YVR to SFO

At Vancouver airport, which we all affectionately know as YVR, there is a section where the American flag flies and signs welcome you to the USA. When you leave YVR for the States, you are spared customs and immigration in your city of destination, you clear it before you ever leave the ground.

The plane was a little late leaving, why the frell can't they cut down some of the sheer waiting around at airports? Then it taxied for so long that I thought the pilot must have given up and decided to drive there.

On the plane, as captive audience, I was able to discharge an obligation I have felt as such for some time now. Having dismissed the American version of The Office as complete crap, a couple of people who usually like the same things as I had said I should have stuck with it, that it got better.
So I watched the episode that was shown on the plane. It was about the people in the office going to the beach. It failed to engage, in fact I would say that there was not a single moment of humour in it.

The booby prize snack was given out, pretzels. And then a 'something about curry' moment occurred. The man sitting next to me was a Sikh. He asked for vodka, he asked several times but the attendant seemed not to understand him.
'Vodka,' I said, 'the gentleman would like vodka,' and frankly, I felt my accent was the same as his, just that this time he got his voddie.
I must admit though, I was wondering how he was going to put his headphones on, where would they go, over his turban? He never put them on.

AT SFO, there seemed to be no way out, no exit to simply leave the airport. I stood and watched and eventually I realised that those in the know were going towards a man who was removing a red cord barrier over and over again.

The hotel seems to be in the city itself. It must quite seriously have been decorated by someone on an acid trip. The decor of our room gives new and challenging meaning to the term 'tart's boudoir'.
We wandered around looking for food and shower gel. Kevin had been fed earlier, I hadn't and since I travelled with just hand luggage, no gel. Everywhere we went was closed, but eventually and by accident, we found a back street that was just a row of restaurants. And at a corner shop, I found some dead sea mud that I could use in the shower.

Civilisation for the desperate.