To Saguaro National Park, then. This has an east bit and a west bit and I went to the former many years ago. So the west bit it is. Over the mountain underneath which Tucson sits on its own little bit of Scorching Plain™ and down the other side. On the next Scorching Plain™ is Old Tucson, which is not actually that old having been built as a movie set in 1939.
|Old Tucson is somewhere in the middle, from the top of Grants Pass|
|According to some Facebook gammon, this is Russell Brand.|
No, I can't see the resemblance either.
|Spindly thing in the middle is an ocotillo|
|This is probably a jojoba, unless it isn't|
I was unable to get a snap of the Shiny Metal Birb, unlike a Several of my fellow Battle Mountaineers, as it was late showing up from That London and consequently dark outside. Apart from the usual hazards of air travel such as the headrest falling off the seat when you try to adjust it and cabin crew pushing sharp-edged metal trolleys into your shin at R17, there was The Meal.
Now, airline food has improved immeasurably since, as Tiny Larringtons, Professor L and I used to venture a third of the way round the world on a semi-regular basis. Indeed, the phrase or saying "diced lamb with baby carrots" is still something of a running gag forty-mumble years on. The SEEKRIT police forces of particularly nasty dictatorships used to use airline food when more conventional interrogation methods - waterboarding, electricity, sharp pointy things ect ect - had failed. But BRITISH Airways, or at least their caterer in Phoenix, appear to be reverting to old-skool dinners.
I opted for the "chicken curry". Now, a defining feature of curry, at least to anyone from outside the sub-continent, is that the main ingredient, viz. the chicken, is combined with some sort of piquant sauce containing a blend of herbs and spices including, though not limited to, chili, turmeric, coriander, cumin, ect ect. This, however, consisted of:
- some small cubes of overcooked chicken
- rice garnished with what appeared to be small flecks of soot
- two (2) manky chunks of baby corn
- one (1) spring of broccoli so wilted that even Chrissie Hynde2 could not warm to it
- no (0) sauce
London was till where I'd left it and so was Fort Larrington and thus I was able to do my washing and lie around catching up with the Formula 1 Grands Prix wot I missed while in Abroad. All I can say is:
and I am supremely unbothered as to whether the order in Singapore was The Boy Leclerc - Der Fingerflingenkind or vice-versa, since neither of them is going to be World Champion this year. A Ferrari 1-2 is a Ferrari 1-2. And Monday morning I was not-actually-that-rudely awakened by Professor Larrington and Dr Davis falling through the door after a twelve hour flight from Tokyo. Then the M25 (close in the opposite direction at the Bell Common Tunnel because something requiring at least four fire engines), Mr Sainsbury's House of Toothy Comestibles and home. Which was still upright, uninterfered-with by the Criminal Classes and still in possession of a closed front door. It hasn't burned down either, although the electric socket under the desk in the Estate Office did emit some lovely sparks when I tried reinserting the plug in Braille.
Also, I can haz Hat:
It is sitting on the replacement front door of Larrington Towers which, obv, has not been fitted yet on account of it being Too Hot immediately before departing for FOREIGN parts.
Here endeth the 2019 anabasis3 coz tomorrow will only be shopping and framing this year's poster and fettling the new front door. Does Thee Panel think I should attempt to cut a hole in it for a letterbox, or buy a box that screws to the wall outside?
2: Other rampantly veggie rock stars are available.
3: Look it up.