‘I’m going to Jackson, I’m going to mess around. I’m going to Jackson, look out Jackson town.’
- Johnny Cash and June Carter
“Are we going to Jackson just because of Johnny Cash?”, Lara asked?
No, I replied. But I had to admit that he was at least a partial motivation for it.
The state capital of Mississippi lay on our route, the second stop on our musical odyssey through the Deep South.
Leaving behind the jazz of New Orleans we headed for the blues of the Mississippi delta. And not without some trepidation.
Back in The Big Easy Fox News had screamed at us about a recent jailbreak in South East Mississippi: ‘Lookout folks - it’s lockdown in the county!’, a worried-looking chap with a large microphone reported excitedly, ‘these guys are bad and dangerous!’
Prisoners on the run in Mississippi; I was sure I’d heard that somewhere before.
Back on the road the string of Mardi Gras beads led all the way up through Louisiana and across the border, seeping into Mississippi gas stations, cars and the roadside diner where we pulled up for dinner.
Sat amongst red-eyed revellers I looked up from my BBQ pork po-boy to catch the new President’s address to Congress. Somewhat boy-like himself, Barack Obama gave a confident address, commanding the attention of the house and even a few of my fellow diners.
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