Right: How can you not love a city with a landmark building that looks like one of these? The Smith Tower
I returned to Seattle as scheduled in mid-August at the end of a comfy and blessedly uneventful flight from Heathrow. Of course the flight left an hour late, and I spent two of my four hours at the airport queueing up for flight check-in, but they were handing out bottles of water, and except for a loud and protracted battle of words between two women heading to Nigeria about whether one of them had jumped the queue (she hadn't), everyone was in pretty good spirits. They were at least flying, after 6 days of cancelled flights and protracted delays.
As an entirely unforseen bonus, I was treated to a full-body scan consisting of three artfully-posed x-rays. I suppose they had to pick someone utterly outside their target group, and I was the token white woman. I didn't mind, really, except for the fact that they wouldn't sell me prints.
After Indian food (cures jetlag instantly) and a couple days' readjustment, it was time for a road trip to L.A. One World Science Fiction convention later I came back just in time to go on another road trip, this time to Sacramento. I've lost track of the number of times I've promised myself never to go anywhere by car, but it's a lot.
Anyway, I'm settled into a basement room in Beacon Hill, and I'll be here until April, at which time I'll fly back to the U.K. and resume reporting my outsider's view of all things British with a few dozen more teatime chats between April and October. Between now and then I'll post anything earth-shaking that comes up.
Cheerio, mates!
Bridget
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