Flight.

I know a lot of people don't like flying because of the ever-present possibility of crashing screaming death, but I like it. Not death, but flying. I like that it automatically makes any trip an adventure, the ring of concrete as the wheels run over it faster & faster, the glug feeling your stomach gets as you ascend into the sky, the little tiny drinks they serve, the hilarious emergency procedures manuals, the view from thousands of feet, ... everything.

Well, I suppose I don't like everything. I don't like long waiting times in airports, the possibility of losing one's baggage (mum had her luggage eaten by the conveyor belt monster last year. Oil-stained nighties are never cool.), and the tiny, cramped seats. But when the plusses and the minuses of flying fight, the plusses always win easily.

So today I'm off to St. Louis. I've been variously advised by those close to me to a) not climb the big arch in St. Louis since I will roast alive, b) bait some poor unsuspecting Southern Baptist into revealing his theological fallacies, c) find my True Calling, and d) have some flirtatious fun and corrupt a good little Christian boy. I'm hoping to do all of the above, plus more.