We might have been in a scene of Jurassic Park as waves rippled through my glass of wine and the cheese on our 'real American burgers' trembled.

In the restaurant, which was more like a shack to be fair, diners were getting wet through the mesh walls and people were scampering for the tables further inside.

The Florida sky was throwing an almighty paddy and I could barely believe my eyes.

When it rains in Florida, it really does pour. Ten days of superb dryness were being literally washed away by the Godzilla of thunderstorms.

Tim and I were sure we would have to camp in this seaside restaurant overnight or get soaked to the bone trying to reach our car. We chose the latter, but not before a good 20 minutes of 'putting it off' and ordering more of the owner's superb house sangria.

Back at the lodge we changed our dripping clothes, toweled off our drenched hair and settled in front of the communal TV.

Ironically, that film The Day After Tomorrow was playing and we switched our attentions between the apocalypse happening in the Hollywood studio and the frighteningly similar scene happening outside.

It seemed as if Florida, the place which is larger than life in every way, was not happy to have a little rain shower. The state just has to do things in a massive, shocking way.

We eventually hit the sack but the weather refused to get some rest and we went to sleep with the odd booming sound rattling our bones.

Next stop: Settling in with the whanau in the laidback, artsy city of St Petersburg, Florida.

Check out more photos from my trip in my Flickr album.

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