THE PRACTICE

Today’s post brought to you by: my office at Starbucks.

Grateful for: feet, eyes and ears. And head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes.

Trying hard to accept: I can’t earn a living doing this.

I will NEVER hear a word against Starbucks again. It’s provided me with endless hours of hassle-free wifi, a desk, ability to sit uninterrupted for 2 hours for $2.19, clean bathrooms and super nice servers.

Ok folks, pour yourself a mega mega grande coffee because I’ve just done a walking tour of Charleston and you’re about to get the highlights.

I learned so much about Charleston, what a battery is (the military type, not the type you can never find when you need it), the American Revolutionary War, Noo Joisey (from fellow guests) and colonial architecture.

Thank your lucky stars we no longer do this by Kodak slide show over several boring hours. I bring you the abridged version.

This wasn’t on the tour but shows you typical downtown office building.

Neither was this but because I went to the effort of uploading it you have to see it. A little shack on the corner.

Ok, tour begins. Charleston’s answer to Coronation St. Every one of these stones was brought over from the UK. There ain’t no stone in these parts.

Actually before I add any more, just have to tell you that I asked the guide where all the money in Charleston came from.

Interestingly: rice (at one point supplied 85% of world’s rice), indigo, slavery and shipping.

It used to be a walled city. There have been 5 great fires and 2 massive earthquakes.

Slave mart. The most in-demand-at-the-time slaves (eg sugar cane workers or liveried butlers) were displayed in the front windows. Everyone else was crammed into a yard out the back.

Largest privately-owned home in Charleston – all 35 rooms and 20,000 sq ft of it.

Around the doorframe the wood has been carved like rope to tell everyone the owner was in the cotton plantation business.

The wealthy and showy-offy added what they called ‘piazzas’ to their houses – what we’d call porches. It told everyone they’d been on a grand tour of Europe, specifically Italy. Just a shame they got the word wrong. Duh.

Front door of said house. Not too shabby, eh?

Fine examples of Charleston singles – no, not Tinder swipers, but houses so-called because they were a single room wide.

Most were shops so had solid shutters on ground floor and louvred ones on living quarters floors – to let breeze through.

The British sugar cane plantation owners who came here from Barbados brought the Barbadian house colours with them. That’s why they’re all pastel hues.

In the 1920s these houses were the city slums, occupied by descendants of slaves.

St Michael’s Episcopalian Church, c 1700s. George Washington once sat in the cypress pew in the front and since then it’s only used by foreign dignitaries. All the stained glass is Tiffany.

3 more interesting facts:

• First shots of American Revolutionary War were fired in Charleston harbour
• To reduce fire risk, kitchens were housed in separate buildings out the back
• As we were passing one of the waterfront mansions the black nanny pulled up to the electric gates with her 2 white charges in the golf cart next to her. It’s another world down here.

Right, food time! Again!

Today’s post brought to you by: Gentlemen, we can rebuild her. We have the capability to build the world’s first bionic stomach. Stronger, leaner, fuller.

Grateful for: the brains across the road

Trying hard to accept: My beloved Rhett’s buggered off somewhere

Never a truer word said

Eureka!!!! I’ve found a way to stay.

Am on the piazza, aka, porch of a coffee shop opposite Medical University of South Carolina, founded 1824. See?

Given that my beloved Rhett-in-shining-armour’s nowhere to be seen – probably heading to Scarlett’s for Thanksgiving – I have cleverly thought of plan B to pay me enough money to live here forever, and afford $995 + tax collagen eye cream.

Am going to sell my body to the men in white coats across the road.

Was lying in bed last night watching funniest thing to hit HBO in years (‘Divorce’) when the local news flashed a headline onto Sarah Jessica Parker’s horsey face.

Jimmy Dean Foods and Winn Dixie have given the university a massive pile of cash to create a human body able to eat biscuits, sausage and gravy 24/7 and never:

• Feel sick
• Be sick
• Spawn a zit
• Be clad in anything larger than a size 4

Leapt out of bed and ran down to the university (stop your moaning ribs, you’re getting something out of this too, you know), shoved everyone else out of the way, applied a coat of knock-‘em-dead red lipstick and schmoozed my way into being the test body. No, not dummy. Body.

While I wait for my first pay cheque, I got these from supermarket for total of $2.29 (!) to start lining my stomach.

I’m just so incredibly happy here in the south. Since the first time I stepped off a Greyhound bus all those years ago it’s enchanted me.

Sure I love the class and sophistication of the northeast, my beloved Chicago, and the trees and salmon of the west coast, but it’s a different world down here – one that frankly I don’t want to leave.

Early this morning I wandered down to the supermarket along the autumn leaf-lined streets as the sun created a golden glow over everything. The cashier called me “baby”. I like that.

I then found myself sitting at the counter of the Park Cafe chatting to the super lovely owner and customers. Just like Monday mornings at Prefab.

This afternoon, as the sun developed that deep intense autumn colour, I walked along my neighbourhood streets swapping “How ya doin’” with the old men sitting on their porches.

I know it’s easy to be happy when you’re on holiday but it’s more than that. It’s a feeling of being at home here. And that feeling doesn’t come along very often, even in the place you were born.

Typical house in my neighbourhood. I’ve Zillowed it and worth about $700,000. But I found a single-storey for $460,000 which is a heck of a lot cheaper than where I live.

My Airbnb pad. The sharp-eyed of you will notice there’s a door to nowhere on the porch. Por que? Because shutting the door told your would-be visitors to bugger off. Opening the door told them it was ok to descend on you, eat all your food, use all your toilet paper and hog your TV.

I have but one complaint, Uncle Sam.

In a land where you can go to a drive-thru and get a four-course diabetic kosher low-salt Thanksgiving dinner at 3am, there is one thing you cannot get.

Fresh cheap broccoli. Or any cousin thereof.

Wonder if CVS sells anti-rickets tablets.

Because I’m fiscally responsible (cheap) I eat at places like deli below where the only green thing is romain lettuce. (Wonder if CVS sells anti-E coli tablets – there’s an outbreak).

Two things in this picture rhyme. The answer is not ‘chips and dips’. Try again.

To get a side of steamed veg you have to reach deeper into your shallow pockets and go somewhere like I’m eating tonight – crab cakes and two sides – which will be a double order of veg.

Which reminds me – Laura and Kevin – are you there? Please please please can we have that green bean and mushroom soup casserole with fried onions on top? I’ll get the stuff and make it. And banana pudding?

Please?

You know that sinking feeling you get when something goes wrong? Well believe me the opposite is just as bad.

There I was at 7am watching in horror as the toilet overflowed.

Two bath mats, one towel and half a roll of kitchen towel later I’d dried and cleaned the floor, worked out how to turn on the washing machine, left a warning note for my host Jason (so much for a Greek hero) and fled to the supermarket to stock up for Saturday’s train trip. So organised.

Luckily I remembered toilet situation on walk home through the College of Charleston campus (founded 1770, reminds me of Harvard but with a zillionth of the cost and GPA).

Walked into nearest cafe and boy did I luck out. Tall, dark and handsome long-aproned waiters looking like Greek gods (hopefully more handy than Jason), beautiful old wood paneling, beautiful young people and stylish organic grapefruit soap in bathroom.

Told pleased waiter it was best cafe in Charleston. Alas didn’t score free coffee. Or date with said waiter.

This is a toilet that flushes.

On the subject of food (what else?!), last night’s dinner took the biscuit.

Wandered down to marina at sunset and splashed out on:

• Crab cakes. Mmmmm. Mmmmm. Mmmmm. Since I first ate them one New Year’s Day in North Carolina with Laura and Kevin I’ve hankered after them. Even bought Old Bay to try to recreate. Failed. Kept trying even after Old Bay was 3 years past its use-by date.
• Grilled asparagus. Something green!! Kermit would pleased.
• Red rice.
• More red. As in house red. $5 glass.
• And then, because old boy (not Old Bay) at next table had them, a bowl of fried onion rings the size of lifebuoys.

In hindsight should have ordered ladylike grilled chicken salad and Pinot Gris because as I was walking home one of my neighbours called out “Evening sir. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Poor guy was mortified when I replied “Thank you, same to you” in my singsong feminine voice.

“M’am???? Oh m’am, I’m terribly sorry.”

Wonder how much wigs cost.

Poor Mr Emmett. Forever associated with bags of shit.

Wonder what the butcher’s and candlestick maker’s places were like

Low-income housing in Charleston. Unsurprisingly the only kids I saw playing outside after school were African American. You could rule a line down the white-black divide in the south.

4 rounds of:

• Prosciutto
• Cheese ball
• Pistachio nuts
• Stuffed peppers
• Gherkins
• Tortilla chips
• Turkey
• Smoked turkey
• Gravy
• Another gravy
• Sweet potato casserole
• Roast sweet potato
• Roast onion
• Cuddly toy
• Sausage and cornbread stuffing
• Sage and cornbread stuffing
• Brussel sprouts and bacon
• Roast cauliflower and mushroom gravy
• Cranberry and apple crumble
• Celery
• Broccoli
• Carrots

3 rounds of:

• Pumpkin chiffon pie
• Bourbon truffles
• Rice pudding
• Raspberry and apple crumble
• Pecan pies

Today’s post brought to by: Kenny and Dolly

Grateful for: Everything Laura and Kevin have done for me and generously given me

Trying hard to accept: Here comes the rain, little darlin’

Today we went – by car, foot and ferry – to 5 of North Carolina’s barrier islands.

If you’ve ever watched HGTV’s ‘Beachfront Bargain Hunt’ as obsessively as I have, it’s pretty darn cool to be standing on the very beaches you’ve seen on TV every other episode.

What you don’t appreciate on TV is how pristine white and fine the sand is.

You don’t need to spend $199.95 + tax + baggage + seat selection + food + anything else you touch for an off-season special to Maui when you’ve got it on your doorstep here.

Oak Island, North Carolina is now #4 on the offical ‘Places I Want to Live in the US so Sell Your Kids and Send Me the Money Now’ list. It’s tax deductible so open that eBay account and get listing.

Now.

Funnily enough, given its name (ha!) there are autumn leaves everywhere you look on Oak Island – from the masses of trees you see as you drive over the bridge to the tree-lined narrow streets and the gardens around all the old beach cottages.

And every single one has a front porch and a swing. And in my book, that’s all you need.

Spot the typo. Of course there’s one other thing you need. Well two actually:

• Christmas decorations – we spent a bit (a lot) of time wandering around (shoving all the disinterested dawdling husbands out of the way – there are benches on the porch in the sun for you to wait on – did you not see them?) in two Christmas shops chocka block with more trees and decorations than you’d find in Costco North Pole. If I didn’t have to haul everything I buy around the rest of the US I’d have bought everyone I know a decoration, each with a different theme.
• Four-letter word starts with F. Food. Of course. Captain Nance’s Seafood Restaurant on the Calabash River fed us the freshest seafood imaginable. Flounder (you cannot beat a flounder, although mighty useful for slapping disinterested dawdling husbands in Christmas shops), broiled shrimp and sea trout served with baked potatoes, sour cream, coleslaw, and endless baskets of complimentary hush puppies of which willpower-of-steel me only ate 3 even though I could have gleefully eaten 30.

One tiny corner in a Christmas shop. Multiply this by 146 and you get an idea of how much stuff they had.

Five-letter word starts with L, ends with H. No, not lynch, leech or loath. Lunch. On the deck in the sun at Captain Nance’s. No, I do not have 17 hush puppies stuffed in my gob. Those chubby cheeks are just an illusion.

Talk about right place at right time as we drove into quaint, historic Southport and what should we stumble across but carol-singing in the old town square and Captain Newtown’s Inn owned by friends of Kevin who graciously showed us around. Talk about big. Talk about beautiful. Talk about exquisite taste. Talk about green with envy.

Now that my stomach has recovered from Thanksgiving yesterday I can tell you more about it.

We drove to Laura and Kevin’s friends’ place in semi-rural North Carolina. I went up to the loft to try and show you what it looked like but the photo doesn’t do it justice.

It was the most stunning house with ceilings higher than my credit card debt, full-length windows and a screened-in porch where all you can see is the sun setting among the autumn leaves and families of deer stopping by for a snack.

We were made so welcome by the most interesting people of all ages.

You know how every Christmas you say to yourself: Right, this year I am NOT going to eat till I feel sick. I am NOT going to eat more than one course. I do NOT need to eat everything I see. I AM going to save room for dinner.

Well don’t even bother starting that conversation at Thanksgiving. Give up before you start.

After we’d rolled into the car and driven home I assuaged 0.0057% of my remorse and went for a long walk round the neighbourhood. Funnily enough I wasn’t alone. It was like a clandestine meeting of Overeaters’ Anonymous.

Guess what this is. Clue: I took the photo out walking last night. What do you mean that clue’s useless? Ok so you know that orange plastic sheeting stuff they wrap around posts to stop you falling into trenches along the footpath? Well it’s that reflected onto the concrete. Cool huh? Yeah, I thought so too.

How to make money off all your mates called John. Become their John and rent them out. No chance of anyone forgetting anyone’s name in this wee (ha ha) business venture.

At some ungodly hour tomorrow I say a very sad goodbye to Laura, Kevin and their family of cockatiels rescued from nasty abusive owners (that’s Otis my little bald-headed eagle in miniature buddy) and get on a bus-then-train-then-bus to Charlottesville, Virginia which everyone tells me is the most beautiful city except when the one day I visit when it’s gonna rain.

As Laura pointed out, this is the end of the golden weather. Tomorrow I go from 75 degrees to 45 in one day. And then down down down till I’ll be wearing 6 layers of clothes. To bed.

Breakfast on the deck at Laura and Kevin’s overlooking the water with the bluebirds feeding on the deck, the ducks quacking by and golden sun and leaves everywhere you look. Doesn’t get much better than that. No, I do not have 17 biscuits stuffed in my gob. Those chubby cheeks are just an illusion.