Desperate English Housewife in Washington, chapter 28

Show me the money

I’m heading north, it’s getting dusky. The radio is on and I’m all alone in my car, just having a driving expedition. A nosy-around.

Everything becomes larger, spacier, greener, wider. Houses are extensive. These aren’t houses, these are ranches. Massive, bloody great houses on expanses of land.  A field of horses. Not ponies – stallions! Eight of them in a field, all glossy and leggy and proud.

You can practically smell the wealth dripping off the vast rooftops here. Ranch after ranch.

And then I see all the signs, the red, white and blue with Mitt Romney’s name plastered all over them. That’s why there’s money.

A little bit of Britain

And then, in this rich wonderland sits a pub. It stands out to me like a lovely, throbbing, sore thumb. I spot the beer umbrellas in the garden first. And then the word ‘pub’, almost flashing at me in neon, except it’s not, it’s very much in brown. But it says pub and it looks like a pub and I mentally make a note to Google it as soon as I get to my destination.

How very strange to spot a pub, especially in this neighbourhood. It’s the Crossroads Pub, known for its crab and its ale! We shall be going to the Crossroads Pub for both of these delights very, very soon.

Yellow School Bus

On my journey I passed either:

a) the birth place of the Yellow School Bus

b) the resting place of the Yellow School Bus

c) or the mating ground of the Yellow School Bus

Millions of the buggers! Yes, they really do have the iconic Yellow School Bus. And I know where they live.

Sat nav question

Why do they call roundabouts ‘rotaries?’ Why? I don’t get it.


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