Day 192 - In Jessica’s Footsteps

Author - Grant

From - Napa, California

To - Mendocino, California

Miles Driven - 150 wibbly wobbly ones

Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157618266058215/

We all know that Kate is what is commonly known as a “sicky person”.  You know the type.  Pale skin, clammy to the touch...basically like a scouser in the Costa Del Sol.  Hence it is with a certain amount of amazement that she has gone through the first three months of pregnancy with minimal nausea and I would even go as far as to say that she is reveling in the situation at the moment.  Clearly there must be some good reason why pregnant women generally get sick (probably a knock-on effect from eating the forbidden apple) and hence I took matters into my own hands today by ignoring Kate’s pleas and the the straight freeway that would have taken us from Napa to Mendocino in three hours and opting instead for the silly-string Route 1, five hour version along the cliffs.  Clearly this was the more scenic route as we hugged the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean but just 30 minutes in I knew we’d made a mistake as Kate had stopped speaking and instead just concentrated on exhaling nothing more than Carbon Dioxide.  It was looking touch and go for a while but we survived the following 4 1/2 hours thanks to regular stops and Kate’s new anti-nausea alternative medication...fries.

Now the reason for choosing Mendocino as our stopping venue is, once again, deeply embarrassing.  The McNamara’s obsession with 1970’s piss poor murder mystery series is already well documented so I’ll not go over old ground and Mendocino is of particular relevance because it contains Jessica Fletcher’s house from Murder She Wrote.  In the terrible, terrible program, it is supposed to be Cabot Cove in Maine but in reality it is here in Northern California, presumably because of its proximity to Angela Lansbury’s favourite Bingo Hall.  A little more research unveiled that the house is a guest house and that is why I am sat typing this, Fletcher-stylee, in front of a log-burning fire in the cottage out the back of the house.  I’m half expecting someone to knock at the door asking for my help to shed light on the gruesome demise of some local dignitary.  If it does happen then I’ll not put you through an hour of atrocious acting and a wafer thin plot line - instead I’ll just go straight to the victim’s jilted lover and get them to confess all at the drop of a hat.  Yep, I’ve been exposed to a few too many episodes in my time round the various McNamara residences.  I also know more about Star Trek than I would like to admit but that’s a story for another time.  What was truly hilarious was watching Kate act all nonchalant as local looney Lisa showed us round the Angela Suite in the main house and pointed out the typewriter that Jessica pulls the ‘Murder She Wrote’ paper from in the opening credits.  It was all somewhat at odds with the excitement with which she texted her sister (a fellow fan of all things Cabot Cove) whilst out of Lisa’s eyesight...

Unlike the average Murder She Wrote episode, our stay here is all too brief as we head further north into the Redwood forests tomorrow but not before Norm provides us with Angela’s favourite breakfast and a full history of the significance of the house.  I might just have a cereal bar in the room...