Back from Canada
Compared to the long straight organized roads through endless flat prairie of Alberta, even British motorways look like a maze of twisty little fog-bound lanes... let alone the back-streets of London or Oxford. I’m surprised tourists from North America don’t get claustrophobia.
Alas! What photos I took are on Jamie Lokier’s digital camera in far-off Bristol. Well, I say far-off, but in Canadian terms it’s trivial, of course.
I managed to throw my back out getting the suitcases lined up ready for driving to the flight home—one moment I was putting down Jeremy’s black bag, the next I was all curled up in agony. Luckily I was able to unkink enough to hobble in to the car using a chair as an ersatz zimmer frame. The airport at Calgary loaned me a wheelchair so I had no trouble getting through check-in and customs. At Gatwick the wheelchairs have small back wheels, which means the occupant cannot wheel themselves, and instead must put up with being pushed around by an attendant. This infuriates my sister Kate no end. (She cannot use her own chair at the airport because wheelchairs have to be checked in as luggage.) I have also discovered that those electric golf-cart things are not as fun to be driven around in than you might hope. Still, I am recovering my mobility now.