And then...

The day had started with a moan: a damp expanse of humph. The clock radio clicked over and I woke to post-war-time favourites – Stormy Weather, The Man I Love, Aren’t You Glad You’re You.

Raspberry to that.

The previous day, I had stood on the beach and felt the “revelation” to write. Ideas about form and structure had blinked their eyes and stretched their arms in my mind.

I had been listening to the fine sand-papered voice of Sean Penn reading Bob Dylan’s 'Chronicles' on audio book. A beat poet without the awkward timing, Dylan was a writer and his rhythm was in my head. The streams of prose that were now bubbling in my brain sounded like I had something to say. And finally, I’d prove to all those who doubted, that I could in fact - write.

And so, I sat down to - write.

And I wrote in the old fashioned pen to paper style.

And the pen on the paper made the shapes of words.

And I was writing. Words. In the very literal sense.

But they were wonky words. They were bumbly and directionless.

‘What’s it about? Where is it going? Why isn’t it good? Why is it, in fact, a bit shit?’

Those babbling brooks were taken over by a sloppy fudge and the scribbles on the paper were not the genius that had been in my mind’s eye when I was swooning in my own self-revelation on the shoreline of San Simeon.

Oh god the parallels with my life were too fucking obvious and clichéd that I was getting on my own nerves.

So instead of persevering with words and facing my own pitfalls as an adult, I watched Gladiator on TV. And as the sandbags of loneliness attached themselves to my feet and the overwrought metaphors bullied themselves to the front of my thoughts, I ate corn chips, drank terrible red wine and got gooey over Joaquin Phoenix ‘do’ evil.

Eventually I found a groggy and salty sleep.

Then, with corn chip crumbs pressed into the side of my face, it was time to get up.

Breakfast happened.

Then, a scolding coffee in an oversized polystyrene cup.

Then, a pause, with nothing to fill it but a feeling of emptiness, before I pushed forward into the day and exited the hotel car park.

And then…

(Beautiful, picturesque photos were meant to follow here. I was going use the awe-inspiring landscapes that belittle any niggly self-doubt to speak for themselves.

But now I realise I only took photos of fat sea lions on this leg of the trip)

Where's the walrus**? 

** or sea lion.

***

Six hours after pressing out of the hotel car park in San Simeon, I arrived in San Francisco. The drive had actually been spectacular.

But it wasn’t until San Francisco, when I charged the little Kia up treacherously steep intersections and made the same right turn about 19 times (another parallel with my life perhaps?), that something changed (aside from finally making the left turn).

From here on my trip would be different and I began to just write. Maybe it was the Haight/Ashbury sign, maybe it was the hippy history of San Fran, or maybe it was pirate socks from Dave Egger’sValencia 826, but from here on in my notebook became filled with literary sketches, ideas for sentences and blotchy memories of moments I found funny. And it didn’t matter if the words were a little wonky. I had no one to write for, no deadlines to disappoint and no expectations to not be a bit shit at it (not even from myself).

There were no big revelations or poetic clichés. Just a doughnut, an open schedule and the freedom to fuck it up.

And who knew, maybe I’d find a perfect coffee along the way.

And yes, that was another parallel for my life.

(Little did I know how much I would rely on this newly inspired catch cry. Three months from this moment, I would fly into Heathrow airport and within 24 hours my well-laid plans would melt from under my feet because I had, in fact, fucked something up. And it resulted in the direction of my life for the next year changing, irrevocably.

But that’s a story for another time - the colour of my eyes have not yet been changed in Mexico, I have not yet been healed by Dudley the basset hound nor have I been won over by the Jalapeno/Cheddar biscuits in Silverlake with friends I can only describe as some of the best.

So for now, it was farewell to northern California and on to Oregon state.)