One hundred and eighty degrees.
Interestingly, that figure does not refer to temperature (even though it felt like it for a while there in Boston). Rather, the Snook and I have now traversed one hundred and eighty degrees of the globe. Kinda mind-blowing, huh? We took off from Boston Wednesday night (after spending our last day on the fabulous Sam Adams Brewery tour) and landed in London early Thursday morning. It was a vile flight. Being a bit of a chunker myself, I’ve always felt sympathetic to the plight of folks too big for conventional airplane seating. My patience was sorely tested by the lady beside me though, who spilled over into my seat to the point where I couldn’t fully lower my arm rest (as it was sitting on her leg). She also had a walking stick and about forty-seven packages sitting on her lap, which meant she wasn’t easily moved. Thus I was trapped for five hours with no aisle access and such limited elbow mobility that I felt like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Grrr.

Anyway, London seems different somehow. There are lots of shiny new buses (courtesy of Red Ken, I hear). We’re staying with our friend Alex in Fulham, which looks a lot more upmarket than I remember. Times, they are a changin’. Hopefully I’ll feel more at home when we hit a pub tonight…

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