Okay, I'm actually back home now, settling in at the comfort of my own desk. Unfortunately, there was simply not a single moment between Clarksdale and New Orleans to find a functioning computer and update you on the latest goings on. I did find something resembling a computer at New Orleans airport on the way home, and I foolishly fed it my credit card. It gave me 30 mins of credit, and then promptly crashed. As they say in the States: aaahhhh man!!

Where was I then? Well, we stayed another night in Clarksdale, and went to Ground Zero blues club, owned by "famous" US actor Morgan Freeman (I think he plays God in Bruce Almighty, otherwise I have no idea). You walk in off a street that could be from the 1920s into a supposedly "authentic" looking juke joint - which has pool tables, high ceilings and baseball on wide screen TVs. We also had some famous hot tamalas (quoting a Robert Johnson song which is the title of this blog: "Hot tamalas and they're red hot, yeees she got 'em for sale"), but they weren't at all hot, even for my own particularly delicate palate. Just tasted of curry to me (which also means I didn't really like them).

In the morning we made our way to Jackson, state capital of Mississippi, and another place "you don wanna go to man, or you get killed". People have said that about almost everywhere we've been though, and I'm now safely back home (just to stop Mum and Dad from worrying). This was the only night when we didn't have any accommodation booked, but we thought we'd just be able to rock up at a motel and have a $30 room. No such luck. We'd managed to arrive the night before Jackson's biggest festival of culture and music, and there was no room at the Inn. After driving round aimlessly for about an hour, we finally stumbled on the Quality Inn, where they only had suites left, so Sam and I, getting rather desparate by then, decided to spend some real quality time together in our honeymoon suite. I'll stop there before I start to frighten people.

We spent the evening at the 930 Blues Club, where we once again basked in the glory of being English. "Yuuuuu seeeem to haaave an accseent" we were told. "I'm afraid so" I replied, but our general sense of irony seemed to be lost in translation. Never mind. We also met someone who seemed to be some sort of local impresario and was keen on booking our band for some gigs in the Delta area. I wasn't sure whether she was prepared to fly us all out for the privilege, but I won't complain. It's slightly better than the Dog and Duck on a dreary Wednesday night in Brighton. I've got her card and live in hope.

Next morning we set off early for New Orleans, our last stop on this grand blues tour. The land started to get greener, hillier, and we passed over some impressive suspension bridges across the lakes and bays which surround New Orleans. After dropping the car off at the airport (tears were shed as we waved goodbye to our trusty Mustang), we made our way into downtown by bus. All the talk of the destruction from Hurricane Katrina still not being fixed was actually hard to see. Everything on our bus route looked pretty solid, but we were told later that it was other (low lying) parts of the city which were worst hit, and nobody has seen any of the money raised to fix it. Politicians eh?

It's a sultry and tropical climate down in New Orleans, and the air is thick with jazz, blues, and the spirit of "letting the good times roll". There were lizards in our back yard, and the most gigantic dragonfiles I've ever seen. If you stop and listen to the birdsong, it's totally different from home, you really feel somewhere far flung and exotic.

In the evening we went in search of more music. The main street for partying in New Orleans is Bourbon Street, where even at 3pm it looks like everything is in full swing. "Looks like people have fun there" said Sam with his trademark dry wit. But by night it rather disappointingly turns into something from the Algarve - full of tourists, hardcore dance music, and flashing neon lights. All they need is a bar showing re-runs of Only Fools and Horses and they'll have cracked it. After our exploits in some fairly remote parts of the Deep South, this was a bit much, so we went in search of something a little more "local". We eventually found it on Fishman Street, which seemed to be where the locals hang out. Jazz and blues wail from almost every building, and people just seem to keep going and going - it really is an awesome experience. You could definitely do with a good few days here to properly absorb the spirit and feel of the place. But alas we had to wearily make our way home, conscious of the long journey back to England the next day.

Our trip was all but over. Nonetheless, it has been an amazing experience, and one I won't forget in a long time (especially if I print out and keep these inane ramblings, which was part of the intention of doing this blog - as well as for some general entertainment, of course). I hope I've learnt a little something more about America, its music and its culture - but even if I haven't, it's been great fun just being here. You guys ROCK!!

Here's to Blues Tour 2008 (TBA)...