When the dawn comes, I’ll be able to see palm trees. That’s jet lag in Los Angeles for you. I’ve surfaced in an eccentric little house in somebody’s back yard – built purely I reckon for the AirBNB economy – eager for daylight and a bike ride down to Venice beach.
The last time I blogged, it was with the confident expectation that Donald Trump would by now be a footnote in American political history. Ha! Now it’s California primary day. When we picked up a cab at the airport last night, I asked the driver who he’s voting for, and without hesitation he said, “Trump”. Then “I’m a Republican”. Pause. Sigh. “I miss Reagan.”
So the point of being here this time is to travel with an open mind. We’ll head from LA to Las Vegas, then Phoenix to El Paso, gathering American voices for BBC radio. Not actually to talk about the candidates; more to hear life stories. How are people doing, what matters to them most, after eight years of President Obama? More immediately, is my driving good enough to manage LA traffic?
In the meantime, it’s 0436 and I really want to grind some coffee. But I think my producer might not appreciate it. She’s still asleep on the other side of the studio; body in California, head in British Summer Time.