The Wild West

If you've been wondering where I'd gotten to, my sweets, it's because I spent last week in San Diego. Yes, that's right, our company has team meetings in the land of sand and sunshine. And big zoos. And forest fires, but let's leave that out for now.

Got off the six hour flight from New York, jumped into a cab, and asked the cabbie to take me to the W Hotel downtown.
"Work event?" he enquired.
"Yep."
"Wow, your work puts you up in a party hotel?!"
Apparently.

And he wasn't kidding. I walked into my room and there was a welcome note, along with two beers, some beach flip flops, a set of his and hers boxer shorts and a teddy bear, all compliments of the house. And an enormous satin stuffed ball on the bed which I'm sure was meant to be funky but which made me kind of nervous so that even when I slept I kept my body straight along an edge, with a wary eye on the monstrosity which dominated the rest of the bed.

I made mental notes of the street names I passed so that I could come back and tell Mr. and Mrs. Pooks (for this is the land from whence they hail), but as soon as I got on the flight to return, I promptly forgot.

I do remember eating some authentic Mexican food though, and some thai food to die for. And I distinctly remember some hours spent around the fire at the rooftop beach side bar.

And I do remember some work, but that's a hazy blur in the distant past.

And such was my introducton to San Diego.