This post is brought to you by Greyhound - that's why it's late, very long and full of crazies.

We left New Orleans and headed to nearby Lafayette on the back of Alex's recommendation (Alex didn't carry us there on his back, this is just a common phrase/saying).

The Blue Moon saloon was our home for almost a week and really was worth the entrance fee and bed bug infestation. We were shown our bedroom, which was a corridor, a bunk bed and a curtain (while giving us the 'grand' tour our host proudly told us "You can close this curtain for privacy"). We were later referred to by the saloon staff as 'The Corridor People', which was apt.

At the Blue Moon Saloon we met the legend that is Tom Blodgett and partied in the back of the saloon where live music was played pretty much every night of the week. The result was an enormous amount of eating, drinking and dancing with New Years happening somewhere in the middle. Also Tom finally got to watch Tintin at the cinema and Trudy bought a bar of soap.

New Years Eve itself was a particular highlight: it started with a home cooked gumbo and jambalaya (Sisko's dad's favourite). We also realised that we could buy cheap beers from the corner shop, put them in the fridge and then nip back into the kitchen from the saloon to neck 'free' bevvies all night. This increased our alcohol consumption admirably and meant that for desert we played drinking games with our new friends from Baton Rouge. We danced like crazy people (from the Greyhound) to a recorded song during the band's intermission - which explains the sea of blank faces staring at us for the duration. Tom did his 'best' to help Tom Blodgett hook up with a girl from the band who was playing washboard (Tom S.: "My friend Tom wants to see you in nothing but your washboard and a pair of boots"). Firstly, the girl in question was a lesbian; secondly, she left the saloon. Tom then tried to help Alex who was talking to a girl in the kitchen by talking to the girl's friend - this ended with both girls leaving and one of them screaming in Tom's face (women's brains are absolutely, definitely not the same size as a squirrel's and any jokes inferring this are henceforth to be avoided). The stroke of midnight saw Tom, Trudy, Alex and Tom Blodgett shout-singing "When The Saints Go Marching In". The night ended on the porch with Tom Blodgett on harmonica, the barman playing guitar and Trudy (who couldn't hold a tune in a bucket) talk-singing her own composition about the American obsession with ice, big cars and air-con.

New Year's Day started wonderfully, with a cooked breakfast (Bloody Marys included) in a bar around the corner - so near to the saloon in fact that Tom attended in his pyjamas (scrubs and vest). We were also picked up by Phillip and Cathy, who we met on New Years Eve, who took us to the swamp (where we saw a gang of Swamp Cats), took us to Dix (for drive-thru Margharitas and White Russians) and then treated us to a delicious home-cooked dinner/tea at their house. What wonderful hosts, particularly to strangers they met on a drunken night!

We left Lafayette on the Greyhound bus with the legend that is Tom Blodgett in tow (we weren't literally towing Tom behind the bus, this is another example of a common phrase/saying), along with mainstay Alex. We arrived in San Antonio via Houston and via two very different buses, the first straight out of a struggling Third World country (Tom and Trudy were seperated on this bus - sad face - who knows where our travelling reporter had to sit?) and the second bus the very picture of luxury coach travel. The inconsistencies of travelling via Greyhound is beginning to turn us slightly mad, much as Mr Blodgett predicted (I've been on this bus so long that I've forgotten why I'm here - am I homeless?).

The Alamo was beautiful, particularly in the hot Texas January sun. We also walked the Riverwalk a good few times (it got comically worse each time) where we visited an 'authentic' British Pub (fairly awful), and two Irish bars (the first of which was so bad we left without ordering a drink - unimaginable, I know; the second featured an old man playing Irish classics on piano, cue lots of shout-singing of The Wild Rover). This particular night ended in a poetry slam, which was thouroughly entertaining but shattered Tom's expectations of what a poetry night would be like (skinny men in turtle necks and berets clicking after every stanza).

We followed Tom Blodgett to some of San Antonio's other delights - Pete's Taco shop (the Pope visited, so you know it's good!), the college grounds (via the friendly staff in the local death metal record shop) and a series of closed restaurants. The Riverwalk slightly lost its allure at this point as we trudged along it desperately seeking food feeling like we were lost in a desert trying to find water. But of course the restaurants were all closed , it was 8pm on a Wednesday after all??? At the point at which we were discussing cannibalism and Trudy was hallucinating, we came across a place called Dick's Last Resort. Quite frankly, the sooner we can all forget this humiliating experience the better. We left the 'restaurant' feeling sadder than when we entered.

We said goodbye to a Mexico-bound Mr Blodgett at the San Antonio Greyhound station and boarded our bus to Austin. This journey was to witness one of humanity's most inane telephone conversations; 25 minutes later Tom broke (and in spectacular fashion!). Trudy was left laughing, Tom had to spend the rest of the journey pretending he was from Glasgow ("Can I swear aboot tha' bint if ah tak laik this then Troody?") and a certain lady was silent for the rest of the journey.

Thanks to everyone we've met along the way who's talked up Austin, it was positively underwhelming. Tom furthered his English credentials by singing Beatles classics at karaoke and having a Bowler hat bought for him by Trudy ("The top hat makes you look like a young Jack the Ripper - not a great look"). Sir Crazy, Lord of the Bin at the No. 10 Bus Stop, took an instant dislike to Tom - he demonstrated his feelings clearer than words ever could by kicking the bin while close-staring Tom. Tom responded with a genuinely friendly "Y'alright mate?". This confused Sir Crazy somewhat. We waited for two hours to spot the Congress Bridge colony of 1.5 million bats. We saw 6 bats. Tom ate 32 ounces of steak during our stay in Austin (Trudy: "Ounces, definitely not pounds Tom") and Trudy finally found a burger the size of her head. We also saw weird semi-naked girl doing yoga in the park (badly), the highlight of which was seeing her walk 10 feet to her enormous SUV to drive home.

As we write this blog entry we are in the middle of an overnight 18 hour bus journey to Albuquerque. We have already witnessed an attention seeking crack head (apparently it's normal for people over here to talk to themselves, even asking themselves questions to which they don't know the answer), and a clearly disturbed gentleman shuffle up to Trudy to cop a look at her drink. He looked genuinely shocked to find tea in her cup - it's just tea old man, just tea.