The California Cold Rush

More complaints about the cold from the Californians - it's 70 degrees for goodness sake!  I have come to appreciate that it is not that it is particularly cold in Wales (albeit we have been chortling excessively about how bad the weather seems to be back home), it's that our central heating system's are so bad that we get used to draughts and below 68 degree living conditions, not to mention freezing offices until the head of RHS at Aber decides to put the heating on every year.  Thus, what we regard as mild is actually freezing to an American, but they cope with real cold weather much better as well.

Anyhow, back to California.  Julian made a fairly huge fool of himself upon arrival at the hotel by forgetting he was driving an automatic with the handbrake on the other side and letting his car roll back into the BMW behind.  No damage was done, no-one lost their temper, so naturally he is expecting a multi-million dollar lawsuit in due course citing a write-off of the Beamer, whiplash to the driver, personal anguish and distress, as well as loss of earnings.

But he made it to Pasadena without killing either of us.  I really do not understand why tourists are allowed on the roads here in charge of tons of potentially lethal machinery.  You can turn right on a red signal, turning left is simply a nightmare, multi-lane freeways have absolutely no lane discipline whatsoever, and Julian is arguing with the SatNav which is a distracting and somewhat pointless exercise.

It was therefore a huge relief to get to the venue, the offices of yet another star alumna in Angela Hawekotte, where she and her friends and colleagues had laid on a magnificent spread - enough probably for the entire alumni body in the US and certainly more than could be managed by the attendees.  It was delicious, however, and even I managed to pick at some rice and peas which, whilst not best Welsh grass, was still welcome after our traumatic day.  Angela had also managed to find some British beer which, tragically, Julian had to decline.  I don't care about him, you understand, but I usually get some when he drinks it.

By this time, Julian was starting to wilt.  He fronted up, though, and couldn't help but be swept along by the enthusiasm and friendliness around him and the genuinely positive response to his bumbling speech.  As usual, the event over-ran and we found ourselves driving back "Downtown" in an even more precarious process than heretofore.

Now it is off to the land down under, where Aussie cricketers weep and sheep wander.  Notwithstanding that it's a fourteen hour flight, Julian is pleased because Qantas have decided to change the A380 (you know, the new megaplanes with the optional engines) to a good old-fashioned Jumbo jet.  I'm just looking forward to seeing a few of my 38,000,000 cousins.

So it's Sydney next time, you little beauties, and a fair dinkum do!