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Last night on Bourbon Street I overheard the beginnings of a conversation between 2 blokes. Geezer number 1 “Hey Judd”, geezer number 2 “Yah”. I can only draw from this that geezer number 2 is named Judd. This country.

The ghost tour thing was alright, more from an interesting historical perspective than a scary one.

This is a bit w@nky really but as it was my last night in NO I treated myself to a fat cigar (possibly rolled on the thighs of a virgin, but unlikely) to have back at the hostel. I normally reserve this sort of behaviour for derby victories with Mr Flower.

I had to be up really early to get my flight to the Lone Star state, so early in fact that the kitchen was still locked and I couldn’t get my hands on my healthy grub. Had to settle for an over priced and mingin’ egg muffin of some sort from New Orleans International.

The flights (I had to change in Houston) were fine, though the 1st landing was very very bumpy. The best bit was seeing the dead mouthy Californian kid (about 16) soil his cegs at this point.

Some extremely helpful old ladies pointed me in the right direction for public transport to my hotel (I couldn’t get a hostel in San Antonio). I got the airport staff bus to the depot and then paid just over a buck for 2 buses straight there. It would have been about $25 for a Joe, that’s hobo style.

The bus drivers were really helpful too. As it stands, I’ve found Texans to be the most friendly Yanks and New Orleanseans (probably not an accurate term but I’m going with it) at the bottom end of the scale.

After over 2 weeks slumming it, I have to admit it is nice to have the comfort, luxury and privacy of a hotel. Not so much hobo style.

Though it is annoying having to pay for wifi. But I must not complain as it keeps me in email, footy news, podcasts, Skyping, app updates and erm, blogging.

A flyer has just magically appeared under my door for Piezano’s Pizzeria. I’ve seen this as a sign and have duly ordered a 12″ pepperoni and Italian sausage.

As I’ve not been anywhere today, I’ve not taken any pics. So here is one of me in the hotel room, I’ve just dismantled my Corby trouser press.

Right, pizza gone. Though I had to have a debate (which I won) with them over how a $9 pizza becomes $14 with taxes. What is this, poll tax on pepperoni! $10 tendered, a red coats victory I thinks.

A quick shower and then I’ll have a little mosey on in to San Antonio town. After that some much needed kip, if I don’t get in to a saloon brawl with a one eyed poker cheat, sporting a Bowie knife and peacemaker (a six-shooter, he doesn’t have a dicky ticker) with fast piano music playing all the while, that is.