Back To That Same Old Place

Home time. Less than 50% of sunny days, lost passport, few aches and pains but no real injuries or incidents. Win.

Managed to get through the whole Mexican airport passport wrangling situation quite easily. Seems that the tease that the passport might have get given back was misleading, The person who was 'offering' to get it to me took a fright when colleagues became suspicious and the offer went away. When I whipped out a police report, I was told it still might be found but it wasn't. I was told I'd need to spend 1.5 hours and $50 dollars for a duplicate customs form. 25 mins and no dollars. Whisked through passport control in time for some recreational duty free shopping. No bother.

The cabin crew knew i was sin documentario and approached me like a bereaved person, being v kind. They asked if they could get me anything and I said no, however one of my more mercenary friends suggested a complimentary copy of OK magazine might make me happier. It didn't cos I was hapy enough but it cheered her up enormously.

I expected a more thorough grilling at the Border Control in Manchester. We practised what I'd say, how I'd prove I was me given I dont have any photos of my fellow travellers only a cuddly mouse in varying locations. I thought I might have to claim asylum. I practised saying 'Cmoan, gonnae go and let me in an' that' as proof that I cumfae Scotland now an' that. Seems to have worked, they couldn't have been less bothered. Too easy. I was at the carousel before the luggage, a little disappointing.

Anyway, homeward bound, I snapped this sign put up to welcome me. I'm not 100% up on what it means but I know Alba is white in latin and as it was certainly freezy frosty white all the way up I'm guessing Failte means fog or some other appropriate F word.

Slainte.




Sweet Home Chicago, Blue Brothers.