Florida 1

Something happened to Caro and I in Florida.  I’m not sure what the problem was.  Maybe it was due to the fact that the end of our journey loomed.  Maybe it was the heat.  Whatever it was, we slowed to a crawl.

In Florida, we became terribly lazy.  So lazy in fact, that Three-Toed Sloths of the Amazon, and even members of the House of Lords appear terribly active by comparison.  I blame TV.  Caro, in particular, became obsessed with the music channels.  Those VH1 “Behind The Music” specials were the worst and began to cost me a lot of money.  The reason being that , Caro would watch one of them, and then I’d get interested and before I knew it, I would develop an urge to buy the CD of the featured artist. 
 
As a result, I ended up going on a music-buying spree, picking up CDs by No Doubt (Behind The Music),  Cat Stevens (Behind The Music), The Red Hot Chili Peppers (Behind The Music), The Isley Brothers (VH1’s Greatest Funk and Soul Hits Weekend), Meatloaf (“To Hell And Back: The Meatloaf Story” movie of the week).  Oh, and Neil Diamond.
 
YES!  Neil Diamond!  I'm not ashamed to say it!  Because, on listening to my "Neil Diamond - The Classic Collection" over and over and over again, I became convinced that Neil is nothing less than a GOD.  I believe that this is the same technique that L. Ron Hubbard used on his followers.  Although why L. Ron Hubbard would want to convince his followers that Neil Diamond is a god remains a mystery.
 
I mean, this is the man responsible for such brilliant lyrics as:
 
She got the way to move me, Cherry
She got the way to move me,
She got the way to move me, yeah
She got the WAY to groove me, Cherry, all right

- and, of course, the timeless - 
 
I like big butts and I can-NOT lie!
You other brothers can't de-NY!!
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get SPRUNG!!
 
Whoops, sorry, that last one wasn't Neil, but Sir Mix-a-lot, but it's an easy mistake to make.  Sir Mix-a-lot was also frequently on VH1 explaining how "Baby Got Back" is an anthem to female liberation and not at all a song about perving about women with big bottoms, noble aspiration though that is.
 
Anyway.  My obsession with Neil Diamond worried me at first.  Is this a result of being middle-aged?  Is there some chemical in the brain that causes one to wake up one morning saying, "Hey, you know, I always really liked Supertramp!"  Is this all part of the horrid conspiracy that has led to me not only watching, but enjoying, codger programs like "Columbo" and "Murder She Wrote"?  
 
It got worse.  It was in Florida that I discovered my first ear-hair.  It disturbed me because I couldn’t  understand what it was doing there in the first place.  It's not like my ear was COLD or anything.  Not only that, but my favourite nasal hair (“Barry”) recently turned white.  It doesn’t end there.  My hair is now thinning to a frightening degree.  It's so unfair.  Why can't we be like the rest of the animal kingdom?  Old male elephants are very impressive with their huge tusks.  Why can't human males have something that keeps on growing throughout their life?  

I'm sure you know to what I am referring here.  I know it wouldn't do anything to cover my thinning hair, but it would be a huge consolation.  Also you could wrap it around your neck to keep warm in winter.
 
But now I'm really getting off the subject, which was, as you'll recall: Florida.  This was to be our last stop on the big world tour. 

Cue: OPENING CREDITS for "Caro and Symon In Florida!!".  The theme music swells ("Sweet Caroline") see shots of Caroline water-skiiing, Symon riding a scooter, both of them getting down in a local club, playing volleyball on the beach, rollerblading down the street and then snorkelling in a coral bay.  Then pan to a shot of Symon lying on a beach having saltwater pumped out of his lungs because he forgot he can't swim.
 
Sorry.  I've always wanted to have opening credits.  Besides, this is the end of the book and I feel a need to go out in style.  That was the plan for Florida.  No more backpacking – no more worrying about the budget.  We had no more money to go anywhere.  All we could do was STAY and SPEND.  We planned to eat out, get fat, and drink cold drinks in the hot hot sun of Miami.

It pissed down.  As soon as we arrived.  It never stopped.  All week.

The rain wasn't so much persistent, as "ubiquitous".  Actually it started back in New Orleans, which I was very sorry to leave.  On the plus side, we were flying Southwest Airlines which, we were informed, is very friendly.  It didn't quite measure up to Virgin Blue in this respect, but I must admit that even Virgin Blue did not feature a singing air steward serenading the passengers with a slightly amended version of Neil Sedaka's "Calendar Girl".
 
Yeah, yeah, our hearts are true,
We love we love we love flying with you,
Every day (every day)
Every day (every day)
Of the yeeeeeear (every day of the year!)
 
He was an enthusiastic chap, by which I mean he didn't just sing the chorus.  He worked his way through the whole bloody song, every single month, week and DAY of it, it felt like.  People started applauding halfway through to shut him up, to which the stewardesses replied, "Please don't applaud, it only encourages him.  If you want to buy the cd it's available at 'Wayne's Feed 'n' Seed'."
 
On arrival in Fort Lauderdale, the rain was heavy, hammering down on the roof of our taxi and turning the street into a stream.  We holed up in our hotel room and stayed there for our entire time in Fort Lauderdale because the rain just refused to stop.  After a couple of days, the old cabin fever really started to kick in and I began to notice bizarre things, like how Caro sorts her M&M's by colour and shape before eating them.  Caro also commented about my almost permanent nudity since we had arrived.
 
Perhaps this is a mental picture you would rather avoid, but my basic philosophy is; if you don't have to wear clothes then it's just potential laundry you are avoiding by not wearing them.  This seems to bother Caroline, or at least put her off her food, but it's not like I do this sort of thing in public or anything.  There's panic enough on the streets as it is.
 
So there we were.  Trapped.  With each other.  Thank goodness for telly.
 
And what telly it was!  "Big Brother 2" reached its climax in Florida - unfortunately, the smelly people in the house had realised they had no chance of winning against the cool people, so had managed to vote all the nice people out by the end.  This left the evicted houseguests merely a choice between Will, the narcissistic, arrogant one or Nicole then whiny, insincere one.  As one of the evictees put it, "It's like choosing between an ingrown toenail or a rash."  So that was a bit of a drag.
 
But we didn't care!  Because we discovered an even better reality show called "The Amazing Race" in which 12 teams had to race from one world location to another, solving clues along the way!  I’m a great fan of the Excitable Morons Yelling At Each Other style of tv, and found this show terribly exciting as we witnessed Americans SPEAKING VERY LOUDLY AND SLOWLY to foreigners in a vain attempt to get them to understand the simple concept of PLEASE take me to the train station.
 
Of course, we had our favourites in the race.  Such as the gay life partners Joe and Bill who named themselves "Team Guido" after their little dog and raced every week in matching outfits.  Or Kevin and Drew, the bald fraternity brothers who yelled things like, "Swing ya fat b*stard!  Swing!" at each other in order to motivate themselves while bungee-jumping.
 
On one memorable occasion, Kevin was very pleased with his navigating through Zambia, when Drew leaned over to look at the map, pointing out  "This is a map of Namibia, ya dumb b*stard."
 
Of course, "Jerry" continued to keep us entertained, because Caro and I are great believers in the entertainment value of shows that feature DNA testing, lie detectors and glamour makeovers.  One show ("Cheating Lovers Exposed!") included a love triange between two brothers in their 20's fighting over a 70 year old who met one of them when he was delivering meals-on-wheels.  "I might be told old to cut the mustard, but I can still lick the jar," she commented.  I'm still trying to figure out what she meant by that, but not too hard, because it sounds disgusting.
 
So day after day went by, and every day we looked out of our windows, and every day, the rain continued to pour down.  

One morning, I switched on the telly to try and find "Jerry" or something to keep Caro from going completely rain-bonkers but instead there was some stupid show with some woman going on about the whereabouts of the President, and then I distinctly remember saying to Caro - 

"Did she just say a plane crashed into the World Trade Centre?"