Georgia on my mind

Those tourist buses, they're the only way to first see a new place, aren't they? I drive trains in to Liverpool in England virtually every day and yet knew nothing really about the place until I went for a ride on their tourist bus. They have a huge Catholic Cathedral in the city centre, a round concrete structure which, because of its shape and Liverpool's large Irish population, is known locally as Paddy's Wigwam. It was on the tourist bus that I learned that the four bells hung side by side in a tower at the front of the cathedral are known to the priests and congregation as Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. I also discovered that to the rest of the Liverpudlians those four bells will always be referred to as John, Paul, George and Ringo!

So it was inevitable that Christian and I would ride the tourist bus in Savannah today. What a fabulous city. Such a rich history and so much of it still in tact. The tour guide was a sweetie who told us loads of little tales and didn't hang back from sharing her opinions with us all. To one couple, asking about visiting a particular house, the scene of the crime in the book, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, she said simply, "You pay twelve dollars fifty and you get to see three rooms, a garden and they positively will not discuss the book with you. If you think that might be good value . . ." and let that sentence hang in the air. The couple went to another house.

I had originally thought I would return to some of the squares and take some, no doubt, artistic shots of spanish moss and antebellum houses. And then I thought; You know what? You can find excellent pictures of that stuff on google images. You wanna see them, look there and you'd find better photos than I'd ever take. Like this one:

Instead Christian and I just roamed aimlessly around and let fate take us where it will. We've found ourselves in some wonderful places just by letting life decide where we should go. It certainly found us an awesome burger joint today serving some of the best - and genuinely award-winning - burgers we ever had. A card on the table proudly told us, "New Belgium's Skinny Dip is a full-bodied, figure friendly beer perfect for the lightly attired summer months. Cascade hops frolic with ample malt to create a bright, citrusy nose that's as crisp as a frothy dip in a mountain pond." Now - if I'm to be open and honest with you, I like to frolic as much as the next man - really I do - would welcome the chance, truth be told - but I'm not too big on having a bright, citrusy nose or a frothy dip. Is there any chance I could just have a beer please?

A couple of hours later, after seeing a container ship sail into the port, which induced the odd "Wow" from us and even the occasional "Ooh!" and "Aah!" as our linguistic skills grow by the day, we said idly that we both fancied a coffee. As we went off in search of it - and let's be fair here, in America searching for coffee is not especially taxing - I said what we could really do with was a New Orleans jazz band playing on a street corner. Two blocks later we stumbled across these people outside a coffee bar. Ok, so they aren't from New Orleans nor are they a jazz band but we weren't about to quibble with that.

These guys epitomised all I have found in the deep south. Take another look at the black guy on the left. Look at his guitar. Notice anything? See that? - No strings. Neither could he sing. In fact all he did was rock side-to-side with the music and strum noiselessly on his stringless guitar. He had learning difficulties and could only walk with the aid of a walking frame. But to the singer/guitarist and the double bass player he was part of the band, they gave him solos where he just rocked to the beat and earned his own rounds of applause. That's cool, isn't it? Christian and I sat for a long time, drinking our coffee, eating our gelato and just watching the show. If we'd have done the tourist thing we'd never have stumbled across this scene. I'm glad we did.

Remember a couple of days ago I said we wouldn't be staying in the Bates Motel in Savannah? Well, we're not. But neither are we staying anywhere salubrious. Another wash basin in the bedroom. Just less Mexicans in the next room this time.

But out tour of the hotels and motels of the deep south has raised one of life's big problems for me. Showers. Every single one is a work of art to get it to the right temperature and flow, is it not? I have grappled, wrestled and fought with many a tap/faucet and shower hose. And what is it with the controls? The only guidance they give you is an "H" on one side and a "C" on the other, or - if they are trying to be really helpful - they colour one side blue and one side red.

Toasters don't have just blue and red to guide you. Neither does your oven. Nor washing machine. So how come that is considerd good enough for showers? Here's my suggestion, and I'm looking for your support here. The temperature control should be marked as follows. Arctic Blizzard - Nipple Hardener - English Rain - Mississippi Shower - Lobster Rinse - Blisters4Free. And the flow rate could be marked from softest to hardest as Soft Drizzle - Sensual Pleasure - Comfort Rinse - Depilator - Tattoo Remover.

How easy would that be to set the shower just how you want it? Are you with me on this? We could make it happen!