USA: 1 car, 2 mates, 5 weeks and 10,000 miles.

How did I end up here? Naked in the motel lobby except for my boxers, no key, very confused and in great need of the loo.

Well, New Orleans is perhaps not the most sensible choice of destination when traveling with a self-confessed alcoholic. A pleasant night out checking out the local jazz scene is what I'd had in mind. But with no less than three bars in the French Quarter purporting to sell the strongest cocktail in town, only madness and mayhem could possibly ensue.

We got into town about 5.30pm and we're 'helped' to find the centre by a harmless enough local bum who only asked for a handful of change in return. My feeling? No worries, what the hell, give the poor guy some coins, let's go have some fun. My friend's feeling: a fuming, soul-scorching hatred of mankind that could only by quashed by consuming the alcoholic equivalent of a large lake in the shortest space of time possible. Hmmm, I have a feeling it's not going to end well.

Let's get to the jazz bar. At least I want to see ONE jazz band before it all gets out of control. Everyone's sat down, it's a happy relaxed atmosphere. Everyone's smiling, especially the piano player who looks like Fats Domino reincarnated. The double bass player looks so much like a mate of mine, I take his photo and Facebook it to the world. But the mate sat next to me can't sit still and is already showing signs of inebriation (1 G&T, 1 Hand Grenade, and 1 beer, gulped, not drunk). Try and relax, take it easy, enjoy the music, dig the vibe. Shit, he wants to leave. AHHHRRRGHH! Calm down, there are other bars with music.

All of which sell alcohol. As do all the shops. Oh dear. Where did that bottle of gin come from? Never mind, he's given it away to some girl. Oh, we get syringe shots in return, I see. Nice. I think.

Perhaps some food might be in order? Kind of a New Orleans speciality after all. Ah, yes, of course, trying to get an alcoholic to eat is about as easy as trying to get him to stop drinking. Nevermind.

Next bar. Now he can't sit still for more than two minutes. Look away for an instant and he's gone. What the hell? I'm on the street, it's like Sodom and Gormorrah out here but wilder. Nowhere to be seen. Ok, I give up. Taxi!

And that brings me back to the motel. Now, if you've ever been out drinking with an alcoholic you'll appreciate that I also wasn't at my most sober. I was in the room, I was in bed. Then I was in the lobby. Naked. Boxers. No key. Great. I loooooove New Orleans.