Half-eaten egg sandwich and cold coffee to hand, a typical blogger tries to conceal his identity

Big Mom gives

us a Toronto blessing

At Toronto we change planes and have a three-hour stopover. We join a slow-moving mass of travelers without thinking where we are heading. I come to after ten minutes of this and approach an information desk staffed by eight uniformed Air Canada people. “Excuse me,” I say in a quiet and polite lost-and-bewildered-Englishman-abroad voice to the red uniform in the middle of the eight. “But can you point me in the direction of the transit lounge?” No answer. She is looking down at something on the desk beside her. “I think I may be a bit lost,” I say encouragingly to her, hoping to arouse a maternal instinct perhaps. I hover uncomfortably. She can’t be deaf surely? Then a hand come up from behind the desk and gestures in a broad sweeping motion. She still doesn’t look up but I hear a voice saying loudly: “It’s IN FRONT of you.”

“Thank you for your advice,” I say. “You are a credit to

Air Kanaydia. I’m sorry if I disturbed your sleep.”

Of course, I don’t say that at all. I’m flustered. I look around and see that the red uniform is right. The transit lounge is indeed in front of me. I redden and slope away.

Later I summon up the spirit of Big Mom and Wendy, the battling belles of Bodega Bay. Big Mom wouldn’t have stood for this. She would have given the red uniform the fright of her life wouldn’t she? Yes, of course she would! With one clunking throw of her mighty fist she would have swept all the eight uniforms to the ground like scattered skittles. And their desk would have been reduced to splinters. Good old Big Mom, I think. I misjudged you. We’d make a great team. I’d be George to your Lennie. OK? You know what’s important. Come back!

As we leave the aircraft at Heathrow a rugged, silver-haired member of the crew who personifies authority and competence is saying his farewells to us travelers. He has the sort of face that can sell insurance. “ It was such a smooth flight. Thank you for piloting us so well and safely,” Jane tells him with her unfailing enthusiasm. “Thanks for that,” says rugged silver hair. “But I’m one of the cabin staff.”

So that’s about it. But what about the lists? I was going to list all the good things and the bad things, wan’t I? The good things would have stuff like pretty irises growing on San Francisco’s pavements and the tram cars. The bad things would have been things like American puddings (don’t go there!) and tissues (they shred at first blow). But I’m not too good at lists. When it comes down to it I just forget things I want to include.

But what I’m going to give you next is something much more useful. I’m going to give you SOME HINTS FOR TRAVELLERS TO THE U.S. I think it’s only fair, since you have been following me so far, that I give you something useful if you happen to be heading in that direction. Stay tuned!