“Welcome to London. It’s a blustery day here,” said the announcement, as the plane touched down at London Heathrow. “It’s raining.”

It didn’t take me long to figure this out for myself.

As I stepped out a paper bag blew up and smacked me in the crotch. A sort of telling off, I imagined, for my month in California.

Even as I write this I can see litter blowing up and smacking people for their sins. I think of how they ignore bins here, as they do social niceties.

A rather rude customer service advisor has just told me that I can’t travel on an earlier train to see my mum on Mother’s Day.

It smacked with irony then when James Blunt came on the radio.

“My life is brilliant,” he mocked.

Whomever smiled at him on a subway, I thought to myself, can’t have been riding the Tube.

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