad women doing things that envolve shedding the last precious items of clothing (along with the last priceless shreds of dignity that once they had) and several paddling pools full of lime jelly. I must admit it's not all bad though. At least (unlike Blackpool) it's not packed full of bloody northeners.

Stop 2. A plane ride back on which the engines wouldn't start for half an hour and the woman next to us was talking about how she could smell burning ("oh, don't worry about me, i always smell burning when i get migranes, i get them when i think of my brother who was killed in an airplane crash...)

Stop 3. A stay for two nights in Kentucky. Enough said.

And so here i am down south. Stuck in town for eight hours while Rachel is at work. So what can i do. Start a blog for one. Watch this space.