Desert?

How the fuck did we end up in a desert?

So I got a call from Dom the other day, saying they were all out at this farmhouse of Viggo's and wouldn't it be great if I joined them and so I fly out, but then there's no one at the airport to meet me, and I have no fucking idea where this bloody farmhouse actually is.

I'm just about to say fuck it all and head back to LA when who should show up but John Rhys Davies, and I think great! For once luck is with me and I can hitch a ride to the farmhouse.

Only no. Because he doesn't fucking know where he's going either, and we've been driving around in circles in some desert and I know nothing about American geography, but I'm pretty damn sure there's not supposed to be a desert around here!

I should've just stayed in town and tried to call Bob. Fuck Viggo and his sodding farmhouse.

And John won't shut up about cars, either.