This is the out of office notification for Pretty Feet, Pop Toe. I am currently out of the country on a totally fantabulous holiday (New York, Cancun, Belize, Guatemala and Miami, since you asked) and as such, will not be able to reply to your comments for a few weeks, however, there will still be weekly witterings as per every Wednesday as I’ve been a good girl and done my homework, so please leave a message after the tone and I’ll get back to you on my return. Don’t be spooked about the fact there are posts coming at you while I’m sunning myself from the bottom of a cocktail, it’s not witchcraft, it’s technology and a huge amount of smug foresight.
It was suggested after last year’s Road Trip Extraordinaire 2011 around Las Vegas and California, that I should turn all Jack Kerouac and publish the well guarded journal I kept throughout the entire adventure. I have long fought with myself over this as yes, there were some hilarious japes and high jinks and yes, there were heartfelt moments, a hooker, Champagne and a torn hamstring (as with all good tales) but there were also some seriously good friends, whom I would like to keep, and as regular readers will know, I seldom name and shame – not out of fear of retribution or a strong desire to avoid hurting people’s feelings, but more out of the knowledge that if I were to turn into a wobble-gob, people won’t tell me their secrets and do stupid things in front of me any more, and then what would I have to write about when we’ve fallen out years later?!
Anyway, enough about my “flexible” morals, let’s give you the goods. I have made an executive decision and will give you some choice excerpts (carefully selected mini-snippets with equally carefully selected photos from my blackmail cache) from my legendary closely guarded journal, that all who travel with me would kill to get their grubby hands on (swearing and names removed to protect various reputations). Are you sitting comfortably? (That’s more than I was after the hamstring incident), then I shall begin.
23rd June 2011 (the flight from London to Las Vegas)
Am I the only one who think all under-16s should be tranquillised as soon as they board a plane? Starting a 16 hour journey with children on all sides is very far from the glamorous rock ‘n’ roll start to what promises to be a very glamorous rock ‘n’ roll holiday. So far we have a screaming toddler on one side, a coughing precocious Bieber-alike demanding free headphones on another and what’s this we have behind? Ah yes, some hammer-fingered tweenager punching at his in-flight entertainment screen set in the back of my seat. He seems oblivious to the consequences of such brutal actions; the consequence for me being whiplash, the consequence for him being a finger jabbed in the eye!
It’s ok though because my travelling companion and I can just block all this out with a cheeky free in-flight film. Oh, hang on, that would be two broken screens then. Good!
Salvation! The drinks trolley is on its way! Who cares if it’s not even 10:00am, where we’re going, debauchery and drunkenness reign supreme 24 hours a day! Just leave the trolley and pass me a straw.
7th July 2011 (hiking a waterfall in Yosemite Park)
We parked up and found the Information Centre, where we picked a trail based on the ranger’s recommendations, which would take us up a section of mountain, some steep steps and to the top of Vernal Waterfall. One travelling companion asked yet again if I’d be able to make it in my red espadrille wedges (the least suitable of hiking shoes). My reply (and life motto) – If you can’t do it in heels, it can’t be done!
Before we set out, a slightly safety conscious travelling companion asked the park ranger what we should do if we came across a bear, expecting him to say “hide” or “get low” or some other life-preserving evasive maneuver. His actual response? “Take a picture, unless it’s doing something it shouldn’t, in which case, shout and throw pine cones – but not rocks.” Not exactly helping the bear maintain its flesh ripping bad ass reputation!
After stocking up on sandwiches, and of course the emergency pack in my handbag (red Chanel lipstick and a can of Diet Coke – not exactly what the park authorities recommend), we set off up the mountain trail with people giving my choice of footwear and Daisy Dukes odd looks. Well, they were soon eating their words when I overtook them and was sat at the top of the waterfall, waiting for them all, reapplying my lippy!
7th July 2011 (the drive from Mariposa back to Vegas)
Talk about a true road trip experience! Four grubby bodies in a car filled with empty giant fast food restaurant drink cups and a plethora of sweet wrappers, with the radio blaring out endless tunes from the 90’s for us all to sing along to badly at the tops of our voices, stopping along the way at gas stations that sell knives with their packs of gum and endless varieties of crisps, so one companion could top up on Red Bull while another can scrape bugs of the windscreen and all can empty their bladders in possibly the worst toilets known to the inhabited world, before we head off into the night again, hopefully reaching Las Vegas before the small hours. Either way, we’re going to be spending a long time on this leg of the journey with nothing to see outside the car but distant approaching headlights and darkness, and the only respite at the end of it will be a nasty cheap motel that we find on the outskirts of Sin City. It’s currently 21:56, only 4 more hours to go.
Well, that’s all you’re getting for now folks. If you’re wondering what happened between the 23rd June and the 7th July, well, you know what they say – what happens in Vegas, LA, Santa Cruz, San Francisco, Sonoma and Napa stays in… well, you get my point. I hope you all feel thoroughly sick at the thought of my being somewhere terribly marvellous but please try to stop resenting me long enough to keep your eyes peeled for word in the news of a foul mouthed, high heel wearing, cocktail quaffing blonde being spotted clambering over the landscapes of the Americas (North and Central). I may need one of you to send bail money, an interpreter and a Diet Coke.
Pretty Feet, Pop Toe 
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