Days 22-25: Tucson AZ - Larrington Towers

Tucson to Phoenix is only about 120 miles but, mindful of occasions in the past when I've had to get through or round places like Denver and Chicago while chewing my fingernails as the time to hand the motor-car back to its owners of record crept closer I decided not to stray too far from the Righteous Path Friday morning.  First port of call was another Little Free Library to drop the second Travelling Book but on reaching the address quoted on the website there was no sign of their little glass-fronted box, nor anyone around to ask chiz.  So it's still in my rucksack and USAnians wishing to be introduced to Tom Sharpe will have to wait until next year.  Appypollyloggies to them, Will and Miss von Brandenburg.

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

Almost next door to it is the National Park which, as you might expect, contains many Saguaro cacti along with divers other desert plants and many birbs of prey circling the place on the lookout for collapsed tourists.

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

Having had my fill of desert succulents I headed north up I-10, which was busy and hot and traversed a Scorching Plain™ of little scenic merit.  In the not-too-distant future, Phoenix will absorb Casa Grande and then Tucson and then the traffic will be even more horrendous than it is already especially at the point where I-10 (to Los Angeles) and I-17 (to Flagstaff) diverge.  Or meet, iffen you're coming the other way natch.  The motorcar said it was 40C outside the car park just before I handed it over, but the interior of the terminal was bloody freezing so I handed over The Luggage to BA's minions and went and sat in a shady spot outside.  It is surprising how quickly one gets used to the heat - three weeks ago those kind of temperatures would have prostrated me in three minutes flat..  The NA keyrings dangling from one of the rucksack's many zips are a wonderful conversation starter, and so is leaving your JesusPhone on the bench and wandering off.  Sadly the owner came back just when me and t'other chap seated thereupon were planning to pawn it and split the proceeds¹.

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

I ate it anyway, even the sad, sad broccoli, and then wished I hadn't.  All those Indian-Americans who turned up to cheer Messrs Modi and Trump the other day would be better employed in finding the people who thought this confection worthy of the name "curry", and killing them.  To DETH.

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?

1: Lie.
2: Other rampantly veggie rock stars are available.
3: Look it up.