Heathrow bardo

I left home in Bristol dead early - a 4.15 am taxi for the bus station. The taxi driver said he always works the 4 am - 1 pm shift. He was a connoisseur of the night sky before dawn, that subtle chord change from blackness to merest blue, which hung over my departure, a cool prelude for the days big trip.

Heathrow was bonkers, frenetic and completely disorientating, kind of fabulous. I love the shear massiveness the masses of humanity, movement and flux that wraps around, in and out of transitional hubs - airports, ports, stations. The United Airlines self-service check in worked beautifully provided I had a real human beside me as my guide. We enjoyed the irony. Security gave me double helpings, I got the extra prize draw, computer generated offer and prize of another search before boarding.

The flight was a ten hour to San Francisco then a short layover before flying onto Portland. No little DVD screens on the seats in front so I did weird things with my neck so I could catch the projection screen 10 rows in front showing Shrek 3, or at least 2/3rds of the screen. Gave up on the other movies and read Incubus Dreams, my latest Anita Blake Vampire hunter book. Ate the standard inflight food and enviously clocked my neighbour's special meal. She confided she'd been advised to request the Hindu diet option. Immigration and customs was uneventful, they looked stern, I looked guilty and we parted agreeably, I could come in, welcome to the USA.

Finally, at 5pmish, pacific time, landed in Portland, Oregon, claimed baggage and sat outside in the warmth and waited. Within minutes up drove Karen and little tiny baby Amelia to collect me and whisk me off to their home some 40 minutes away on the other side of the Columbia river.

Sunshine, heat, love it.