If you have a very long memory, or are related to me, you might recall that the last time I visited Palm Beach, it was a bit of a washout. Literally I mean. It poured the whole time we we were there, Worth Avenue was being dug up for some reason, and I looked like this:

So, it's the summer I graduated from university: we go to Florida, and as a treat, my dad decides to hire a convertible. God, I loved that car. It was a Chrysler Sebring, in British Racing Green, with a soft top that I insisted on having down at all times, even although the wind tied my hair in knots and turned my mum's face tomato-red. We drove down from Orlando to Key West in that car, and although most of the road to the Keys is pretty boring, I loved every second of it. I'd just finished writing my dissertation on American Literature, and I'd focused particularly on the American Dream, as represented by the road. Or The Road, as I thought of it at the time.