Elvis Has Not Left The Building

Even walking through the airport Elvis was everywhere. He had certainly not left this building. His face dazzled the walls, and even the floors, his music played in the loos, and pamphlets were handed out to you at baggage claim: ‘Come and see Graceland. Home of the King.’

I had certainly landed in Memphis, Tennessee. I was on my way to a book signing in the Memphis Hunt & Polo Club, an elegant timeless building where elegant timeless women came together.

From there I was due at a Get Together Give Together tea party, that one of our Ambassador’s was holding as a fundraiser for the Memphis Symphony Orchestra. The house was awash with china teacups, flickering chandeliers, and the most lovely white chiffoned ladies who had been a part of the Symphony for about… oh, 40 years or so. One of these girls had recently taken up dancing, she was probably in her seventies which I would imagine is the ideal time for a Tango or a Twerk in Tennessee, and another told me of her year on the stage in New York, “A gift from my husband,” she said, “a year away from Memphis.” These were spicy ladies.

And that evening I hosted an event, talking about…. you guessed it… my business, its hidden treasures and the countless possibilities it offers.

But somewhere in this madcap day my devilish friend Melissa and I galloped around Graceland, ridiculous in our high heels and rather regretting we were not staying in the Heartbreak Hotel with its heart-shaped pool across the street.

Kate, a local ambassador and fellow Brit, had asked her husband to go and find me a present, a symbol of Tennessee, she told him, something that really told the story of their state, something I could slip into my hand luggage that would remind me of my time there. “This,” said Kate, “is what he bought for you,” and she held up a tractor made from Sprite cans, a lot of Sprite cans and so large she had to hold it with both arms. “Did he really think you could carry this with you?” she said with a crazy laugh.

After a full day, filled with local flavor, I felt rather a Memphis insider, how appropriate then to be holding our Crackle Gold Insider clutch.