Well, here I sit in Dallas-Fort Worth airport, having shelled out $10 for the privilege of posting this. Actually more, if you count the coffee that is my excuse for being able to use this table.
Yesterday afternoon, I visited a huge shopping mall, especially remarkable for its huge selection of guns of all sizes and shapes on sale to the general public, and for the nearby range for the opportunity to try them out. And then in the evening, a lovely family, who I have become friends with, cooked a Texas barbecue. I mentioned about poor Spatula from a few posts ago, and heard from a medical lady present of a child called Krystal Shanda Lear. What made it more extraordinary was that someone else present at the table knew the unfortunate also.
Today there were a few hours before my late afternoon flight to Heathrow, and my ever attentive hosts were anxious that I might pine if there was a corner of the American Experience still left unexplored. So, someone came up with the idea of Southfork Ranch.
If you are my age or older, you will probably know exactly what I am referring to. The immensely popular soap opera of the 70s called Dallas, starring Larry Hagman and other worthies, who lived at Southfork Ranch and made each others' lives a misery. Well, apparently Southfork is a real place. I saw it. I tried every excuse in the book to do something else, but no, to Southfork I had to go…… If you're not careful, I'll post a photograph.
And so my Great American Adventure ends on a sort of shot of bathos.
Montes parturient; nascetur ridiculus mus. (if I've got that right).
And now, oh heavens to betsy, I've got umpteen hours on a plane. I hope there are fillums. On the way over, I even saw myself for the first time in The Other Boleyn Girl.