False start

Talk about a false start. But I have been on two trips in two months - to the UAE and the USA.

The first trip was uneventful. The Major and I sat on a beach in the Persian Gulf and bickered rather too much about camels. The blues and greys of the sand, sea and sky are limpid, liquified, fused and you end up limp, liquidised and confused as to what belongs where. Perhaps I sat on the sky and bathed in the sand. That’s enough Margaritas, said the Major, and marched off to our room for a cold shower and a nap before bar time. I stayed sitting on the sky and looking at the sand and took surreptitious photographs of camels that I did not reveal to the Major. Instead, I kept my camel porn stashed away modestly on my mobile while I let the Major take out his own monster apparatus for cunning pictures of white buildings and blue skies, green palms and dust-grey boulders – dull juxtapositions that I know we will never view again.

The second trip was to New England. I went alone and could browse Terminal 5 without the Major’s sullen objections to fervent handbag shopping. I like handbags. I love their nifty linings and individual product stamps. I love their detailing and their decadence. Why put all your immediate belongings in a 10 p plastic bag from your local supermarket when you can get the very same thing for hundreds, nay, thousands of pounds and the Major’s brittle expression thrown in for nothing? But I contained myself, however, and didn’t go for the padded Dior sitting so forlornly and unloved in its ermine-cushioned montre. Instead, I forgot the time and rushed to the gate. After settling down, I realised I was sitting across the aisle from a no doubt charming gentleman who had 666 tattooed tenderly onto the side of his shaven skull. Great, I thought, I get to go on holiday with the Anti-Christ.

I can also reveal that England captain John Terry is moonlighting as a purser on BA Transatlantic flights. He is very generous with the G&Ts and I got odd looks as my battery started to line up. The Major would certainly have approved.

Luckily, America is handbag heaven and I got stern hrmph noises down the line as I listed my purchases to the home front. I believe the Major was unimpressed by nifty shocking pink linings and the joys of Faneuil Hall Market Place. But I am not just a handbag hag – oh no – I planted the rest of my savings in the emporium that is Barnes & Noble. I bought nifty shocking pink Pulitzer Prize winners and dour little tomes about depression and depravity in Arkansas. I took a Duck Tour. I ate lobster bisque and clam chowder. I went to Cape Cod. I was shown lots of really old buildings that dated as far back as 1985. I even took lifts – which is something I otherwise never do.

Yes, I went to the 52nd floor and all the way down again – and now I’m back.