Ah, Day Fourteen. The sort of day that begins with a mini domestic crisis and ends with shepherd’s pie and space shuttles. Strap in (seatbelts optional), because this one’s a proper Florida rollercoaster – minus the motion sickness and overpriced on-ride photos.
The Alarm Rings… And So Does Lewis
The day kicked off with a reliable 07:30 wake-up call – or as I like to call it, the Florida foghorn. The sunshine had already clocked in, serving up another gloriously warm morning, the kind that makes you question if you ever really needed a jumper back home in the first place.
But before we could even find out if Helen and Brian had survived the night without any complaints about the air con, we received a panicked call from Lewis back in the UK. Now, we love Lewis dearly – he’s charming, clever, and full of potential – but let’s just say common sense sometimes nips out for a coffee when he’s around.
Locked Out… Again?
“Have you got the spare key?” I asked, already bracing for the worst.
“Well… I did have it,” came the sheepish reply.
Apparently, he’d locked himself out again and used the spare key last time, but in a plot twist no one saw coming – especially not Lewis – he’d forgotten to return it. To make matters worse, even the garage door remote was having a sulk. Useless and stubborn. Like a teenager in winter.
Time to call in reinforcements. Enter James Palmer, local locksmith extraordinaire and unexpected hero of the day. James didn’t faff, flinch or frown – he just popped round, sorted the battery in the remote, and hey presto, Lewis was back in. The lad was saved, the house remained unburgled, and peace was restored to our Orlando morning.
Massive thanks to James – truly, if I had a medal and some sort of ceremonial ribbon, I’d be bestowing them both. You’re a gent, sir.
Breakfast, Finally: iHop to the Rescue
With the domestic drama safely behind us, we finally turned our attention to more pressing matters: food. Our stomachs, having been so rudely neglected during the lockout saga, were practically writing their own protest signs.
Destination: iHop. The International House of Pancakes, or as I like to call it, the Home of Why Did I Order So Much. Towering stacks, streaky bacon, eggs done a dozen different ways – the works. I will never understand how Americans eat this much before 10am and still function. I needed a nap and a defibrillator.
But we had places to go, stars to chase.
One Small Drive for Us…
After wiping the syrup off our faces and re-emerging into the Floridian heat, we drove east for about an hour to reach the hallowed ground of the John F. Kennedy Space Center. That’s right – we swapped pancakes for propulsion systems.
It’s an absolute must-see. Even if you’re not the spacey type, there’s something wildly humbling about standing underneath a Saturn V rocket. It’s the size of your average London street and probably more reliable than Northern Rail.
Six Hours of Spacey Goodness
We spent six glorious hours geeking out over rocket boosters, moon missions, and astronaut ice cream (which, spoiler alert, is not ice cream and should frankly be reclassified as a crime against dairy). But culinary disappointments aside, the exhibits were brilliant.
We marvelled at the Space Shuttle Atlantis, looked at moon rocks with appropriate awe, and watched videos that made grown men misty-eyed – and not just because the air con was on full blast.
If you’re ever even vaguely interested in humanity’s quest to escape Earth’s gravity – or you just fancy a really cool gift shop – go. And wear comfy shoes. This place is massive.
From Outer Space to Retail Space
Post-blast-off buzz still lingering, we decided the best way to decompress was, naturally, shopping. The Mall at Millenia was calling our names in glossy American accents, promising air-conditioned bliss and maybe a new handbag or five.
Helen and Michele made a beeline for the usual suspects: Macy’s, Bloomingdale’s, and a cheeky wander into Louis Vuitton (purely for a browse, obviously… mostly). Brian got himself lost in the towl section, while I suspect the others were mainly there for the people-watching and food court.
There’s something magical about American malls. They’re cleaner than expected, larger than necessary, and filled with things you never knew you needed. I left with socks, a candle, and a new respect for air conditioning.
Cheesecake Fix: The Grand Finale
We ended the evening at none other than The Cheesecake Factory – Brian’s favourite and, frankly, one of mine now too. You’d be forgiven for thinking it’s just about cheesecake, but oh no. This place serves up practically everything under the sun, often on one plate, and always in portions that require a forklift to deliver.
I ordered the Shepherd’s Pie – yes, yes, I know. Why order something so British in the heart of the US? But let me tell you, this was no ordinary shepherd’s pie. This was shepherd’s pie dialled up to 11. Rich, meaty, and covered in a duvet of mashed potatoes thicker than my accent after a few beers. Enormous. Delicious. Slightly terrifying.
I was about halfway through before my stomach politely asked me to reconsider my life choices. I ignored it and pressed on, of course. No pie left behind.
Preparing for the Final Haul
Tomorrow, it’s shopping day again – we’re making the rounds at the Orlando Premium Outlets, Vineland, and maybe even a quick dash back to the Florida Mall. The suitcase situation is already looking like a logistical puzzle from The Crystal Maze.
We may, and I cannot stress this enough, need another bag.
If I were a wiser traveller, I’d have brought a collapsible one. If I were a more disciplined shopper, I wouldn’t need it. Alas, I am neither. Pray for us.
