Huntsville

“Could I have some bread with my soup?” I asked room service. “No sorry, no bread with the soup.” “No bread at all?” I questioned. “No bread” she said. “Ok, can I pay for a side order of bread please.” “No, I’m sorry Ma’am, I am not authorized to do that.”

At lunch the next day I told this funny little story to a group of the Museum ladies who had generously come to hear me talk about design and business. “That’s so strange” one commented “Here in the south we are known for our love of guns and bread.”

As I walked back room through the hotel lobby I spotted a chap with a gun in a holster, strapped to his hip. “Gosh, what a big gun you have” I said when he turned and saw me staring. Guns on hips in hotels are strange sightings for us Brits.

After a short tour of some remarkable Antebellum homes I walked back to the hotel, this time a group of impeccably dressed gentlemen in three-piece suits, trilby hats and two-toned shoes were checking in.

In my room was a covered dish and a note: “My mother baked you bread!” it read, and indeed on the plate was warm buttered bread.

As I checked out of the hotel a stream of gleaming black SUVs swept through and a gang of rappers walked out of the hotel, got into the convoy and sped off.

Huntsville, you are a delightful city of surprises, as seen on my Insta Story (follow along: @indiahicksstyle).

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