Texas Re-Attempted: Travelbodge

It doesn't feel real yet. All is stress and obligatory nightmare between the rival streams of headlights - red and white cells - as I am pulled by machines through darkness. My car almost runs out of petrol. The Travelodge has been knocked down. I am rebooked to another motel after 4 circuits of the Gatwick monstrosity. The girl at reception asks if I want to complain. I say no, of course, like a good Englishman, and she nods along and says "life's too short".

I order a burger at the motel restaurant and sit with my back to 87 other guests who are transfixed by the football match. They stare, tut, yell and despair in unison. They should be watching my life. They should be the audience to this crazy and lonely adventure I have embarked upon. But like ships in the night...