University Life

Well I’m all checked into the University of Louisville, unpacked, organised and at a diner having some salad and a small pizza for an early dinner/late lunch. This place is huge. Bloody huge. And I am thoroughly over-excited!

Starting with a late checkout at the hotel, enabling me to watch repeat episodes of ER and The Family Guy from the comfort of my King Size bed.. today is a good day indeed. I caught a cab here (expensive!) and had a completely mad driver who lectured me on American politics from the moment I shut the passenger door.. he was overweight with very long grey hair, a lazy eye and glasses – and waxed lyrical on the downfall of the republican party, explained that he was a conservative, not a republican and George Bush had personally let him down by being a Republican in Conservative clothing.

Once finished on that rant – half of which I didn’t understand – and during which I nodded encouragement as he swore and spat on the steering wheel.. he launched into the gun ownership debate – and whilst staring at me with his lazy eye.. and concurrently watching the road.. he said “If you were a burgler would you break into a guys house who HAD a gun, or the guys house who didn’t!? I mean.. sure – the guy with the gun will have nicer stuff.. but at least if you burgle the no-gun house you’ll come out with something AND your life.” – it was logic I couldn’t dispute and so I continued to murmur support and encouragement.. at least to get him to train both eyes on the road (as impossible as that seemed to be).

Just prior to settling into this restaurant I visited the University Bookstore for a bit of a lark. I love stationery and thought maybe (as if I don’t have enough crap to carry) I could pick up something freshly pressed, lined, and ruled with spiral binding.. But instead I walked into the store only to find it open up inside like a giant stadium with two young guys behind the counter who reminded me VERY much of the comic book store guy in The Simpsons, crossed with the guys in Clerks.

I had a look around and chanced upon something most extraordinary – which really prompted me to sit my ass down and tell you about it.

They have SORORITY AND FRATERNITY merchandise. MERCHANDISE!!

Not just a book cover.. we’re talking colour coded nail files, shot glasses, cosmetic items, post it notes, pens, diaries, hair accessories and car license plate covers. Apparently it’s big business, and according to Clerk 1, and Clerk 2 students don’t think twice about dropping buy to pay $200 or so for their colour coded greek items. I’m going to sneak back in there, and chat with the geeky boys to see if I can take a photo of the stand as really?! Its ridiculous.

Apparently the Delta Zeta girls are the slut blonde sorority – so I’m going to buy some of their merchandise to support the whoring and show my appreciation for bimbos who can comfortably rest their ankles behind their heads for hours.

Q15. Where is Hetty’s Bag?

I am now at the hotel in Louisville.

It’s hot – waaaay hot, and there is a gigantic indoor and a gigantic outdoor pool with incredibly tanned people lolling around it.

I sit here expectantly. Why? Because &*@#^!% American Airlines have left my backpack in Chicago. I’m not quite sure which part of the sentence “passenger and belongings must end up a the same destination at the same time” airport people don’t understand.. perhaps it’s the grammar.. perhaps it’s the fact that they are all illiterate, inbred, good for nothing, no-hoping, genetically inferior losers. Who knows.

All I know is I’m in a tracksuit in 38 degree weather, watching people cavorting by the pool and I have NO BAG, NO CLOTHES, NO TOILETRIES. A curse on all their houses. It better bloody arrive within the next 2 hours or I’m going to call them and throw a wobbly.. made even more violent by the fact that no matter how much of a wobbly I throw – it won’t make my bag appear any faster.

(PS – also have no hire car. And no, I don’t want to talk about it)

Peanut Butter & Jelly Thighs

Well it’s 10:30am on Thursday 26^th June and I’ve just gotten on the smallest plane i’ve ever been on in my life. Death is the one thing that immediately springs to mind on alighting.. and considering my conversation last night over deep dish pizza (yes I ate it twice, it’s that good) about how dying from a plane crash wouldn’t be that bad.. I hope that the powers that be don’t decide to play the irony card and send this tin can crashing into the Missisippi.

I am leaving Chicago – Chicago – Chicago. What a goddamn amazing town. It’s smacked me in the head with the whooomp of a padded bar – similar to the Gladiator show – and I’d love to say that I was expecting it to be that fantastic.. but really – I had no idea. It doesn’t plug into my viscera quite the same way as New York – which is the equivalent (i’d imagine) of whacking some crack – but it is a divine, comfortable, cozy feeling. Which now that I think of it, is probably easily explained.. but lets move on. What was the analogy I used the other day? Ah yes – like receiving a free cd with a magazine, and upon listening realising it’s really cool and and keeping it on high ipod rotation forever onwards.

What have I been up to? Well – I’ve been away from WiFi for one.. and hanging out in a lovely apartment in the south of the city with Tim the 5 String Electric Bass Player and his diminutive but charming flatmate Paul who is off to join something called Americore – which is either peacekeeping or porn.. or both. Paul is an obsessive compulsive cycling drummer who sleeps on the floor in a sleeping bag. Both facts indicate a possible predetermination to psychotic behaviour later in life – or a large financial investment in chiropractic medicine. However, I do jest, as I found him very sweet and charming – and we share a delicious and gluttonous propensity for peanut butter eaten straight from the jar.

Tim the 5 String Electric Bass Player and Paul live on a fantastical street, with interesting old apartments and empty grassy blocks interspersed with factories. Apparently The Dark Knight was filmed around there.. i definitely picked up the scent of celebrity. It’s urban, like Keith, but that doesn’t stop bunny rabbits having a gay old time in the empty lots and hopping around the streets at night. For some reason the idea of a rabbit in a city is absurd to me.. and very cool.

I’ve been in Chicago since Sunday night – and haven’t done an awful lot of touristy things, and have chosen to watch DVDs, go to the movies and tagging along with native Chicagoans on their errands. It’s been a good period of downtime – as the wedding in Decatur was highly charged with emotion and super busy as I was staying with the beautiful bride’s incredibly effervescent an generous family, and I’ll be subjecting myself to dorm living for the next 8 days or so in Kentucky. The movie I saw on Monday night, is called “The Happening” by M Night Shamalamalama-tinky-winky. I love his other films – The Sixth Sense, The Village, The Lady in The Water, Signs – but this one was a little lacking somewhere along the way. I won’t give away the story – but look forward to discussing opinions of fellow cinema-goers. Of course like my Sex In The City film experience in San Francisco, I was so sucked into the story that when the credits rolled I was plunged into confusion for about 20 mins .. thinking I was at The Jam Factory cinema in Melbourne.. and then being confronted with Chicago! But unlike watching Sex In the City in a strange town after eating a burger the size of my head I didn’t come out of The Happening feeling like a fat, squat, stubbled loser with no fashion sense, no money and no husband.

At the wedding (which was divine, and my most heartfelt love goes out to the new couple as they honeymoon in the Dominican Republic).. I had the good fortune to meet some charming Brits, who have been staying in Chicago as well this week – they fly home tonight I believe. As a final hoorah we all went out last night to watch the fireworks on Navy Pier – which were choreographed to rock and pop music (ACDC was included! I was proud). And had champagne whlist looking out onto Michigan Avenue from the top floor of The Drake Hotel.. the Executive Suite! Very proper. Finished with a late night deep dish pizza at Due’s.. which again expanded over the next 3 hours into an enormous tomato’d corn-meal’d ball of indigestion bringing tears to the eyes of everyone involved. After all this eating my thighs have their own zip code.

Speaking of celebrities earlier.. on Tuesday evening in Lincoln Park a new movie has begun filming – massive trucks and catering and costumes and whatnot – taking over a whole street. I asked a local what was going on and apparently Johnny Depp was there. I’d like to say I saw him – and did suggest to the British Contingent that we take the elevator in a nearby hotel up to the roof to spy on the filming – but was out of luck. Johnny and I will have to get together another time.

The plane has risen to 20,000 ft, and I’m looking out the window at white fluffy clouds floating on a blue sea of sky. Haven’t crashed yet. The clouds look very much like whipped egg white – I’ve taken some photos.. as I continue to write this the plane is approaching a drop off and the view, though so bright i’m wearing my sunglasses, is beautiful! On the other hand, as I’m flying American Eagle, the stewardesses aren’t beautiful, but resemble dessicated and bleached pieces of coral found on a deserted beach – animated and made into a gaggle of dried up old spinsters with trolleys. At least they didn’t spit on me or in my drink.. flying these airlines can be like sitting in the back of a sheep transporting lorry.

Upon arriving at Louisville, Kentucky – pronounced by some Americans as ‘Luhrvelle” – I am going to attempt to a) scare the shit out of myself and b) do something i haven’t done before.. as i’ve had a reasonably lax week on the scary front. I am going to hire a car. YES! Hire a car. And I’m going to not only drive it to my hotel, but drive it to WalMart (should I really let myself loose in a store like that on my own!?) and also attempt at some point to drive down to Mammoth Cave to see the National Park. It’s about an hour and a half south of Louisville. I have never driven in this country before, citing terror and ineptitude as the culprits, but I think at 31 years old I should get over that crap and give it a shot. There are plenty of morons out there operating machinery, I may as well add myself to the mix and spice it up a bit.

How to Pick up Chicks 101

1. Hang out in Walmart with an empty trolley

2. Push it around the feminine hygiene section

3. When you see a girl on her own, ask her “Hey, didn’t I see you in Walmart the other day?”

4. Ask her out for drinks and tell her “there’s nothing to do around here, we should hang out, I’m lonely.”

—- fool proof —–

Yes this did happen to me.. and after much deliberation with some American friends we have decided that I have a mental condition which means I am UNABLE to differentiate between a crazy American and a normal American. To me – all Americans are good, and appropriate fodder for friendship and conversation.. hence me being propositioned in Walmart with a boxful of tampons and fanny freshener in my hand.

After some more deliberation I would like to put it forth that I actually have a very limited ability to differentiate between a crazy an non crazy Australian too. This explains a lot in my life.

- – - -

Am now sitting at an internet cafe, with a sore stomach from drinking a bottomless bucket of coffee on an empty stomach, in downtown Chicago. Apparently the ghetto area. The cafe is divine and the sandwiches are tasty, and I’m waiting for someone to pop a cap in my ass. I’d pay good money for a Mylanta right now though.

Today is a day of rest. Am back from the wedding in Decatur Illinois – and slept in and am preparing myself for an evening of doing not much. I think the new Batman movie is out – so I am off to see that fo sho. Opposite me is Chicago Tim the 5 String Electric Bass Player who is 6′5″. He has an avid dislike for people who come barrelling up to him asking him if he “plays ball” or telling him that “they have a son who is tall too…” – Apparently this is a common affliction of tall people – us shortarses think that all tall people have something wonderful in common. They are tall.

This actually means that they have NOTHING in common and don’t care a jot if your nephew, uncle, neighbour, dentist, son or cousin is tall. Please take this to heart and think next time you speak to a tall person.

Chicago Tim is on his Macbook – a white and worrisome thing – and is planning his week out whilst dealing with a mad Aussie who has descended upon him. I think on Wednesday we’re driving to some guitar repair shops and visiting his mother to collect an amp. And on Thursday I fly out to Kentucky at 10:30am. Yeah. The land of Sweet Tea, Mint Juleps, and mosquitos the size of chihuahuas.

Happy as a Cat up a Tree

I am on a train, and slowly losing any connection or care regarding Australia, Melbourne, Car Registration payments, outstanding bills, and winter weather. Each little stressful memory of this past year, builders and real life crap is rattling it’s way out of my pores like salt from a saltshaker with each rumble of this carriage. I’m surrounded by lush green cornfields, the other passengers are peaceful and it’s romantic, tragic and enriching all at once. God bless this vacation, God bless bottomless coffee, and God Bless America.

Chicago was such a divine experience that I’m not sure it’s really sunk in, but i can be sure to get back up there as soon as I can. I’ve sung, drunk copious amounts of vodka, been chased around by German Police Officers who’d like to have a shower with me, caught the bus, looked at gigantic mirrored beans and hung out with some lovely musicians (who all think i’m a mental alcoholic – which is not far off what lovely Australian musicians think either.. maybe it’s the truth.. but being away from any driving responsibility is a big loosener for one’s self restraint.)

And now i’m 31 years old. Best birthday ever. I’m a grownup now.

On Sunday night I was invited to Andy’s Jazz Bar – the last night of being 30 – and had a great time with my new friend who plays 5 String Electric Bass (and is on the run from the Chicago Jazz Police), I drank martinis and toodled around… leaving with the band to go to a great bar with an ENORMOUS jukebox consting of all the best Jazz Albums you can imagine. I got over excited – put in too much money and ended up having to pick 45 tunes.. which in itself was very difficult as there were about 100 albums in there. Still over excited I started slamming down vodka like a woman posessed, dancing with the door man and chatting to all and sundry (which is when the wheels fell off the evening). It was a man called Kevin. Damn you Kevin. Damn you.

Kevin and his friend (total randoms) hijacked me on the way back to the band table from the Ladies Loo. My friend Tim looked over (apparently) to see me climbing over the bar to sit with them and then chugging tequila shots whilst laughing hilariously – he (being a sensible bass player) saw the light, realised disaster was imminent, and launched himself in his 6′5” way across the room to rescue me from myself (those of you who have tried something similar will nod and say, yes – like nailing jelly to a wall) only to have me wave him away and slurr “i’m fine”.. “I’M FINE!!”.. (famous last words).

I can’t remember the rest of the evening (not a jot) but do remember being driven home with one eye open to counteract the nausea, vertigo and the inability to focus both my peepers at the same time. God alone knows what the Chicago Muso’s thought.. I can’t remember a damn thing.. Though i do have the photos and they are attrocious. Let’s hope Australian charm will carry me through that social faux pas – and at least I didn’t set myself on fire (NYC 2005) or vomit on anyone.

My birthday, obviously, was spent being very hungover. So hungover, that when I arrived at the Greyhound bus station at 2:15pm – which is like a concrete toilet block resurrected from the depths of hell with every kind of derelict bum loitering with intent inside and outside it – I was very unimpressed to have to queue 3 times in separate queues to get the ticket I’d already bought online. Whilst waiting I was treated to an attractive vision involving a larger Mexican man wailing in Spanish whilst disrobing and changing into his jeans and t-shirt in the middle of the bus terminal. It was hot, it was smelly, it was full of bums, bogans, the mentally challenged, the financially challenged, the personality challenged and the entire production was uttery unorganised. And the idea of sitting on that bus for 4 hours was not that great. Luckily, and unluckily, when I spent my last 45 mins standing in a queue to rebuy my ticket as they’d made my original ticket for a different day – I missed my bus. The very last bus to Decatur.

Though on the run from the Jazz Police, and in disguise, Tim came to my rescue and picked me up, took me home, cooked me dinner, and let me watch him play beach volleyball at Lincoln Park, then we watched a movie (Hostel 2 – my review: utter garbage and not in the least bit scary 3 out of 5)… Thank god for him and his creative out of tune vocal arrangements of classic jazz standards. I’ve slept all day today (Tuesday) and ate a ginormous burrito at the BEST Mexican restaurant in Chicago before getting on this very train to go downstate. I feel almost human – though hangdog at my boozy behaviour – and Tim is the best.. and Chicago is now my 2^nd favourite city in the States. Not sure anything can top the Big Apple. But you never know. One should not get too comfortable on ones throne.

However I must stop drinking vodka, they FREE-POUR in this country. Brain – remember that! I reckon I drank about 450ml of pure Grey Goose as well as beer, wine and martini – and the shots. It’s lucky I didn’t die of alcohol poisoning (won’t happen.. I have the constitution of an ox). At least I’m preparing for NY. Have packed my backpack with flame retardant clothing and have a rucksack full of milk thistle. I’m ready.

Drop it like it’s Hot

It’s 2pm on Sunday 15th June.. and not quite my birthday yet. Though I managed to party until 5am this morning, dragging hapless 5 string electric bass players along with me.  I am beginning to realise an accent and extroversion in this country get you everywhere.. though you do have to sift through the lunatics to find the real gems. Which, I suppose, isn’t far off Melbourne really.

Yesterday I was invited down to Navy Pier to see a free concert by a 11 piece funk/latin/soul band called Power Play (terrible name). The singer had the most enormous boobs I’ve ever seen in my life and the band was very loud, but I enjoyed it immensely. I even took a bus to get there!

The dancing was extraordinary, and I was most impressed by the way these Chicagoans get their groove on, though as a nervous dancer at the best of times I declined to partake, staying safely on a bench with my bucket of Heineken. Which is where I met Crystal and Daniel. This couple – him a native Chicago lad and her a Wyoming native American, were down hanging out – and we got chatting – laughing and had a great old time! They introduced me to the finer elements of Chicago life and accents – which involves turning “th” into “d” and saying Kak instead of cock. I was sent on cigarette bumming duty for Crystal and my opening line was “Hi, I’m Australian and I have a nicotine addiction. May I bum a cigarette from you?” – as long as I followed this with my drivers license to verify my nationality – it worked every time. Crystal was most impressed.

So impressed in fact that they took me out to Due – the best Deep Dish Pizza restaurant in town.. and those babies are HUGE! I have never seen anything like it. They’re about 5 to 8 cm high, with a delicious crust made of cornmeal and are filled with about 4 cms of topping. I managed to squeeze down 2 slices (which I later regretted as they took a LONG time to digest). A table was next to us of (naturally) very hot Italian men, and they really didn’t know what the hell was going on, but agreed the pizzas were good as they staggered out of the restaurant goggle eyed clutching their distended stomachs.

I took a bus back to the hostel (again – kudos to me as I hate buses and they frighten me terribly), and hit the Mylanta to combat the ever expanding cornmeal in my belly – whacked on a pair of jeans and got in a cab to head over to Wicker Park for a party.

Wicker Park / Bucktown is like Brunswick Street I suppose, though way cooler and not as hairy. Tim the 5 String Electric Bass Player I met at The Green Mill the other night dragged me along for his friends birthday party and I was surrounded by very curious 25 year olds who kept saying “oh, so you’re the Australian..” – I’m sure they were thinking snack, but kept that to themselves. They are in a Hip Hop Band or something similar, and sport tattoos, cool clothes, hats, baggy jeans.. all in all looked like they should have been in a hipster music video. One of them was decidedly mental, and kept muttering nonsense under his breath which I attempted to decipher then gave up after about 10 mins. He rolled his eyes and mooched along from one club to the next – and I did question Tim the 5 String Electric bass Player

*being hijacked by germans for breakfast bagels.. must run will continue later*

Prison Break.

I just met a man here, who is lovely – like a big Nevada Bear.. called Joey – who is here from Reno. I asked him what he is doing here in the hostel and he said “i’m here to party”.. I’m like ok.. then he said “Sweetie, would you like to know the real reason that i’m here?”

I said.. “Sure!” (with gleaming eyes).

And hows this!? He was on parole in Nevada and skipped the state to party here in Chicago. He’s served his time in prison.. and decided he’d had enough – so got in the car and crossed the state line (well several actually)!

We smoked a (very harsh and enormous) rolled cigarette, and as I picked the tobacco ends out of my mouth, whilst trying not to cough.. we discussed prison life, the death penalty, and general law breaking activities.

If that isn’t the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me in my life I don’t know what is.

Am now off to a bar to meet a bass player dude (this holiday is so full of bass players, they’re everywhere and super nice .. like in Australia).  It’s his friends birthday drinks.. I am the honorary entertainment (and as long as nobody calls me a snack or asks me if i’m married I’ll be fine..)

Not Drowning. Waving.

Americans have an enormous problem with the fact that i’m travelling alone, and seem to believe it’s their duty to rectify that sad state of affairs. An announcement of the fact that I am indeed in the country by myself is met with an incredulous look – closely followed by intimate questions regarding my relationship status “Are you married?”, “Why not?” and “Where are your family?”

Usually once I have established myself as an unloveable orphan I am usually bequeathed my very own American tour guide/confidante/lover (in whichever order) which I do find incredibly kind – but equally incredibly irritating. There is something so beautifully peaceful about being by oneself, and sometimes sitting peacefully with a glass of wine, or walking a strange city street totally alone is like communing with a higher power. Your mind can wander where it will, you don’t have to make conversation.. and can I wax more lyrically? Probably – but i’m even boring myself so i’ll introduce you to my kindly donated companion yesterday… Floyd.

Floyd came upon me as I was walking out of a Borders store downtown. I’d spent the afternoon at Millennium Park and the Sears Tower and was feeling most delighted in the situation I found myself in. I planned to walk up Michigan Avenue, head to Navy Pier, hit American Apparel, eat a pizza and then head back to the hostel for a quick shower before going to The Green Mill for some jazz.

Crossing the road, I get tapped on the shoulder by a very tall man with a booming voice and told “get your ticket out of your back pocket, someone will steal it” – I’m like… what ticket?! (it was the sears tower ticket.. just junk). So I thank him for his kind advice, and we get chatting. He invited me to a show with someone called Dave Roz (?) and someone else called Pee Wee Herman or something.. Peebles ?? No idea. Anyway I declined, but he insisted and was quite bullying and guilting.. so of course – being the pussy that I am, I get bamboozled to going to Navy Pier with him by bus to walk around before the show. (but secretly on the inside I was a bit miffed).

We wander around Navy Pier- chatting away, and he ascertains I am an unloved orphan with no friends and tells me that he’s there for me if I need companionship. Basically – I decline, and try to exit stage left using tiredness as an excuse.

and was in for a bit of a shock… as Floyd wasn’t going to be put off so easily.

Grasping my hand he announces that I can’t go as he’s lonely – to which I replied that him being lonely wasn’t my problem and i wanted to go home. I then got shouted at and told that I had “misled him” and I was “a player”. All in public mind you. I laughed awkwardly and thought he was joking so played along a bit, gave him a pat on the shoulder and made a big deal of being tired and having to go.

We walked to the end of the pier.

By this time he was wailing and pretending to cry. But the icing on the cake was not that I was being defamed and called a ‘user’, but when he started hollering at me “Is this because you think I’m the wrong colour?” To be honest he could have been purple with green spots for all I cared, I just wanted to get away from this enormous 48 year old anxious, lonely man who was behaving like a lunatic.

I finally did get away – though he insisted on getting on the same bus as me and “seeing me to my subway station” – he walked me to the station then put a gold love heart in my bag pocket and made me “give him a hug” like “I loved him”.

I have never been so relieved to get on public transport in my life… and threw the stupid heart out the window. What a f*cking creep! And not only that, I then get honed in on by a guy called Chris on the train – who actually was pretty chilled out – though I was VERY edgy after my Floyd experience. I almost feel like avoiding downtown altogether just in case he bumps into me again and starts accusing me of rejecting him based on colour. It’s not very encouraging when people don’t realise that no matter what colour, race or creed you are – if you’re an asshole. You’re an asshole.

And no – I’m not married, and yes, I am travelling alone. Thanks for asking.

Lost Post..

I lost the post about the hot Spaniard in SFO (mustn’t harp on!). I lost it, then found, and now i’ve lost it again.. how annoying – it was hilarious.

Anyway – on way out to go to The Green Mill jazz club.. Way uptown. Had my afternoon hijacked by a f*ckwit today which has left me tired, grumpy and very hungry with no time to eat. I just want to be left alone to enjoy some chill time.. seems all and sundry feel it’s their duty to be my ‘companion’ as i’m travelling alone. *sigh*

Goin’ to Chicago – Sorry but I can’t take you!

I am in Chicago. And I love it – more than San Fran, but much less than NY (nothing can top that city..)Chicago is big, sprawling and full of diverse and interesting people.. I’ve been offered free crepes, free wifi and free love all within 2 days. I was most interested in the free wifi.

The flight to get here was a nightmare, I booked an early one – got up at 4am to get it.. it was very cheap because it went via Las Vegas (which if you look at a map of the USA is NOT between San Francisco and Chicago) and it would take about 7 hours. But I thought at least i’ll save a few dollars, right? Wrrrrrong choice.

Basically we all piled onto the plane, and then were told – after sitting there for 20 mins, that the pilot was rejecting that plane as the engineers had not guaranteed 100% the pressurization of the cabin would work. So off we pile to another plane about 6 gates along. (At this point I began to worry about my connecting flight in Vegas… and the fact that I may miss it).

The pilot, bless his conscientious ass, rejected that plane too – so we were stuck there. But they booked me onto another connecting flight from Vegas so by the time I got there it would be ok.. I settle down with my laptop, book, ipod and large coffee to begin the wait.

15 mins later my name gets read out over the PA and I’m told they’ve got me a seat on a plane that goes direct, and it’s leaving NOW so I have to run to another terminal (read: 1 kilometre away). I run like hell.

Following me is a tall dark European lad who ends up sitting next to me on the plane. He’s french and highly irritating. HIGHLY irritating. I of course, had had bugger all sleep and am intolerant at the best of times let alone sleep deprived, and though I tried to concentrate on his sexy French accent – his bad breath and moronic behaviour won out and I decided to hate him.

This was compounded by the fact that when i showed him a song on my ipod he took this to mean he could listen to it for the rest of the journey..! And when I gently tried to prise it off him he said “Ohh, but ‘etty – mai eye-pod battery is, ah, stopped – Eye will listen to yourrs, oui?” I said “Non.” A very awkward argument ensued.. he didn’t get the ipod.

The next item of mine he was after was this laptop – I was playing tetris and he said “Ah, that is mai favourite game, I will play? Oui?” – again. “Non” was my firm answer.. and I just counted down the hours til I was rid of him. The stewardess, Betty Lou, didn’t help when she fed him an entire bottle of red wine and kept making jokes about us “getting up to no good” when she closed the curtain across our seats.

Once at Chicago O’Hare Airport I had a funny feeling in my cockles that my bag may not have been alerted to the fact that I was no longer going to Vegas.. and sure enough – it hadn’t. My bag was very happy, boozing, schmoozing and probably getting high in California whilst I was clotheless – cosmetic-less and highly pissed off in Illinois. United promised to Fed Ex it to me – and they did.. the next morn at 7am. Thank God for that.