There are some love stories that never die. Bogie and Bergman in Casablanca. Han and Leia in the Star Wars saga. And Orlando and I. No, not Orlando Bloom, as handsome as he is. Bit wooden though.
The quest to find a decent cuppa in Orlando photo: Roger Crow
The one in Florida that acts like some cartoon magnet pulling thousands of Brits across the pond every year.
I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve been here since 2002. Around 14, either for work or fun.
Okay, I’ve done that in the UK too, but given the amount of walking I do in Florida I wouldn’t be surprised if I burnt off as much as I consumed.
I’ve also destressed with ease, thanks to a mix of sunshine, attractions and good times.
It never gets old.
Yes, the theme park attractions come and go, but that can do attitude, making dreams come true cliche never stops working wonders, especially on seasoned journos who really should have grown out of this kid’s paradise by now.
Of course it’s not really just for kids. The inner child in everyone usually takes over. Well it does in me.
I probably could have paid off my mortgage by now instead of spending a decade coming back year after year, but that few days in paradise makes the horrendous shifts almost worthwhile.