I suppose that even a month ago, my being off the coast of Canada right now was not something that I expected. But here I am, heading back to Carolina earlier than scheduled, a full seven months ahead of my trip in November for the election. Five days. If that seems crazy to you, then I agree. But here I am. It meant I got to say goodbye to Gatwick one last time yet again; in two weeks, flight AA173 will move to Heathrow's Terminal 3 along with the rest of American Airlines. But one British airport is pretty much like any other, so I don't think I'll miss it too much. And the bus ride will be shorter from Oxford. And then flashes of an uglier side of me; getting riled up at a group of British students dressed like they had walked off the set of Skins, mocking America even as they were heading over there, stocking up on vast quantities of alcohol. Effortlessly cool, girls in tow, definitely going to be voting Tory at the next election. My anger at them and the country was soon supplanted by a fear of becoming the next Robin Carmody; realising, like all good bullies, that the root of that was jealousy and envy on my part. And could I really blame them for their (totally imagined by me) choice? Given two parties who stand for the same middle class focus groups, you'd pick the one that wasn't in charge while the economy crashes around our ears. The free-market pixie dust isn't working this time around. If it ever really did. Ashamed, I headed for the gate; retreating to the 1920s. Which, thinking about it, is probably the worst place to escape to, but the irony amuses me. Japan entertained me with a tale of a teacher who keeps trying to commit suicide and a student who is utterly enraptured with life, America supplied the 1950s and the hey! SMOKING! of Mad Men, while the British contingent was The Century of The Self (or Perhaps L. Ron Hubbard Had A Point?). As with all Adam Curtis documentaries, a fairly depressing look at democracy and business in the latter half of the 20th century. It's funny how they are all the same subject, but approach it at different angles; instead of terrorism and the Cold War, Self concentrates on the impact that Freud had on shaping advertising, propaganda, and eventually even the very running of Government itself. Light-hearted plane fare, I think. Another four hours to go. Halifax is underneath me now; not for the first time, not for the last, hopefully.