Flying is for birds

And definitely not for me. Not that this flight was worse than any others. We arrived at SFO in good order. I have no memories of the airport from our arrival last October as I was totally exhausted - turns out it's quite small (well I compare everything to Heathrow which is my usual airport) and clean and quiet. Boarding was a little delayed as they forgot to board the crew and then take-off was delayed because the tunnel thingy got stuck to the plane. We were flying United because they had the best price and BA were having industrial problems when we were buying and I didn't want to risk it. The main differences seemed to be fewer inflight entertainment options and slightly bigger seats.

United took every opportunity to ensure we could see what fools we were for sitting in economy. First we boarded at the front and had to walk past all the various grades of luxury before reaching the cattle section. Then the security announcements lingered lovingly over shots of what to do should something happen while you're in an improbably comfortable and space age pod like seat. The curtain was a veil so you could see the lucky sods up front - some of whom were younger than my children which is just bloody not fair. I walked past one little girl who could have fitted two other girls next to her in the same seat  and whose feet didn't reach the end. I also walked past some rather portly people who had squeezed themselves into club class seats and would not have fitted into ours.

The girls slept quite a lot and were otherwise very excited but well-behaved. I read, watched Polanski's newest film (all right if a little dull though with a very good cast and the lovely Ewan McGregor who I always think looks a little like Tom) and then I started to feel ill.

Warning: Mention of puking coming up (literally).
 
You never see people get travel sick in films, do you? I mean no one with travel sickness ever goes into space, or has romantic encounters on transatlantic flights and so on. Well I got sick - properly into the bag on landing. And then at baggage claim. And then after spending the 45 minutes in the cab with my eyes shut trying hard not to be again, I rushed past my mother who I haven't seen in 8 months into her downstairs loo. Not quite the greeting she or I was expecting.

Three days later and we're all still jet-lagged. Tom and I are alternating bad nights of sleep and the girls are still asleep - it's nearly 10am - when normally they're both up by 8am.

It is lovely to be home. England is having a summer this year which makes a change. We have settled back in here at my mother's and feel as if we've not been away. I just wish we didn't have to fly again in a month. I really like San Francisco - I just wish it was a bit closer, like Pembrokeshire or something.