Having escaped the formative towel cupboard that was once my old room at my mum's house, I made my way to the airport and the myriad joys that large numbers of idle fools about to go on holiday bring. The flight was notable mainly for the lack of any decent films and the approach to landing, when the plane jerked about like a convict being served with justice of electrical furnishing kind, making small children cry.
US customs like (as in "require") you to fill out a form on entry explaining if your trip is business or pleasure. I'm pretty sure I don't belong to either of these categories, but then I always was a rebel, defying categorisation (excepting "rebel" of course).
They (that's US customs in case you got lost) also ask if you are transporting disease agents. This is stupid. Of course you are. Everyone is. Especially when the girl sitting next to you for seven hours has told you that she has a cold so bad that she is taking prescription antibiotics.
After splashdown we queued to undergo the ancient rite of form stamping in triplicate. The nice man from Disneyland Insecurity, after noticing I was returning on a long term visa, actually said, "Welcome home". It was great to get out into the arrivals hall and force my way through blank faced meanderers to the bus stop.
Part 2: Getting your feet wet
On arrival at Union station I found that Obama's historical achievement had been embraced fully by the American Dream (TM), with numerous stalls hoping to profit by selling mass produced quality inauguration memorabilia. Most exciting of all was the photographer who using sophisticated techniques could superimpose you onto a photo of the prescient-elect so that he appeared to have his arm around your shoulders. Truely a unique keepsake to show the grandchildren.
Of course everyone here is really excited about the inauguration and the big question that all the critics and commentators keep asking was emblazoned across most news magazines: what will Mrs Obama wear?
Waiting for my train and eating a sandwich, I was kept entertained by a student at the next table communicating her holiday plans, opinions on work scheduling ("You might have to work during the day.") and underwear purchases to her chosen victim via cellphone.
My train journey was far from dull, because the lady sitting next to me on the train was kind enough to regale me with her, and her family's, medical history.
By this time I was feeling lazy, so I got a taxi home from the station. For the duration of the ride the taxi driver held a conversation on her phone. I will leave you to guess the subject matter from this snippet:
Do you want me to give you a lift to the hospital early tomorrow... If they really hurt you might want to try alternating hot and cold towels... If that doesn't work you should use the pump, but you know, the more you pump, the more you produce.
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