How can you not love Seattle?

This past week, life took me to Seattle for a spot of work. Now, I normally look upon work travel with a considerable degree of disgruntlement.

For one (and perhaps most importantly), it involves rummaging for (and shaking the dust off) my only pair of work trousers.

For another, the flight creates an environment where I am always, reliably, faced with rebuff and rejection: trying to engage my co-passengers in conversation. I'm of the philosophy that, hey, if I'm going to face six hours chained into a seat next to you, then at least I'm to turn to look at you and say hello. And I expect the same in return. Unfortunately, the rest of the world is of the philosophy that if the person next to you looks over and says hello, the best response is to look away in terror and pretend to fall asleep. Bah. Scrooges.

And then there's Queen Jaffa, who is none too happy about being left with a bowl of water and a pile of dry food for a few days. No sirree. She expects me to be there at her beck and call, and is entirely unforgiving of trite excuses like work travel.

But all the same, grumblings aside, I have to admit I love going to Seattle. How can you not love a city surrounded by snow-capped mountains wherever you look? How can you not love a city where you get to visit your Cos, her hub and their brand new little critter?

Yes, that's right. My Cos now has a son to boast along with the rest of the animal farm. The last time I saw their son, he was a tiny little baby, fresh to the world, and bawling his eyes out. This time, merely months later, he had transformed himself into a giggling cherub with dimples in his elbows and ankles. You see what I mean? How can you not love that?