DATELINE: San Diego, California

We’ve been on the road a lot in the last few days. We have traversed phenomenally barren terrain - but it has been both beautiful, and diverse. From pebble-strewn, cactus-speckled beige expanses, to ranging sand dunes, to mountainous rock-piles, the south west has been a geological wonderland, all laid out beneath cloudless blue skies. We’ve been tormented by dust-storms, tumbleweed - it’s quite aggressively mobile stuff in high winds - and maniacal crop-dusting planes flying within feet of the heads of the traffic, in the manner of North By Northwest. The ubiquitous US border police have left us well alone though - an advantage of being white and driving with New York license plates.

In between we have got to know some of the finest motel chains the US has to offer - and acquired the kind of local ignorance normally befitting Britain’s finest rock bands. Twice in the space of two nights I have sat down to write, and had to call out hesitantly, wearily, ‘where are we again?’ This scenario has led to Tom and I upending Gideon Bibles and phone directories, and scrambling around inspecting motel chain rubric and check-out instructions for clues. The answers we were looking for were Fort Stockton, Texas (pop. 7,846), and Willcox, Arizona (pop. 3,769). I shan’t be hurrying back to either.

The last two nights have seen us dashing headfirst into our motels to watch CNN’s respective Democratic and Republican debates; out of obligation, rather than enthusiasm, it must be said. These TV debates are like a political version of dressage, the equestrian sport where the horse just rides cautiously around an empty paddock: they are reductive, stultifyingly banal versions of the real thing, but they are also painfully nerve-wracking at the same time, because you know one tiny slip-up could ruin a competitor’s whole campaign.

On both occasions Tom, Rachael and I sat amidst our traveller’s debris on freshly made hotel beds, squirming, squinting, occasionally guffawing at the TV. For the Republican debate, this was because of the horrendously angst-ridden battle between John McCain and Mitt Romney for the upper hand in the GOP race (this wasn’t, of course, based on actual policy, but whether you prefer a veteran or a businessman, essentially). Each time one spoke, the other displayed the kind of smile normally reserved for axe murderers standing behind heroines in slasher movies. Meanwhile Mike Huckabee and Ron Paul, the remaining two candidates in the Republican race, sat excluded at the end of the table, like small children at a dinner party. Huck was unhappy, and justifiably so, the poor creationist loon: “I didn’t come here to umpire a fight between these two - I’d like to swing a few myself. Could I maybe get some questions that all of us could answer?”

Last night’s Democratic debate - minus John Edwards, who dropped out if you missed that - was just as bad, but for the opposite reasons: someone at the DNC (the Dems’ party machine) obviously watched the Republicans ripping each other to shreds the previous night, had a brainwave, and knocked some Obama/Clinton skull together, telling them they had to make nice for the good of the party. Cue a grin-heavy liberal love-in, watched by everyone from Steven Spielberg to Ugly Betty to (I think) Josh from the West Wing.

With 22 states preparing to vote, The Tuesday of Destiny is looming large just the other side of the weekend, and the race couldn’t be more exciting right now. Thank god there are no more debates, and the news channels can get back to spending all their time speculating on Mary-Kate Olsen’s knowledge of Heath Ledger’s death, like they were doing this morning.