October 24

The entire time I've been here in America locals have tried to put me off ever travelling by Greyhound Bus. No one is ever specific. They say "It really isn't the nicest experience" or other times they'll just wrinkle their nose and wince like I'd shown them a photograph of a corpse.

Well today was the day I'd make up my own mind about the notoriously dingy bus service which criss-crosses America like week-old silly string. Myself and one other friend (the Brit) were taking the six hour journey from Asheville to Nashville, Tennessee. The tone was set nicely by an old, old woman at the bus station, wrapped in blankets with two plasters on her face.

"Are you both Russian?" she asked the back of our heads, the emphasis for some reason on "both".

We all piled on and what a motley crew it was. I am often criticised by some friends for assuming that too many people are mentally ill. I can't help it. A lot of people I come across in my daily life do seem to be mentally ill to me. I think I can admit that perhaps, on occasion, I have over-reacted and labelled someone mentally ill who was, on reflection, simply either tedious, lonely or different. However I am certain that everyone on this Greyhound bus was in fact mentally ill.

There was an obese, porcine-featured man with long, stringy red hair whose t-shirt bore the legend "Everyone Loves a fat Guy!" But no, nobody loved this fat guy. He talked incessantly, like a huckster, walking up and down the aisle, bumming cigarettes, batteries and even money off people. I felt a twinge of concern when he went up to the front, leant into the driver's reenforced plastic booth and asked "What do I have to do to get thrown off this bus?" It didn't sound rhetorical.

Sat in front there was a woman with a Texan accent and low cut top. She spent a lot of the journey on the phone, complaining about her "boy's daddy" and what a "fucking asshole" he was for "callin' up ma' boy" and "tryin' to stir shit up".

She was preferable to the man behind. Tall, bald, missing some teeth and with tattoos up the side of his neck, he was also on the phone - talking to his girlfriend or wife. What started off fairly innocently ("Aw hell, ah cain't wait to get bayuck t' yew") soon turned racy ("Yew got yer panties awn?") before becoming disgusting.

There was also a very old and very slow-moving World War II veteran in a wig and two Stetsons. He wore both Stetsons simultaneously. Can someone tell me if this is an ordinary practice? He was sat next to a tall, young guy called Chuck who was travelling up and down America after getting back from Afghanistan on a tour of duty with the marines. He struck me as a decent guy - quiet, respectful and a little humbled by what he's seen abroad. The old guy was talking Chuck's ear off but occasionally Chuck would get a word in about his own misadventures in the military.

"I thought it would be a good way to get through college," he said somberly. "I don't think any of us were prepared for how bad it was."

The old guy ignored him and went back to talking about his own platoon and how him and his buddies hold regular reunions.

"I don't think any of my generation want to get back together," mumbled Chuck. "We don't have any happy memories."

There was also a moment which I will dub White Trash Moment of the Year. Picture this: a bus stop in a middle-of-nowhere Tennessee town called Waynseville or something. A gravel car park outside "Bob's Discount Shop". The pouring rain. A battered 1970s car driven by a humongous tattooed man with a terrifying bearded face, humongous, tattooed mongoloid wife squeezed in the back. The car dispatches two passengers, a man and a woman, both drunk, the woman singing - screaming - some country song about America as the rain drenches them both. The driver bids the man farewell through the glassless car window, using the most intense handshake I have ever seen performed. It wasn't rapid. It was just hard, long and angry.

Nashville really is powered by country music. Everwhere you look there are murals of famous musicians, posters advertising used mandolins and tiny, dark bars with bands churning out honky-tonk and boogie-woogy from early afternoon.

And it's TrashGlam. Young, middle-aged and elderly Americans from far-flung corners of the country, dolled up in rhinestones and Stetsons, slow dancing the night away to the Charlie Daniels Band Tribute Band.

We travelled to a couple of places. BB King's bar was one. The best though was Big Bang, an upstairs bar built around a small stage featuring a drummer and two pianists facing each other. For three hours they thrashed out song after song - all requests ranging from Snoop Dogg to AC/DC to the Ghostbusters Theme. And they were funny too, their banter over the music (they didn't pause between songs) was sarcastic and witty. It was pretty much a perfect bar.