White, fluffy, deep and thick and cold

In England, where it is snowing.

But also here, where I have mainly been over the last few days:

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This week, I have mainly been having my head in the clouds.

I skirted the outer white fluffy petticoats of London on Tuesday morning, and arrived in a Heathrow with no delays yet from the snow, four hours early for my flight.

Behind me, on the first flight, was a couple in their early-fifties, who complained about the antisocial business of other people daring to take their own (very well-behaved) children onto planes, before waxing soppy about how perfect their life together would be once hed left his wife.

In San Francisco, I caught up with friends – and it was like Id barely left them (which is, actually, pretty much the case) – before falling heavily asleep on the worlds comfiest sofa (though it could have been a dining table given the weight of the tiredness hat I was wearing by that point). In the morning, I took a little suitcase filled with neat working clothes and left a large empty one by the worlds comfiest suitcase, and went and got on a plane.

I did not, as it turned out, get fondled by the security people at the airport – although Id been reading newspaper reports promising me a good fondling for the week beforehand. They did steal my chili sauce, though. The one that Id forgotten was in my bag. They took my sauce, unpacked my bag, and didnt even fondle me to make up for it. You just cant get the service nowadays.

On the second plane, I flew south, still wearing a heavy winter coat and snowboots. The sun was shining on the pacific in some strange way that made the whole ocean glow with a golden orange light.

Then landed in Los Angeles, which was sunny and flat and unending, and looked a bit like this.

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You can see the Hollywood sign in that photo. Or you would if you had magic, tiny eyes, the size of magical tiny gnats nostrils.

An hour after arriving there, on that, I boarded another plane, seated next to a man with tinted glasses, who was in a band. And had a hat, and an apparently unshakable belief that he was very, very cool. We flew north.

Im very tired right now. You must excuse my apparent demastering of the English language. My thinky-muscle is sleeping, but my fingers havent quite stopped yet. And I wanted to make notes while I remembered things.

I picked up a Skymall catalogue on that plane. Apparently, I find, from emptying my bag, Id picked one up from a previous plane as well. Ive never bought anything from the damned Skymall catalogue. You can, however, thoroughly expect me to get a blog post out of one over the weekend. Or possibly out of both.

Two pens exploded on me on the plane. You might have thought Id realise the second would, after the first, seeing as it was the same make, with the same ink, at the same altitude. But no, no, by that point I was either too addled by the altitude, or tumble-dried by the tiredness, to stop after the first one. So youd be wrong. Or I would. I was wrong already, to be fair.

In Vancouver I saw a mouse. It was running along the street, looking quite happy, though a little jittered and nervy. And quite tired. Or perhaps that was just me. I might be projecting on to the mouse. It definitely was a mouse, though. Unless, being Canada, it was actually a little tiny bear. Or a beaver. Yes. it had a tail. So it was almost certainly a tiny, tiny beaver.

And, even though it has a mouse (just the one, at current standing), I am liking Vancouver a lot. I am liking very much the mountain at the end of my street, and the food I have been given, and the worky-type stuff I have come here to do.

I especially like the fact that there is a small flat padded square section of Vancouver that has been set aside entirely for the purpose of my snoring on it.

Which I will be going and doing. Right now.

Apologies for my incoherence.
I am three quarters asleep.
And one eighth comatose.
And my right legs gone dead.