Here in the land of po'k

We have arrived after a 26-hour ordeal and are feeling surprising normal. Which means that we will be fucked on the way back home. Guaranteed. Och, well, I'm in paradise, so I'll somehow get over it.

In paradise, it's pissing it down. It's like I've never stepped foot off the British Isles. I'm back in Edinburgh, this time with palm trees, people dropping their Ts ("T'ank you for flying Nort'west."), and big cars. The cars are massive, can I say that? I'll just get this off my chest right now. Everything here is massive. Even the little place that my cousin (who we are staying with) stays in is massive.

The plane ride was pretty shite. When the hell did they get rid of the food on flights? They were hocking sandwiches for a fiver on our flight from Minneapolis to Honolulu. What is this, Ryanair? Tight buggers. And since when is Northwest known as NWA? I was crying with laughter each time they advised us to "book our next flight on nwa.com." Who'll be our pilot for that flight -- Dr Dre or Ice Cube?

Anyway, glad to be here and ready to eat massive amounts of pork (or po'k, as it is called). Ready for the adventure to begin.