Mission accomplished!!!

Today’s post brought to you by: Danny, Sandy, Rizzo, Frenchie, Kenickie (I always thought he was the best looking) and everyone else from ‘Grease’

Grateful for: Super 8 hotel and everyone I’ve met in Havre so far

Trying hard to accept: people on train telling me Havre is a shit-hole. Clearly they’ve never stayed at the Super 8.

With 12 days till they kick me out of the country I’ve found the perfect husband.

And he’s from Duluth, Ben. As I say, perfect.

So I’m sitting in the dining area of the Super 8 hotel in Havre, Montana.

Eating the FREE and DELICIOUS and FREE minestrone soup and BISCUITS and homemade cupcakes and cookies, watching ‘Grease’ and this voice appears from behind, “Ooohhh I love Grease!”

Then I meet Bill and his boss Chris from Duluth who work on oil pipeline valves which means they travel all over the upper US most of the year.

Criteria #1 – check. Husband has to be away from home most of the time.

Bill’s same age as me (check), divorced (check) with grown kids (demerit – mind you he gets bonus points for calling his daughter Billy Jo), is half Finnish (of course he is, he’s from Minnesota) and lives on 137 acres (all wild animals – no farm wife duties required – plus we could have one of those super stylish country weddings in fall with all the golden leaves and drinks served in old jars and dinner in a restored barn).

And best thing is he loves food (check) and Elvis (his dad was spitting image) and always does ‘Summer Nights’ at karaoke (check – remember that time in Wanganui, Laura?)

He was the nicest guy.

Did you know the native Finns were dark haired and skinned like Inuits and the blond hair/blue eyes came from the nasty invading Russians?

Only hitch is I don’t fancy him. But that’s a minor point in the scheme of things.

Before my fiancé walked in I was having a long chat with Joanne and Steve who had popped over the border from their cattle and wheat farm somewhere round Medicine Hat, Alberta, because Havre is actually their closest town.

They come here all the time to go to movies, stay the night, stock up at Walmart and go home.

After I asked a million and one questions about wheat farming in Canada, Joanne showed me photos of their family Thanksgiving at an RV site in Alberta where she cooked up a turkey lurkey and ham in the RV oven. They all sat outside round a campfire and scoffed. Looked so cool (literally).

They invited me to the movies with them tonight – would’ve gone but I wouldn’t make it past the shorts in Jumanji 2 before I fell asleep, watched TV on my phone or spent the next 2 hours in the loo.

Once again I’ve landed on my feet choosing Super 8. Location-wise it’s not great – as in 2km from the thriving metropolis of Havre (population 9,000; 9 in winter).

But I have 2 feet (if it’s not too cold), there are taxis and Uber. Plus everyone here’s damn friendly I’m sure I could cadge a ride.

Super 8 must’ve had a sixth sense when I booked because they put me in the room next to the dining area where from 5am – 10am tomorrow there is FREE cooked and continental breakfast – and guess what, my fiancé told me they serve biscuits and gravy. Yes!!!

And by the looks of things, make your own waffles, and drown them in maple syrup.

Have set my alarm for 4.58am.

My room has all the necessities: nice bed, lazy boy chair, coffee maker, bath, 100-channel TV, view over the snow and central heating controls.

It might not be 5-star but it is to me. I am so happy.

Not sure what I’ll do tomorrow – well aside from the obvious.

I did want to go to Lutheran church at 9.30 so might splash out on Uber (seeing as won’t have to spend a cent on food thanks to Super 8) and then check out ‘downtown’.

Actually there’s a ‘holiday village mall’ across from the hotel so will visit there too. Judging by website should take 16 minutes.

Havre is as far from the swanky ski resorts (like Whitefish where I went last trip) of Montana as you can get.

To call it pretty is to call me self-controlled around food.

It’s mainly light industrial supplies, bars, more gas stations than supermarkets, and modest housing.

But there’s a Walmart. Mind you, there’s probably a Walmart in every town with population bigger than 26, ie, the minimum number required to staff the place.

The train trip from St Paul was v—e—r—y long and of course Amtrak was v—e—r—y late but I managed to sleep some of it away (MIRACLE) and spent the rest chatting to the Amish family and looking at Big Sky Country rolling past.

Because I’m always considering you, here’s the beginner’s guide to making a bed in Amtrak coach class:

• Grab seats at end of row in front of big rubbish box, which you can cleverly use to hide your backpack so (a) nobody nicks it (b) conductor doesn’t tell you to shift it

• Grab two seats. Minimum. Unless there’s a mass evacuation out of North America you should never have to share a train seat. Ever. Unless you have an ulterior motive. Or are plain stupid.

• Grab seats in same car as the Amish family. Take back all the unkind things you said about them in your last post. They are quiet, sleep all night, will never nick your stuff and make you feel all homely and cosy.

• Put on pink fluffy bed socks that Lovely Ben gave you. Realise 2.5 hours later that the white stuff covering your bed, floor and bags is sock fluff, not snow from a leaking skylight.

• Turn trusty jacket into pillow.

• Read a couple of chapters of the very very funny book you nicked from Starbucks, Winter Park, Florida. Congratulate yourself on your good taste in stolen books.

• Sleep for 1 hour, 17 minutes. Dream you landed in parachute in water with your father watching from the lakeside. Wake up freezing and semi-traumatised. Resist urge to analyse dream.

• Suffer through nerve pain to do a gymnastic feat of getting hoodie out of backpack hidden behind impossible-to-move rubbish box.

• Whack head on luggage rack on way up. Yelp in pain. Wake entire Amish community up. Don’t care.

• Put on hat, zip coat up to chin, use hoodie as pillow, sleep for another 58 minutes until hunger forces you awake.

Then smile with glee as you pull out a couple of slices of bread to make banana sandwich for breakfast and realise that bread spent the night cuddling up to the heater so it’s all warm like you’ve just pulled it out of the oven.

Then wonder why heat doesn’t seem to make it past bread and up to your stiff body.

Then look outside at bright red sun rising over flat white landscape of North Dakota. Which despite being nothing but farms the size of small cities, and grey grey grey, is actually very beautiful.

Train stopped in Minot, North Dakota, whose public library is now my new best friend.

After walking up and down the platform like a prison inmate till I could no longer feel my face, I shuffled into the station and what should I see staring at me but this lot, donated by the library.

It was like Christmas.

That little Amish girl there, Lori, finally sidled over to sit with me and by the end of the trip was following me round like a little lamb.

She was so cute, with beautiful English rose skin.

Her mom told me they were all returning from family wedding in Wisconsin.

What they would’ve lacked in grog I bet they made up with wedding food coloured white, golden yellow or brown.

Sheesh, they sure don’t equate godliness with diet because they scull more coffee and eat more crap than I do. I’m surprised there was any coffee left on that train by the time they left.

Right I’ve gotta go.

Got a wedding to plan!!! Soooooo much to do!!! Where to start????

Actually wonder if Bill’d be on for an Amish wedding. Lori could be my flower girl. Her mom would whip me up a beautifully hand-stitched frock.

And the food. Imagine the food.