The Friday Roast, Second Only to the Wednesday Roast and the Sunday Roast.

Some of the joys of world-wandering are small seats (aforementioned), moderate food (with a good airline) and free booze (see previous). In this, BA is tolerable, obviously aside from the already mentioned lack of space for the averagely apportioned human being.

The key to Transatlantic flying, it turns out, is the vino – two with pre-dinner drinks, two with dinner and another one as they are cleaning up afterwards – that put me to sleep for a bit (possibly in conjunction with the one pint in Manchester and the three in Heathrow [blame the bloke going to Mexico as we moaned about travel problems for the third]) – that sorted the first three hours, along with a book and some nosh.
The films offered to us in the classiest of slavers vary – this time i managed to sleep through the Kings Speech (but at least I missed three hours of the flight), and I watch Gandhi.
As one crosses the colonial lake, one can only think ‘bugger me, we started so well, yet cocked up so monumentally and slightly gallantly.’
I’m off back to California, and while it should be a lovely trip, a dream for most Mancunians, it is still a bit of a ball-ache. I need a holiday, but is the Golden State that?
Well, sort of – what I really want, as I thought about at 6am – some twelve hours ago – is a holiday somewhere new, exciting and (god forbid) foreign! Instead, I go home. Again, this it beaches, sun and surf – but bugger me I can’t be arsed – instead I’m much more interested in my potential trip to Istanbul in August. I want to see the Hagia Sofia, a random coffee shop, and Galllipoli ( a bit of a trek, yes). This will produce a few more pins in the map, and I’ll get to see some cool stuff – plus its a shorter flight than the California I’ve already seen (for better than 14 years).
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The problem with watching the film Gandhi is that I now badly want a curry – chicken – probably a Jalfrezi or Rogan Josh – spicy but not fire-burning. No matter what, I’m only over Canada and I miss the Jalal.
PS – I’ve now been back in the UK for about 13 hours, and plan to visit that fine purveyor of spiced dinners this evening.

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