The Swamp

Regrets, I’ve had a few. But then again, too few to mention. Except this one regret, which I shall mention. I loved New Orleans. I went with Mrs P last November. It’s a lot of fun. I loved the history. It’s a photographers delight. I rode on a paddle boat down the Mississippi. I ate fried alligator and a po’boy. I saw the Saints in an NFL game at the Superdome.

But that one regret pains me. I wanted to go out into the swamps. It just didn’t happen. Not this time. Maybe there’ll be another time. I’d love to do a road trip through the Deep South. But it’ll have to wait. For now, I’ll have to make do with the normal substitute. Film, be it the cinema or the television.

I went to see Where The Crawdads Sing on the big screen and watched Daisy Edgar Jones paddling through the Louisiana swamps. The film has mixed reviews. I loved it. But for me it was more than a film. It was the belated substitute finish to a fabulous holiday.

The pandemic killed travel shows. I’ve missed Joanna Lumley on her far flung trips. But at least Race Around The World will be back later this year. Simon Reeve’s long delayed second part of the Americas too. With luck, one day the Real Marigold Hotel series will return too.