Bucking and plunging

Up early in the splendid Ritz Carlton to pack in a frenzy. Outside, the sky blue and the Chicago skyscrapers glittering. Checked out, and met Toby and Romy in the luxurious lobby for a sad goodbye.

Then off in a yellow taxi to O'Hare airport. The friendly driver asking us where we were from. When we said England, he repeated the word as if he'd never heard of it. O'Hare not my favourite airport, and the United Airlines check in a shambles, but the flight to Toronto fine, despite rude cabin crew and inter-passenger bickering. Last time I was there on a business trip, I had to argue for 45 minutes before I was let onto the plane, as they had lost my booking.

At Toronto a beer and some small grub, before catching the Thomas Cook flight to England. Something rather nice about being called mate by the steward, and the cabin crew almost stereotypically gay, and the Irish head stewardess making the whole plane laugh as she talked to us over the PA.

The flight was fast and we arrived before dawn. Disappointingly, I had a crisis mid-Atlantic. In a period of quite bad turbulence I found myself very panicked. A tranquiliser, a gin, a long listen to my meditation tapes, not to mention reassurance from Lorraine saw me quell the existential horror.

Delighted to land, and to safely collect Pinkie and Strangeface our cases (so called as one is pink and the other has a strange face). From the train, the Sussex countryside looking green and pleasant in the first light.

Arrived feeling oddly buzzy in a sleepy Bank Holiday Brighton at 7:20am. Trundled cases into the Twitten. Home at last.