‘But I can’t go to Hooters’ I whine, almost impossibly hungover, ‘I read The Guardian!’

But the tyranny of democracy speaks, and the tyranny of democracy wants tanks tops and short shorts. It is a strange and curious world within those orange walls. There are pictures of Wollstonecraft, Pankhurst and Greer above the bar, and all are wearing plaid.

Andthesea gets right down to business, asking the ‘entertainers’ (not waitresses, in order to get around breast-based employment law) about interview processes and career progression. Unsurprisingly, photos are involved at an early stage. Apparently gym membership, tanning and make-up are tax deductible for Hooters girls. Who knew eh? Who knew..

The food is 90% salt, 10% misogyny. In short, I ain’t a fan of the place. Others in our party, who shall remain nameless for the sake of their sainted mothers, are much more taken with the establishment.

*

Hoping to shake off the hangovers, we walk all the way across the city to a large park near Vanderbilt university. They have build a full-size concrete replica of the Athenian Parthenon. Of course they have. I know not why it’s there, but it undoubtedly is.

We then stroll over to the university where something rather special takes place: The Eagle, that prince of birds, gets chatting to a curious and friendly old fellow by the name of David, who offers to give us an impromptu tour of Vanderbilt’s frankly ridiculous sports facilities. He takes us all around their 44,000 seater (American) football stadium, including the press boxes and the roof. We then get to shoot some hoops (not particularly successfully) on an NBA-standard basketball court. It’s a fabulous, surreal experience.

Nearby there are two adjoining dive bars, one called ‘ Winners‘, the other called ‘Losers’. We try the latter first and it is, to no-one’s surprise, a bit rubbish. Winners is a little better so we stay there a short while before grabbing a taxi back downtown.

A quick word on Hershel our cabbie. 62 years of age, he is the filthiest old so-and-so we’ve ever come across. He tells one story about an inebriated lass he had in his car which is far, far too rude for this family-friendly blog, but which had us all howling with laughter. Absolute animal so he was.

*

Takeout pizza and beer for dinner at the hostel, then out onto the Nashville strip for round two. The Big Man insists that we stop by Coyote Ugly, which ensures that Hooters’s reign as ‘the worst establishment I have ever visited’ is a short one. What a hell-hole. His date for the evening shows up and we can finally leave for somewhere better.

Now..some of the reported occurrences in this account have been somewhat, shall we say, embellished. The Yankee, for example, did not actually receive a full body-cavity search back at O’Hare Airport (though in a more perfect world he surely would have). However, the following is absolutely true:

In the next bar, Tequila Cowboy (I know, I know..), we find the young ladies Silver and The Big Man met back in Louisville, KT, who had made a pilgrimage down to Tennessee in search of a second date. We also find a selection of girls some of the guys had met the previous night. All four groups: us; the Kentucky lasses; the Nashville girls; and The Big Man’s new date, all crash together at the bar, much to the delight of those not directly involved. Grinning ear to ear, I danced between factions, digging our lads deeper and deeper into their holes. The Eagle, arch-diplomat, attempts to pour oil on these choppy waters. He does not succeed. Various parties are unimpressed. I, on the other hand, achieve a genuinely startling level of transcendental ecstasy.

The party stretches on deep into the night. Andthesea and I drink bad cocktails and critique them loudly to an unmoved barmaid. Silver is thrown from a mechanical bull in less than three seconds, while The Eagle stays in the saddle for an impressively long stint. A third bar is sought, and a fourth. All in all, as the kids say, it was an absolute banger.