Armadillos And Burnt-Out Rubber

“…We’re going to Graceland, Graceland Memphis Tennessee…” Err, we aren’t actually. We are going to the Graceland Holding Pens to wait until tour number 12/1 is called forward to stand in the actual queue to get the surprisingly small bus to The King’s Mansion. Unfortunately I’m someone who would only remotely consider standing in a queue if there was a promise of either:

  1. Sex with the singer from The Bangles.
  2. Sex with the singer from The Bangles.
So this cannot stand! Not even for communion with the spirit of The King. The long and short of it: Ashly got a refund, shagged the gift shop hard and skulked-off south through lush Mississippi woodland on single-lane highways to Oxford MS. We were overjoyed to leave and have no regrets about missing our audience with The King and not shedding massive tears in the jungle room. We head to Oxford MS as they have apparently got a bookshop.

On US 51 we’re confronted with a sight never seen previously – dead armadillos; lots of ’em. On their backs, legs in the air like Monty Python’s Unexploded Scotsmen. There are also huge amounts of blown tyres at the side of the road, and wonder if the two are connected. The Tallahatchie river is crossed, it’s not Bobbie Gentry’s bridge but it’ll do.

Oxford is without doubt the poshest town in Mississippi. It’s a university town and they also have a red phone-box – a sure sign of sophistication. The women dress like Southern Ladies and we expect the Gentlemen to touch their hats, they have bookshops and organic bakeries; there are preppie clothing stores and the petrol station is immaculate. We could be back in Wisconsin. If you don’t have a pink cashmere pullover loosely wrapped around your shoulders there is a danger of being called-out as a Commie.

We eat in the Ajax Diner and are pleasantly surprised. It’s edible (see tips), I’m now tired and tomorrow is a big drive. The Delta.

It rains again, hard.