The last knockings

Unfortunately Hector Gonzales never got my drinks bill from the ship and it was down to me. A quick drive to The Hilton Fort Lauderdale and surprisingly our room was ready for us – no waiting this time - and no-one had slept in it the night before . . . .

As expected (certainly for what were paying), the Hilton is a very nice hotel, right on the beach and walking distance from the bars and restaurants on the front. It’s still costing me $30 a night plus tax to park the car but I‘m getting used to being shafted every time I park that car – sometimes you’re shafted even when you’re still moving - toll roads and all that . .

Evidently they have had a bit of trouble with the fresh water supplies here the city authorities do something to it to purify it and it sends it a bit off colour; there are notices all around the hotel assuring us that the water is safe to drink, but I can’t quite bring myself to clean my teeth in water that looks like someone p***ed in it – anyway I think its all part of their master plan to flog us bottled water at extortionate hotel prices.

Great big flat screen telly, bathrobes with the Hilton logo and freebee Crabtree and Evelyn La Sourse soap, shampoo and shower gel stuff all nicely packaged in a rather pleasant shade of pastel blue; this nicely matches the wallpaper in our spare room I done up before we came away so if any of you happen to stay the night at ours in the near future, you’ll know where we bought the guest room soap !!

The room overlooks the Intercoastal waterways, a series on inlets running inland from the ocean that give this place its nickname as the Venice of America - or Florida - or something like that, there are loads of fantastic houses that back onto the Intercoastal, almost all have got a screened pool on the garden (yard) and most have an enormous boat on a private dock/mooring behind the pool.

If I ever move anywhere in America Fort Lauderdale is the place but it’s right what they say, no matter how nice it is here and how good the weather is, there’s no place like home, there ain’t no place like Asda Swanley, no Indian restaurant here can touch the Shaad in Swanley Lane, and Ocean Drive on a Saturday night is cool - but it can’t beat a rainy night in Soho.

This week has been a chill out week on the run down to coming home, this is the end of the line, back to reality and all that stuff, we fly out of Miami 8pm Wednesday evening and get home around 9.30am Thursday morning . . . Friday I start measuring up for a bathroom refit and then its back to Addison Lee by Easter.

I wonder if Neville Waterman ever made it home, I really hope he’s not booked on Virgin Flight 006 tomorrow night . . . .

God Bless America . . .