Portsmouth, Episode One

Here's something I like to do when I'm waiting to board the plane. I usually sit as close to the front as possible, so I'm one of the last people to get on the plane. During this time, I "check out" the girls boarding in front of me. No word of a lie, if it was a bar I would talk to no less than 15 of the women that were on the flight. And which one sits next to me?

None of them. None at all. I think next time I'm going to ask the ticket person to seat me next to the prettiest girl in the plane. Single is a bonus. Instead, I get the most arrogant, self-entitled oxygen thief I've ever experienced first hand. Before we had even started taxiing, he had turned around and told the nice lady behind him (a perfect stranger, mind you) to "knock it off!" because his seat was moving. It emerged that the woman to my right (yes, I, a 6ft. tall man, was given the middle seat) was settling, as she had just sat down and the movement had travelled along the structure. He then spilled half a can of Pepsi onto the leather seat, which immediately transferred to my ass, and he didn't apologise nor offer me one of the towels he eventually procured from the flight attendant, whom he treated like a head injury patient.
I truly wish I had caught his name so I could call him out online forever. Anyway, 9hrs later and I'm finally through customs. My brother and mom met me and got in her new Mercedes.

As with all transcontinental flights, the first day is always a write off. I floated through the day as much as possible, napped the afternoon away, and when I was awoken caught up with the family. Opened the bottle I bought in Duty Free (Jack Daniels Single Barrel) and got into it with dinner. Visited my Aunt and Uncle down the street, and by the time we got home we realised that we only had to wait an hour and a half for the hockey to start! Jules was most impressed, and we kept drinking whiskey. Next thing you know it's 2-1 at the end of the first and I am aware of my jet lag.

Day 2 saw a huge task ahead of us. My mother recently bought a new house, and so is getting set to move from the house we have called home since we moved to England in 1998. Of course, the downside of this is that we have an attic with 12 years worth of crap in it. Remember, I just moved my own crap last week; I became over it" pretty damn quickly, but it needed doing. Plus, it was cool to find the stuff I hadn't seen in years (school pictures anyone? Leafs jersey? Kurt Cobain's journals?) Once it was done (around 6pm), we ordered pizza, Jules went back to Bristol, and the other three of us hung around for the rest of the night.

I'll admit, this last couple of days are probably boring to an outsider, but I've enjoyed it. Trust me, the rest of the trip is going to be far more interesting. Bristol beckons, and the sun will shine.