Anne Dickens | The Day After Yesterday

The other day, Clare (from the blog 'Yes, his name is Gary') and I were sat in the Crab Shack wrestling with eating crab when I asked her; "has Florida got any posh bits?"

"You cheeky wombat, you are staying in a posh bit at my house," she replied.

"Nah, I don't mean that," I said, "I mean is there anywhere with designer shops, pavement cafes, and maybe even a bit of culture?"

Clare ummmed and aaaah and then suddenly shouted, "we can go to Winter Park! It's where all the rich bastards live."

"Sounds like a plan," I concurred.

We jumped in the car and twenty minutes later, I knew that we had arrived at Winter Park because the concrete roads were suddenly exchanged for cobbled streets, and the buildings were becoming quainter.

"Bloody hell Clare, look!" I shouted pointing out of the car window.

"What?" she asked.

"There's some architecture over there!" I said.

"That's because Winter Park is old compared to most places in Florida," Clare replied.

We parked the car and got out to have a wander round. The first thing that struck me about the area was that the vast majority of architecture was Colonial.

"That's ironic," I pointed out to Clare.

"What's ironic?" she asked.

"That America goes to all that trouble fighting the War of Independence, and yet the Colonial areas of town still remain the most desirable. And they can't get enough of our Royal family. Maybe they shouldn't have bothered with the war at all."

"Don't say that to an American," Clare said.

"Why not?"

"Because they will probably bop you in the face at the prospect of losing July 4th as a public holiday,"
 Clare pointed out.

Good point, well made, I thought.

Here are some pictures of Winter Park for you to have a look at .........................


















After walking around for a couple of hours, Clare turned to me and said, "I am bored of this historical shit. Shall we find a street cafe and order a G&T?"

"PLAN," I hollered back.

As luck would have it, we were only a few yards away from a charming street cafe. Ummmm, if I didn't know any better, I would suspect Clare of engineering the situation. I am suspicious like that. Mind you, she is a devious character and I have to be constantly on my guard like Hong Kong Phooey.





We whiled away a good hour at the street cafe. Clare told me that everyone who lived in Winter Park was rich and thin, and that to maintain their slender physiques, they existed on a diet of cocktails and cigarettes. Sounded good to me.

Once we had quaffed our beverages, we paid the bill and headed back through Winter Park towards the car park. As we passed the 'park' that gave the area its name. Something caught my eye and I halted.

"Clare, there's a woman walking a pet turtle over there," I said.

"You've had too much Pinot Grigio and sun exposure, you have," she replied.

"No seriously, look," I said pointing towards a woman wearing a yellow dress.



"Bloody hell! You weren't bullshitting for a change. She is walking a bloody turtle," Clare exclaimed loudly.

"I am going to have to take a proper picture cos there is no way my bloggy chums are going to believe this," I said.

I walked over to the woman, "excuse me Missus, can I take a picture of your turtle?" I asked her (ugh, that sounds suspiciously like a euphemism).

"Of course," she grinned, picking up the turtle and moving it closer so that I could get a better shot.


What can I say? Only in America eh? I have to say that the turtle was pretty speedy on its flippers and seemed to be enjoying himself.

So have you seen any odd sights recently that beat my turtle?
 

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