Petersburg, Colonial Heights and the talented Rev. Willson
I next moved on to visit a fellow that a few of you Iona Community types should remember called Drew Willson. Drew has recently become the associate pastor in the Highland United Methodist Church in Colonial Heights and it’s no surprise to find out that he is very well liked there.
Drew collected me from the station in Petersburg and we went off for some lunch when this huge motorcade pulled out in front of us. Every turn we took it took the same one before us and when we got to the place we were going it was surrounded by secret service agents. It turned out that Barack Obama was going for lunch there and we had to wait. I started to think that maybe he was following me and was considering me as his VP (he opted for Joe Biden instead). Obama finished his lunch, a cheeseburger I believe, and did the whole waving and smiling thing whilst the secret service guys were eyeballing everyone from behind shaded eyes primed and ready to take a bullet should the situation arise. Our agent (by that I mean the agent dealing with our section of what was now a thronging crowd) was firm but efficient and once Obama had left I shook his hand and told him he did a good job. In fact he was more relaxed than most of the park rangers I have met here, I think the uniform makes em get all jumped up about their self-importance. Anyway, Drew and I ate lunch after the entourage left and went back to his appartment.
That evening we played some guitar together, Drew played and sang harmonies to my tunes whilst I sat and listened to his. He is an extraordinarily talented musician and it is a pleasure to play with him. I was reminded of us busking in Glasgow in the rain for a few hours and making a measly amount but having fun nonetheless.
The following evening we indulged in a true American past-time, minor league baseball. The Norfolk Tides played in a marginally less than scintillating game and lost 5-4. We did however get great seats behind homeplate for a bargainous $1.50 each and there is much more to get excited about at the baseball than just the game.
As we were going for the all-American experience we drank budweiser from a plastic cup, and ate peanuts and crackerjacks. Crackerjacks I found out are just toffee coated peanuts and popcorn. I bought my peanuts and crackerjacks purely because there is a song that everyone sings at every baseball game during the seventh inning stretch which heralds the delight of these things. I was very excited about this song and practiced the words before going, Drew and I sang boldly and courageously which gained us much respect (I think) from those in the seats next to us.
The most exciting part of the game was eating a corn dog. For those of you that don’t know what a corn dog is I shall explain henceforth. I liken eating corn dog to visiting Las Vegas. You’ve got to do it once, you know it’s not good for you and you should never, ever do it again. A corn dog consists of a standard plain old hot dog, surrounded by sweet conrbread and then deep fried. You get it on a stick and it tastes of a bizarre sweet and salty greasiness that I have never before encountered. Whilst eating it I was struck by this new sensation of being both disgusted and delighted all at the same time.
After the game we encountered that other American sporting ritual commonly known as waiting for ages to get out of the parking lot.
I have to dash but there shall be more frolics from the south coming soon.