Well, here I am in Solvang, sneezing like a cat with a feather up its nose, and coughing a horrible raspy cough. One of my Deppsisters had a filthy chest cold and now I have it too, and so do at least two of my fellow Deppsisters. No doubt they’ll go home to their various states (and to Canada too) and spread it around a little more. Me, I’m planning to go infect San Francisco.

The week was enormous fun, even though the daytime temperatures hit 110-115 degrees and I normally just don’t do anything above 90 Fahrenheit. We managed with a ton of sunscreen, and by drinking a lot. So, OK, most of the ‘ladies’ were drinking margaritas and beer, but it was liquid, right? And we managed by hopping between air-conditioned house and air-conditioned cars, with side trips to air-conditioned restaurants, where more margaritas, beers, and Mai Tais were consumed. Being just a sweet little old English lady, I stuck to drinking water and hot tea (yes, even in that heat. One has one’s standards, dahling), but I took lots of incriminating pictures … which I shall not publish, unless the other ladies fail to pander to my every whim for the next year. Mwahahaha!!

We had such a great time. We watched Johnny Depp movies and interviews, we visited the Hollywood Walk of Fame to view the Johnny Depp star (which I had to wipe clean of grime in the approved way* before it could be photographed), and we visited Grauman’s Chinese Theater to see how well our hands and feet fitted into the famous prints. We lounged in the pool at the house and chatted, and got stuck in the LA traffic and chatted, we went to Disneyland and rode the Pirates of the Caribbean ride and chatted some more, and we attended Opening Night at the Hollywood Bowl and saw BB King, Liza Minelli, James Galway and Duane Eddy and some quite spectacular fireworks.

It’s truly amazing that a group of women from as far afield as Saskatchewan and England, taking in half a dozen US states on the way, can form such a strong bond of friendship after meeting on the internet with a bad case of JDOCD**, but so it is. We don’t just drool and chat about Johnny and watch endless movies, we talk about our lives and discuss everything under the sun and we support each other through the tough times. We are a close-knit group of true ‘real world’ friends, but we’d never have met up if it hadn’t been for that guy. Some of us have smartened ourselves up, lost weight, somehow found the resources to travel alone for the first time in our lives, or started to write. Some of us have looked to him as a role model and said ‘Fuck it’ to life and to the obstacles that stopped us doing what we wanted. On this trip most of the group decided to get tattoos at Yoni’s on Ventura Boulevard, each of them individual to the person concerned, but all including one small common design as a symbol of sisterhood. For some this was the first tattoo they’d ever had done, and perhaps they felt just a little rebellious, but they felt good. And that, dear readers, is the Depp Effect.

We like to think that if Johnny Depp knew of our friendship and the things we have had the courage to do in the name of that friendship, he’d be tickled to death.

One can only hope.

* Don’t ask.

** Johnny Depp Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

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Well, today was the day that we’d been practising for - the day of the great Red Rock Canyon trail ride.

At nine this morning, we presented ourselves at the trail ride office complete with hats, sunscreen, sunglasses, bottled water and cameras, and full of confidence. This confidence was a little shaken by the form we had to sign, stating all the things that could go wrong and completely absolving the company from any and all liability, and also by the fellow trail riders who went back for their sweatshirts. Sweatshirts? Really? We were in lightweight jeans and short-sleeved cotton and the sky looked clear and blue … maybe they knew something we didn’t? But no, as it turned out, they didn’t. The sky stayed clear and the temperature rose to the point where I’d personally have melted in a sweatshirt, but then, they were from Florida, so maybe Utah on a bright June day did feel a tad chilly to them.

So we all piled onto the minibus which was to take us to the trail head and the sweatshirt guy was chatting to the driver and telling him how he’d been on a horse once before, when he was six. He rather thought it was tied to some kind of carousel, but he couldn’t be sure. Anyway, he was sure he’d be fine and was looking forward to it immensely. Go Florida Guy!

The horses were waiting for us, all saddled up and ready in a corral, and one by one we were assigned a horse, told its name and mounted up. The ‘riding instructions’ promised in the brochure consisted of two sentences -

“Don’t yank on the reins, hold ‘em by the knot and let ‘em lie loose. Hold your hand this way for stop, this way for go, this way for left, and this way for right - and lean back going down, forward going up”.

Oh, OK - now we’re all cowboys! Yeehaw!!!

Actually, the ride was fantastic. The scenery was stunning, the horses knew what they were doing and where they were going … mostly … and nobody fell off or died of cold, or indeed, sunstroke. One guy did drop his camera case though. And OH and I survived very well indeed, although we were rather tired when we got off.

And Florida Guy? Well, he was a tad less chatty on the way back, but he was heard to mumble something about his thighs hurting rather a lot. Our thighs, on the other hand, thanks to getting a little practice in before we left home, were just dandy.

Just as well, really, because we’re moving on tomorrow and the last thing I need is to be hauling suitcases through the airport with legs like jelly, only more painful.

Next stop, LA and the girly Deppfest. I think that should be fun!

Well, since we’re in Las Vegas, we thought we’d go and see a show. It’s something we didn’t get around to last time we were here, and it seems a waste … anyway, by the time we got around to it this time, we were exhausted with the heat and the walking - and while I’m on the subject of walking, why doesn’t anyone tell you how much walking you have to do in Vegas? Listen, people, if you’re going to Vegas, take comfy shoes, and start training a few weeks beforehand, you’ll be glad you did. Um. Where was I? Oh yeah - we were so tired with all the walking that we decided the show had to be very, very local. As it happens, Elton John was doing his Red Piano thing in Cesar’s Palace, which is the hotel right next door to where we are staying, so we thought we’d go see him.

First let me say, the guy can still belt ‘em out - he was in very fine voice indeed! I was impressed! But bloody hell! Did it have to be so LOUD??? Did he really need two drum kits? Yes, really. Two drum kits, amplified, and manned by two guys who had obviously had their ears surgical altered to cope with the decibels they were inflicting on the general public. Still, I got used to it, sort of, as the evening progressed. And I even stopped laughing at the giant inflatables after a while .. that is, until the thirty foot* tall disembodied breasts began deflating and then I had a fit of the giggles. It was all very … um … Vegas, I suppose. Fifteen foot high bananas, flanked by six foot tall cherries, oh yes, very amusing. Tee hee. And what else did we have? Oh yeah, roses which must have been ten foot across, the bottom half of a woman wearing high heels - all of twenty-five feet long, that one - and then they tried to spell out the word ‘love’ in fifteen foot high red cushiony letters, only they couldn’t get the ‘O’ to inflate. Never mind. As I remarked to OH, a lot of men have trouble with providing the big ‘O’ from time to time. And they were very inventive and filled in the gap with a pulsating heart. If you can’t have the whole deal, I guess a little romance is always good, huh?

All joking aside, the show was very good, and fun to see, although I bet the cleaners curse the inch-deep drifts of rose petal confetti on a nightly basis, never mind the elusively bobbing balloons. And I’m just waiting for my ears to stop ringing and for the feeling to come back into my coccyx. I have a suspicion that it’s going to be painful when it does - and I also suspect that the seating in the Coliseum was not built with old fogeys in mind. I feel kinda battered and shell-shocked, but I guess that’s the idea, isn’t it? I mean, let’s face it, Vegas never intends to be forgettable on any level, and at least I know I’ve been somewhere!

* All dimensions are approximate, and I’m not very good at estimating measurements, but believe me, they were BIG and they were suspended from somewhere up on high. They’d probably have taken out ten men if they’d fallen.

Apparently, the most dangerous animal in the Grand Canyon National Park is not the elk, or the mountain lion - not even the rattlesnake. It’s the humble squirrel.

Just after I snapped this little fellow, he was preparing to launch himself at me, presumably in an attempt to rifle my pockets and bags for food. But although the tour guide’s flippant comment was that they’ll take the food right out of your mouth, the real reason they’re the most dangerous is that they carry rabies, hanta virus and bubonic plague, and they’re not afraid of people.

Yikes! Get away from me, you tree rat, you!

Cute though, ain’t he?