My best friend and I visited my little sister and her boyf in New Orleans in February. We hit the road too – I obviously sat in the passenger seat. Here are three poem type things… (the last one was very drunken and scribbled on a bar napkin so it doesn’t really make sense)


Bikinis sit in my suitcase redundant,

Me and Yam watch our breath,

the smell of Slice Pizza

Drifts downstairs

Where my sister and Arch

Sit devouring starch

And the parade whistles down the road

I can’t believe it’s so frickin’ cold

We have NOLA family which I  immediately befriend,

Rather controversially call the dog my boyfriend

They welcome us in and I immediately love my new relations

To think we were separated for so long – bloody interfering nations

A little girl called Evangeline screams PIZZA in her blonde locks of hair

‘That’s my girl’ I shout and follow her through streets which bulge at every corner,

Immediately in love with the city, I think about leaving and already mourn her

NOLA the goddess of the south,

Oh the LOAN I’ve taken out to hear this city’s bluesy moan

And here I am, few dollars in hand, waiting for an eightballsy man

Beads fly at my face while floats parade down the street

On every corner we meet

Rows of filled deck chairs shouting and shaking their ass,

My English accent ‘sorry, excuse me, trying to pass’


The next day we seek  refuge in the park,

Vampires sitting waiting impatiently for the dark

There’s a weird memorial service with Frisbee and dog

And with fast food, my arteries  start to clog

Off to the museum of World War Two

There’s a cafe with hot dogs – PHEW!

While I get over excited on a sip of a someone’s cappuccino

NOLA had little to do with the war, didn’t you know?

Yeah – there was a guy called Higgins who made some boats and shit

But that honestly is just about it

It’s the night before Mardi Gras and our intentions are grand,

We’ll just listen to a little bit of music by an early evening band

Suddenly we’re at Mimi’s munching on the best steak,

And I see our plans disappear in a red wined wake.

After all, how can we leave?

A guy is playing violin on a saw,

Oh go on… one glass more…

What else can he conjure from his tool tin?

I slur sipping on a 3am gin.

Then to bed, we’re rising early for St Ann’s parade,

Feeling atrocious we hit the tequila at approximately noon,

Oh! through these crammed streets, I wish we could zoom.

Off to a party by my godfather’s mate – hope it won’t be lame,

Far from it -the Jackson Square party of considerable fame

Everyone is dancing – jumping up and down,

A guy in a tuba wears a plastic crown.

Decorated musicians play instruments never seen before,

And elaborate costumes butterfly crawl through the door


Silv and I are dressed up as cheerleaders.

Pale and fat from fried chicken,

Not sure we’ve got the Mardi glisten.

I laugh about all my mates at home – eating pancakes.

I mean seriously in comparison to this – what kind of shit tradition is that?

Still, I know I’ll be munching them next year, feeling like a complete twat.

On various other houses we descend,

stopping for fast food at every bend

At the after parties hip hop seems to be the general vibe,

Weird – I thought this lot would be a strictly blues tribe.

We make up for the blue when Mardi Gras ends.

We’re all desperately sad about the loss of our new friends.

But we’d have to get SO drunk again to make amends

It turns out we’re probably not going to tour America’s states

With North Carolina’s Crazy Nate

Just as well as we see him munching out a bin

Fuck – we were all so in love with him.

We rent a little Honda and hit Shack Up Inn, Clarksdale,

Where the landscape loses colour and goes a grayish pale,

And storm Pandora’s mission begins – the Honda derail…

#pandora (the storm that stalked our road trip)





Clarksdale – Not Tennessee due to Pandora – Memphis

Eyes fall on  miles of ploughed land,

Where once a farmer did stand

But now machinery looming

A giant centipede

Praying on land for grooming

Hard rain washes away months of sin,

That has lived within lines of motels

cluttering this barren land,

Do I know any of this?

Or only have movies to hand?

I am sick

But was I ever well?

Veins of grey and white

Take their plight

Across pink skies

The thin legs of feathery creatures

Stuck in muds thick and deep

Floored, like ships they’re moored,


Waiting like we were

Shacked up at shack up inn

Blues in our shoes,

And cold stagnated in our throats

Praying for bigger, better coats

Cotton floats freely now

but hurricanes hanker

past grief and all beneath

Feels weekly laid,

A land tormented and underpaid

A fresh produce sign, ink blurred from the austerity of the rain

Each hail stone brings a new pain.

Fast food threatens at every yard

Master obesity’s face is with ketchup scarred

Medications fill the heads of many a men

Beauty fallen from many a pen



Chucky cheese

Tales of  Walt Disney’s

But on what mouths do they fall?

Obesity, heart disease

Arteries clogged with plastic cheese

Tall pine trees line the roads of maroon

As yet another lump of lard hits my throat in a plastic spoon

Al Green’s voice reached into my intestines and shook them around

That and $1 nuggets for breakfast left me feeling far from sound

I can’t seem to find my feet in Jackson but Pandora can

She weeps and howls for her Mississippi man

And she certainly does not refrain from knocking about our Honda

PANDORA  – Jackson is not travelling with us, he is yonder.




Hurricanes hindered you then and what hinders you now?

White overfaced bodies leer over balconies

watching black hands patter ferociously on steel plates

And fingers are licked while rib juice catches in plastic bibs

And if there’s a god that does forgive, why is he too cocky to fucking live?

Whiskeyed voices shout to realities beyond

And in the awkward jilts of the body they forge a bond

There’s no wisdom or truth in my alphabet. Of reason, I’m bereft.

I can only be identified by the pant of my beer and camel lingering breath.