Ghosts outside the machine

Three hours on the tarmac at Vancouver Airport while they fixed the toilets. Methinks they should have discovered this before they boarded all the passengers, but hey, what do I know.

The three hours was made slightly less tedious by virtue of being sat next to an editor of the driving section of the Province newspaper. He was an ex-pat and before he left Britain in the 70s he toured in some capacity with Pink Floyd and Judas Priest.
Naturally I asked him the burning question,
'How, when and why did it happen that David Bowie (as in bow-wow) is sometimes called Bowie (as in bow-tie)?
Well, it seems that when he made it big in the States people there started pronouncing his name like American hero Jim Bowie, designer of the knife, so David had to turn a deaf ear.

I was beginning to think we might not get off the tarmac, but we did, and I slept for most of the way.

London was sweaty, just sweaty, but I love the ease of getting around by tube, by train, by bus, so I had to put up with it. And in retrospect, since I was so late, I didn't even need to go into London.

Austen and Sue no longer have wireless, but I opened the notebook hopefully anyway. It's so weird, you can see all the networks that overlap your space. As you move around the house the networks change.
All of these unseen presences that are in our lives just waiting for us to tap into them. They move around too, like ghosts. Just sitting here different ones keep coming in and dropping out.

And like ghosts, you get to know your own, back home I know the names of the networks that creep into our house and here the same thing is true. Bob came and went.