I knew I'd want to say more about our US trip - things keep coming back to me. When we were staying in the St Francis Hotel (photo) I couldn't ignore the instructions in the bedroom about what to do if there was an earthquake. I became particularly fixated on it one evening when I was feeling somewhat the worse for wear.* It told us that we were to get under "a solid piece of furniture". I fretted about this, as the only piece of furniture under which a person could crawl was a writing table in an alcove. It had a sheet of glass protecting its top, and was rather on the small side to accommodate two sheltering adults. In my wandered and slightly hysterical state I pictured limbs protruding and being hideously mangled, or shredded, perhaps, by said sheet of glass. I knew that at that precise moment I was not fit to endure an earthquake - you need to be fighting fit for such an event, I'm sure.
I'm glad I never found out about the minor tremor further down the San Andreas Fault - Mr B heroically kept that bit of TV news to himself.
*This was not, repeat not, caused by the demon drink.
Aye, but have you ever heard of a drunk hurting him/herself?
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