Got back from Hawaii yesterday afternoon. Long trip. Via San Francisco for a day. There, I had brunch in a trendy cafe called ‘plow’ – lowercase p, please – where I ordered scrambled eggs and nettles (when in San Francisco and all that) and was served by a waitress in a beanie.
Then we wondered about the city’s hilly streets and parks, where I saw a man shoot up into his arm, and ended up drinking cider and eating chowder on the pier overlooking Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge.
I’m now back in my local cafe in London, where they don’t serve egg with nettles but where a waiter in a tweed flat cap has just given me a coffee to jumpstart my poor, confused brain. ‘What is going on?’ my brain is asking. ‘What has happened in the past week? Why have we crossed multiple time zones? Why have I seen whales and surfers? Why has skin been exposed to sunshine in February? Why have you eaten so many of those cold, hard bread rolls that airlines like to serve? Why have we been to the other side of the world and back in a matter of days? Are you, in actual fact, Tim Peake in disguise?’
So I’m going to drink this coffee and then go for a run along the river while listening to Fleetwood Mac to persuade my brain that we’re safely home (I haven’t told it yet that we’re going to Thailand on Wednesday for a wedding).
Meanwhile, click HERE for today’s Sunday Telegraph column.
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