So we drive into La Posada, Winslow, in the fading evening light - and find that the carpark is full - very full - of Corvettes. They (or rather their owners) are not, it turned out, staying here, but are en route to the Grand Canyon. As ever, this leg of the trip was a long drive, with occasional crazed fast drivers (when one's driving at ten miles over the speed limit oneself, one tends to notice them). We had had fantasies of Moth and Gramsci spending the night amicably together on our bed - but sufficient to say that after an egregious bout of sexual harassment on his part, he's been banished to his posh man-kitty-hut, and we're hoping for peace and quiet ...
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