I want to say a big thank you to all in Nashville, especially Aaron Tippen, who's segment did not make the final TV show, but is here on this website. We were very grateful for the time he gave us and his wonderful honesty. But I can't end without a final comment about Ms. Lynn Howard. Rebecca, thank you for casting me aside like yesterday's used kitty litter. Whilst I may not have realized it at the time, I now know you did it to protect yourself. You knew I was a man already romantically involved … with the truth. And whilst she doesn't have your bosoms … or nice hair … I am her faithful and committed partner, and to try and get in between us would only bring heartache, pain, and misery. But if you change your mind … give me a call. Please. And if you're reading this and not named Rebecca Lynn Howard - then leave me a comment - I dare you.

Thanks must go to everyone in the Park City area. The folks at the Olympic Park were delightful, as were the mad Lugers. Watching human beings whiz past on an ice wall at top speed is a lasting memory. Unbelievably dangerous sport … and my brief taste is all I will ever need, thank you very much.

Thanks also to Gold medalist Derek Parra. For someone who has achieved so much, he was remarkably nice, friendly and helpful. Although, I fear I will never be an Olympic speedskater. It was far, far, far too painful on my legs. Which is a shame, because I really look good in that gold body suit. Don't worry though, I still have it and wear it out to dinner, to the movies, and doing household chores. Actually, I don't do household chores anymore … I have a producer for that.

To see me in my Gold skin tight beauty - watch the show - and feel free to tell me how good I look by leaving a comment.

This week sees me venture into the heart of Hollywood. It was an interesting place - actually "Hollywood" the location is quite grimy, and almost completely devoid of anything related to the movie business. But there are quite a few tourists, homeless people, and men dressed in tiny skirts, big wigs and high heels acting as cultural ambassadors to tourists driving past in their cars -usually at night. I thought that was very friendly of them. Not sure why they needed to dress like women though. Must be a Californian thing.

Anyway - plunging into the heart of a primetime drama series - "Numb3ers" was fascinating. I never knew walking could be so complex. All I had to do was stride past the main characters who were busy saying their lines - and look FBI-ey. Sounds easy - I mean I've been walking for years. But I felt strangely self-conscious. But I think the final cut shows I did a pretty fine job. I believe I'm on screen for a combined total of 1.5 seconds. And to think my boarding school drama teacher's final report used the words "completely useless" when describing my acting talent. Who's laughing now Mister Steinlich? Not you - hopefully.
The other thing I noticed about the big TV location was the sheer volume of humanity. There were literally hundreds of people milling about. All to produce one hour of television. Just so you know - we produce half an hour of high quality programming for the very nice and extremely handsome folks at the Travel Channel - with a field crew of five. Yes, five. It shows what can be done when you use talented professionals and when you lack decent representation in contract negotiations.

I would like to send a hearty thanks to all the many people on that television program for their openness and kindness. Especially that actor chap David Krumholz. There aren't many stars who'll let me smell their hair. Believe me - I know.


Thanks also to the very kind stunt woman Kathy Jarvis for allowing me to hit her with a chair, and push her down a flight of stairs. May I also declare with all due respect you have a job I don't want. All the pain, and little of the credit - not something I'm bred for really. In television journalism hey call that person a "producer;" have to be stark raving mad to want that job. No - it's the globe trotting celebrity journalist life for me. Some lights can't be hidden under a bushel and mine is one of them.

Remember, you can watch my shining light, and the rest of me on my TV show. So keep watching. And feel free to leave your opinions here after reading. I like reading what you have to say. Really I do. So does Mother - who still isn't convinced this program actually exists.

Cheerio.

Imagine if our gracious host had accidentally driven us into the wrong hangar, and there was a giant film set looking like the moon, or a family of creatures preserved in green goo. Awkward moment I'd say. The weekend rocket enthusiasts were also a delight. Can't say the same for the location. Where all the tents were gathered was fine - but when we ventured off to collect our friend's rocket after it's successful flight into … a few thousand feet of air … we ended up in a swamp-like setting. Now the humidity, the boiling sun, and the soft, mushy ground underfoot were all fine. I'm not only a seasoned reporter, but also an Englishman. Mushy is my middle name. But the mosquitoes were unbearable. These weren't your average little annoyances … oh no - they were about the size of your head, and ravenous. They blocked out the sun, such was their number - swooping down and attaching themselves to major arteries before moving on to the next victim. We couldn't show much of that footage - because no one could stay still for more than a second before violently swatting one of the three million hungry airborne monsters. I would like to say we came prepared. And in fact we had bought bucketfuls of repellant - which was waiting for us when we returned to our motel by the freeway. I did manage to capture one of the beasts. It's now in my house, stuffed and mounted above my fireplace. Well it will be … as soon as I have a fireplace. Or a house. Thanks to all for their generous assistance. I may have failed to become an astronaut - it's actually quite hard - but I succeeded in becoming a fan of the whole space thing. I have to say standing underneath a vehicle that has orbited the Earth is one of my personal highlights. That and not vomiting on camera in that awful spinning horror machine. Until next time.

Hello again - Lawrence here. The kindly folk at Travel Channel tell me you want more truth - so here I am.
This week's episodes were without doubt the most terrifying of the entire series - at least for me. I guess they could've been more terrifying, I mean it's not like I wrestled lions, tried to catch bullets with my teeth…or attempted a sit down interview with Prince Phillip - I've heard he may actually be a wizard. But for me - some of the activities I performed for you and the camera…but mostly you - were frightful.

I'll get to the scary bits in a moment. First - NASCAR fans. Not scary - merely bewildering. Where I come from, being a passionate fan means drinking yourself stupid and looking forward to punching a fan from the opposing team. I never did that - my mother always said supporting soccer was too dangerous … hence my fondness for croquet. Anyway - NASCAR fans do get drunk - some of them anyway. But no flying fists. Their passion runs deeper than anything I've seen - I mean seriously - who spends the night sleeping outside in line, waiting to get a piece of automobile paneling signed by a driver? Real fans as it turns out.

I could never hope to understand the loyalty, enthusiasm and unusual cultural rituals in the time we spent there - but I did understand the warmth, and generosity. Thank you to all who let a total foreign stranger and his camera crew into their mobile homes, and tents.

Thanks also to driver David Ragan - for almost letting me win the go-cart driving, and for not humiliating me. I hope you win whatever it is you're hoping to win. A race I suppose. I can report you are now my official 'driver of choice'. Along with Carl Edwards. Don't worry - there's room in my heart for you both.

Now - Wichita, Kansas. Again - great fans, and even greater track organizers. While we were shooting, the nice people in the commentary box kept announcing our appearance - every five minutes. I mean, I'm all about truth - and I'll never say no to publicity - but even I was a little uncomfortable with all the overwhelming support. Especially, after I was soundly thrashed by children. Not one of my career highlights. For the record - the car was incredibly claustrophobic - it was designed to seat a teenager, not a seasoned reporter with rippling thighs. Also - the track was very slippery. And Beldon-Smythe's are not known for their driving prowess. We're more the chauffeured types - not the chauffeure.




But I survived. I didn't finish last. I gave the crowd a taste of English culture and bravery, and we managed to create some television magic. I can't thank the Power family enough for trusting me with their vehicle, and everyone at 81 Speedway were perfect hosts. And to that 11-year-old who dared me to a drag race with our production minivan after the race - I'll be back next year to win it back, and it better be clean.

Don't forget to watch the episode - and next week's too at 11 p.m. and 11:30 p.m. on Tuesday. I'll be waiting.

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