Reunions

A week ago, I boarded a plane for the first time since July 2007. As I sat staring down at glaciers on my way north to Seattle, I realised that this may have been the longest time I've ever gone without a flight in my life. Flying felt familiar and comfortable. A reunion of sorts.

Seattle was a literal and figurative breath of fresh air and it reminded me of London.

None of the manicured and fake foliage of Southern California. Instead, natural grass verges with dandelions and impromptu clusters of ivy-clad trees.

Pubs that have big windows, outside drinking and solo customers unashamedly reading a paper with a pint. None of the blacked-out seediness and social stigma of drinking in LA.

Crumpets and the best tea I've tasted in America: big, stewing pots of builders' breakfast tea with free refills. None of the weak, shadowy breakfast blends served up in overpriced LA coffee shops.

I felt nostalgic in all of this. But not in the crippling, longing way of old. The nostalgia wasn't a huge gash that needed skin grafts and stitches; it was a graze that needed a dab of antiseptic and a sticking plaster.

And, needless to say, there are many things about Seattle that don't remind me of London.

Mountains.

Lakes.

Waterfalls.

I returned to LA on Sunday. I appreciated the four-day change but I was pleased to be back.