—Tellurian Edition—
—Tellurian Edition—
Mushrooms in America Georgia to Texas via Tennessee
Important meetings always seem to be vigorously opposed by the naughty old Forces of Darkness. When our current Avendale District's main organiser first came to visit she undertook a three-and-a-half-hour journey that ended up taking her seventeen hours. But she arrived in the end and now holds a most important position in the District.
We stayed in a rather nice motel, except that they omitted to tell us when breakfast ended so we missed it. We also spent the first part of the morning attempting to telephone our Aristasian friends in Atlanta, however their telephone was out of order. We continually had the feeling that the trip was important, because the Forces of Darkness kept putting these little obstructions in our way. When we went to the reception we were told we owed $20 for telephone calls, although we had, in fact, not got through once.
The girl at reception was very nice and arranged to waive payment for all the tellie calls we hadn't made; and also found us some honeybuns, yoghurt and bananas. This was the first time I had encountered a honeybun other than as a term of endearment, and I must say I rather liked it.
We then proceeded Atlanta-wards without having made contact,
and making contact proved difficult. There was a saga of elektraposts sent
by hotel-wallahs, unreachable telephones, maps, directions and lost-gettings.
Don't ask a blonde to explain it all. But in the end we did all meet.
It was utterly delightful to spend time with the charming Miss Belleanne in
person after knowing her in Elektraspace these many months and also to meet
Miss Drusilla who, as well as being a character in the fictional Avendale
is also very much a brunette in real life; and a most impressive and authoritative
brunette at that.
We went to a restaurant known as the Atlanta Fish Market, which is exteriorly
dominated by a giant fish - and when I say giant I mean many times the height
of an anthropomushroom. The food there was perfectly sublime and Miss Drusilla
headed the table with prefectly aplomb (which made one rather nervous, but
only in the nicest way). My young brunette friend Em was also there, and Miss
Wardelle later managed to put in an apearance as well, so it was really quite
a gathering. This was a day of getting to know one another and preparing for
the more serious day which was to follow.
Miss Belleanne reported at the time:
This evening I was descended upon by hordes of mushrooms begging for caffeine. I distracted them with presents wrapped in pale blue paper with metallic shimmery butterflies on it, and all was well. Quite a pleasant experience, on the whole, but what a comedy of errors we were made to endure first! Broken telephones, messages going astray, silly hotel girls who wouldn't take messages for people who hadn't checked in yet, a vital turning missing from the directions I gave (whoops)...
Later we went out to forage for thick, rich, steaming chocolate drinks which make brunettes shrink back in distress and blondes say, "May I have some more, please?" On the way back to Belleview, we passed through a key intersection... several times. On our third approach, we got it right, but not until after we took a tiki tour through several completely unrelated neighbourhoods. It really wasn't a good day for navigation. If the blondes in the party hadn't had an extra caramel drink to pass between them, things could have become desperate.
The revels ceased at about half past midnight (many presents, much naughty gossip!) but Miss Drusilla is still here, baking caramel brownies, and I must dash to help her clean up the kitchen! She might be different in real life and at Avendale, but her baking is entirely non-fictional!
Not only non-fictional, but certifiably delicious! The caramel
brownies were among the most delightful sweetmeats we enjoyed during our journey
in America. And we enjoyed an awful lot of delightful sweetmeats!
We travelled rather a long way to a perfectly charming restaurant called the Swan Coach House, which Miss Belleanne had cleverly found in Elektraspace, where we had a perfectly gorgeous lunch followed by one of those aforementioned delightful sweetmeats, cleverly fashioned in the form of the eponymous swan.
We then turned to the serious business of the day: a bonding
ceremony that forged deep and important links between our two Aristasian families.
It is of such links that our dear Empire is made. Joyfully, I wrote that day:
Aristasia continues to expand in all directions and despite niggling
obstructions from the Other Side, we are not only having lots of fun
but finding deep and abiding joy in our bonds of friendship, love and
commitment to the noblest of ideals.
And the fun certainly continued. Here is Miss Belleanne's summary of some of the things we did:
We have had so much fun that the only way I can think of to put it all down for you darlings is to make a list of the best bits.
a) Miss Wardelle and I had a delightful singalong in the front seat of the car yesterday. We are both word-perfect on Don't Let's be Beastly to the Germans .
b) I gave a certain person a MAC eye shadow called Shroom .
c) Certain people gave me a mouth-wateringly gorgeous three-piece red and black suit, which we all wanted but they only had it in my size.
d) The anthropomushroom added to her collection of Atlanta wildlife a giant talking buffalo head (still less impressive than the giant fish, though).
e) We managed a great deal of successful navigation, completely redeeming ourselves after the other night's multiple botched approaches to that important intersection.
f) White chocolate truffles from Lindt, which Miss Drusilla passes out far too reluctantly!
g) We discussed whether one ought to keep one's gloves on when tackling a hot chocolate in a coffee shop, and someone said "Well, it is charming, but not obligatory," to which one replied, "But surely it is obligatory to be charming?" And we were all charming, even Marguerite.
It was a tribute to the scintillism of the company that the younger members of the families, who would normally have been utterly entranced by a talking buffalo head, were so captivated by the conversation that they only paid it passing attention. However, it was at the House of the Talking Buffalo that the next disaster occurred.
When li brunette looked for her purse, she found it missing. It contained nearly all the money for the trip as well as her driving licence and other necessary papers. She felt sure she had left it at the shop whence came the gorgeous three-piece red and black suit, but it was now too late to return as the shop would be closed.
Over to Miss Belleanne again:
The original plan was for the Embassy contingent to leave yesterday after luncheon. But really, it was too soon, and they elected to stay another night and leave first thing this morning.
But the Forces of Apparent Darkness (I say apparent because it was rather good luck for me!) threw one more obstacle in everyone's way, and mushrooms came over to play a little more while Sensible Brunette Business went on nearby. Later on, over tea in lovely cups (thank you again, Miss Wardelle!) we discussed lunch and the prevailing opinion was that as we all had to eat something in any case, we ought to have it together.
And then we had to have caramel drinks! (Em concluded that they weren't all bad, making her the first brunette of one's acquaintance who can stand them at all.) And more long talks!
And nobody got onto the road at all until half past six. Odd how these things work out. We concluded that Dea must have wanted us to have an extra day together. And it was a marvellous day, as indeed were the previous ones; there is really nothing in the world more congenial than Aristasian company. Haven't had so much fun in years!
One's own comments were as follows:
The Shroom eyeshadow is splendiferostic. I am wearing it today, of course!
I feel quite sure that Dea wanted us to spend the extra day at Belleview, not only with Miss Belleanne and Miss Drusilla but also with my wonderful cousin Isabel who joined us there and is simply my Favourite Blonde Ever.
It has been a curious trip with the forces of Darkness dogging us since that first dreadful night in the hospital before we even flew (the beasts came within an ace of stopping the whole trip). Our extra day at Belleview was owing to another near-disaster. But the devil proposes and Dea disposes; it worked out just as She wanted - of that I feel sure.
Here we are now at Oxford. Not Milchford, but Oxford Alabama, boinging about with an early start because the clocks moved backward as we crossed the Alabama border into a new time-zone. Royal Shrooms, known to be a bit delicate, have come down with some sort of infeccer. I say "come down" but that is not correct. We are up and boinging, infeccer and all, and we intend to boing until and unless we collapse.
All the travel and the excitement of meeting our Aristasian family abroad may have weakened us, but there is much to do, both in the line of Aristasian business and pleasure. I never understand people who say one shouldn't mix business with pleasure. I have never been able to tell the diffie between the two.
It was a rather tearful farewell — or rather au revoir, for we shall certainly return. Having spent that night at Oxford Alabama we proceeded to the other Oxford — the one in Mississippi. Americans seem extremely parsimonious with names. One finds the same ones over and over again, and even they were borrowed from somewhere else in the first place.
We also ate in one of the ubiquitous Waffle Houses. These
are on almost every corner in the South, unlike England where there is only
one very large Waffle House known as Parliament. There are other differences
too. While the American Waffle House merely commits culinary atrocities, the
British one is there to claim responsibility (as they say of terrorist actions)
for the acts of the real legislators who live overseas and probably heve never
heard about, and certainly do not care about, the three Estates of the British
Realm.
Actually, this is a bit unfair. The food at the Waffle House is really rather
good if you like fresh waffles smothered in maple syrup and whipped butter. Haute
Cuisine it ain't, but yummy it am. There was a jukebox, so we played Barabara
Anne in honour of two departing friends who made way for my cousin Isabel. Sorry
if that sounded like an in-joke. It was.
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We continued across Mississippi to the Mississipi, more or less, and arived at eventide in Clarksdale Mississippi, which claims to be the birthplace of the blues. We had a guidebook which receoomended a particular "beer and breakfast" establishment which was very bluesesque. It said it was unlike anywhere you have seen before. When we got there it was full of rough, looking chaps, very noisy and quite unlike anywhere we wanted to see again.
So we proceeded to downtown Clarksdale and tried to eat. But it was very late for eating. All of nine pip-emma. Americans do not seem to eat late. Long, long before the witching hour the smaller American towns seem to shut up like a Welsh Sunday. Even in Atlanta, finding somewhere for a drink after dinner was not an easy matter. We finally found a diner of sorts which was closing but took pity on us and let us come in and eat. They closed the shop about us, and we had quite an interesting chat with them and got the feel of Clarksdale Mississippi. The lady in charge of the diner was a German who had been in America many years and talked down-home Mississippi with a German accent, which was rather fun.
In Alabama and Mississipi we had the feeling of being in the South. Florida and Savannah were rather touristy, and Atlanta felt quite cosmopolitan, but places like Oxford Alabama and Clarksdale Mississipi seemed like the South in its undress uniform, as it were.
We did a little shopping in the morning, this seeming to be a rather humble sort of place, and therefore reasonable for shopping. Then we headed north up the Mississippi to Memphis Tennessee, where we arrived in the early evening. We checked in at a rather run-down sort of motel and then proceeded into downtown Memphis (I do like that word downtown. I hope I am using it correctly). It was bustling in a way that nowhere before had been. Noisy, touristy, full of gaiety and gimcrack.
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We bought postcards of Trentish singers, saw a rather fascinating trompe-l'oeil advertisement for beer in the brickwork of a building and ended up eating catfish on a moderately warm roof; though it wasn't tin. One also sampled Snickers Pie, which is definitely a thing to sample: and the larger the samples the better, saith the mushroom.
On our way back to the car, we heard a familiar voice emerging from a pub (or whatever they call them in America). We looked in and there was Elvira Presley, in person. Or her Tellurian equivalent at any rate. So I supposed we must be in Tellurian Quirinelle at that point (I never can work out this time/space muddle-up they have in li Telluria). So of course we popped in and spent a delightful hour hearing Elvirisms. Then another act was coming on so we left. Curious Elvira didn't top the bill. Perhaps it was easterly Tellurian Quirinelle before she became famous. Is that how it works in Telluria?
We went back to the motel. It was decidedly the worst one we stayed in and had notices forbiddng drugs, soliciting, visitors after 8 p.m and various other activities that I cannot now recall. In the dark it looked rather worse. We really hadn't taken much notice during the day, being weary after our drive and wanting a quick rest before the bright lights of Memphis. Still, we should not be there long. Up and off in the morning. Hardly see the place. Or so we thought
The next morning was the one chosen by Fate for li brunette to lock the car-keys in the boot. A friendly native offered to open it for us with a screwdriver, but we weren't sure how much the hire company would like that; so instead we rang said hire-company. After much to-ing and fro-ing of tellie calls (and li brunette carefully remembering to call the boot the "trunk"), they arranged for a local locksmith to come and do the bizzums sans screwdriver.
After much twiddling with the electrics and making things smoke, and saying lots of very Tennessee things (which was most amusing, but not awfy useful) he declared the task impossible. So back to the telephonic to-ings and fro-ings. "Didn't he try to make a dummy key?" asked one company-wallah. "Why didn't he try to make a dummy key?" Presumably because he was a dummy locksmith.
The long morning ended with our taking a taxi to Memphis airport (the nearest office of the hire company, to pick up a (presumably non-dummy) key. We were driven by a black taxi-driver who was apparently always accompanied by his wife. He had a very deep Tennessee voice and she had a very high Tennessee voice. They were a bit like an act, and very charming.
"Who done recommended you that motel?" asked the deep voice.
"You don't want to take no mo' recommendations from them folks," put in the high one.
"That is one bad place," said the deep one.
We had to agree. We finally got the key and were taken back to the motel by our couple (who gave us their card in case we ever needed a taxi in Memphis again — which is unlikely, but if it arises we shall certainly 'phone them) and I confess I was slightly relieved to see the car still there, and the camera still in the car — I had asked li brunette to remove it, but in all the flap and fuffle she had forgotten.
We had reached our furthest point north and now turned south, but further west. We crossed the Mississippi, over a huge bridge, into Arkansas, eating peanut butter humdingers (a kind of ice-cream) from Dixie Queen. Thoroughly to be recommended.
With our late start, it was dark by the time we reached Little
Rock, home of the Two Little Girls, and we saw very little of Little Rock,
though we did have Mexican food there, at a place called Juanita's.
We then made a longish drive in the dark until we got to — well, let me ask you a riddle. What goes BOING! BOING! PHEW! — BOING! BOING PHEW!?
You guessed it, of course. Hot Springs. We awoke the next morning in Hot Springs, Arkansas, which, by coincidence was exactly the place where we had gone to sleep. Hot Springs was topping fun. Al Capone used it as a lakeside gambling retreat. So did Babs Hope and Bianca Crosby. Well, I don't know if they gambled there, but they certainly gambolled there by the lake. I know because I saw the very place. And I saw it from the lake, for we toured Hot Springs in a Duck.
A Duck, for the uninitiated, is an amphibious vehicle. It trundles about on the road and splishes about in the water. Above is a picture of our trusty duck, Miss Ashley. All Ducks were constructed during the war and all were constructed by brunettes, known collectively as Rosie the Rivetter. Many of them were left on foreign shores. Many of them fell to the batteries of old Jerry (they are not awfully manoevrable creatures). But some live on to ply their ducky trade in places as remote from one another as Liverpool, England and Hot Springs, Arkansas.
You
will note an establishment called the Fisherman's Wharf advertised on Miss
Ashley's hat. Well that is a jolly excellent place to have seafood, on a wooden
platform constructed over Lake Hamilton. But first we toured the town and the
said lake in the company of Miss Ashley and the Quacky Captain, who quacked
every time she told a fib. This has since come into use in parts of our District!
Having taken the tour, we visited a bath house which has been preserved in completely Vintesse style, including the most astonishing stained-glass skylight above the central fountain.
We then proceeded to the Fisherman's Wharf, where the 'shroom ate etouffée, which should not be confused with gumbo, though I am not certain why not, followed by more Snickers pie.
One had rather developed a taste for Snickers pie.
Although we sat out on the big deck over the lake, the interior of the Fisherman's Wharf was also very charming, packed with beautiful things like a lovely figurehead from a ship, a huge stuffed marlin and a perfectly elegant ceiling fan, all of which I present below for your delectation.
We were rather tempted by Pirates' Cove Golf, but time was
running short after our morning's merrymaking and long lunch in Hot Springs,
so we got underway again and made for Texarkana, where we crossed the border
into the Lone Star State.
There followed a 300-mile journey down the east of Texas to Beaumont where we arrived late at night.
So here we were, practically at the Gulf, where nearly all the last part of our journey was to take place. We had gone as far west as we were going, and from now on would be heading back east.
But there was still a new State to discover.
Louisiana.
To Be Continued
