I got back from San Francisco last Saturday.
Despite having a two hour scheduled wait at Chicago O'Hare, we actually found we had less than 15 minutes to leg it from one gate to another, in order to catch the flight back to Heathrow. Haring down the concourse, trying not to fall over children with their imitation roller-cases or bump into elderly Chinese matrons with bigger than normal holdalls, is an exercise I'm not ready to undertake again any time soon.
Since Saturday, my body has resolutely refused to switch from San Franciscan time and although I feel fine, I seem to be completely out of phase with the world around me.
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