Today we visited the Grand Ole Opry, one of the biggest venues in Nashville. All of country music royalty have played there and as the name suggests, it's a grand old building. We hovered around for a little while and took a few photos in the sun, forcing S to stand by the huge guitars that guard the entrance way. She was pretty annoyed that she couldn't climb all over them.
There's a huge mall there too and we spent some time in there too. I wore my cowboy boots, expecting to fit seamlessly into the role of Nashville local. However, I only saw one other person wearing boots. Everyone else must have been tourists. I tried to give the guy a nod, the way mini drivers do to one another but I don't think he could see me from under the rim of his massive Stetson.
I've half fancied a Stetson. I tell a lie. I have completely fancied a Stetson, but there's no way I could pull it off. A Stetson is one of those things that might possibly make you look good, but the sheer fact that you're wearing one, makes you look like an idiot. I once wore dark glasses in a nightclub. I managed to persuade someone else to do it too so I wasn't alone. I told people I was doing it for a laugh, but that only accounted for 5% of the reason I did it. 95% of the reason I did it was because I thought I looked totally awesome. It took a brutally, unkindly honest stranger to bring me back down to earth and make me take them off. I took exception to the guy, but he was doing me a massive favour. I was in a nightclub, wearing sunglasses. No matter how good I thought I looked, I looked like (and was) an idiot. Stetsons are like that. No matter how good I might think I look parading round the Yorkshire countryside or the streets of Manchester in a Stetson, I would look like an idiot. And in those places, there's no shortage of people who'll tell you so. And I am grateful for them.
This afternoon we napped. S napped of course - she nearly always gets a nap in. But today, E and I napped. It's a right of passage for a holiday. Actually these days, it's more like a necessity. And yet, more than two weeks in to this holiday and this was our first. Shocking. I'd like to say we woke up renewed and invigorated. People always go on about the restorative powers of napping and I'm inclined to agree. But we woke groggy and disorientated and lay there, S climbing all over us, saying, 'We should go out,' over and over again.
Eventually we headed downtown to try to get in a great looking place called Puckett's that was too busy for us yesterday. But it was too busy for us today too. We headed back out and found Edley's, a barbecue joint that our hosts had recommended. If there's one type of food they seem to do well here in Nashville, it's barbecue. I've never appreciated it all that much before but this was excellent. And with proper cornbread too. I tried to make cornbread once. It came out the consistency of a thick slab of cork. I therefore assumed I didn't like it, given how I was so well practiced at making authentic cornbread. But it came free with tonight's dinner and done well, it's terrific.
Steve and Sarah had invited us up for a drink tonight so when we got home, we headed straight up. They're such cool people that I felt a little flustered, like I was on a date and I bought beer as it seemed like the right thing to do. I haven't had a drink the whole time we've been here but I had a beer while we were up there, got drunk and disgraced myself. Just kidding. I don't think I disgraced myself. They were such great company. We chatted and the kids played and I came away with a ton of music recommendations from Steve's vast collection. I'm looking forward to getting my teeth into some new stuff. As much as I want to stay here, I didn't ask Steve to get me a job. His job sounded hard.
"Write drunk, edit sober," said Ernest Hemingway, apparently. We're on an early flight to New York today and I don't have time to edit this. But my one beer has seen me follow half of Ernie's advice. Apologies if 'one-beer-drunk writing' makes for terrible reading.
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