Vancouver you've got me for twenty four hours.

Vancouver you've got me for twenty four hours. 

So I awake in my lovely hotel in Vancouver, bleary eyed and jet lagged at 3am. I switch the light on for the obligatory trip to the bathroom. Step out of bed and onto a plastic package on the floor. Looking down I see with closer examination, a pack of male tena pants. 

Now I know, I was incredibly tired last night and even with a few beers, I'm not usually that unobservant. 

So two schools of thought. One, whoever got into my room, saw me and made the decision to not rob me and/or abuse me in any way, just leave a pair of tena pants. Is that the equivalent of being the ugly guy/girl, who falls asleep at the Frat party and wakes up with more clothes on!?!

Or two, that the Sheraton hotel offers a late 'turn-down' service and they make a decision on whether the guest will manage a 'dry night'......I obviously didn't pass the assessment, the decision was made, hence the tena pants were gifted my way. Thankfully I was spared the embarrassment of waking up in them (As parents will testify, that could lead to low self esteem). 

*i hope they're not on the bill, if this is the correct scenario

Just for the record, I'm not happy with either scenario, so I'm just going to hope the previous occupant had issues! However, if you ever see me wearing a scarf and dark glasses in the chemist, you know the Sheraton was right.

Exploring the city and walking to the bakers later that morning, I'm chatting on the phone to my sister. When nearing the baker I say 'bonjour' (I'm so Cosmo!) to a local couple. Both give me a strange look and a half, nervous smile. Taken aback, I start to explain to my sister, that I'm kind of wearing what could be construed as pyjamas(dare I say play suit, if that exists for men), this 'must' be why I got the strange greeting. I then catch a glimpse of my unshaven(it's only been a few days) self in the shop window. My silhouetted reflection looks back in horror. I look like I've been electrocuted at a kiss concert, I make Keith Richards look respectable....I look stark raving bonkers. The combination of bad outfit and with hair like the proverbial chickens backside(all s**t and feathers), gives me the look and demeanour of a breakout from prison or an extra from one flew over the cuckoos nest.

I think it's time for a personal intervention and that's not a euphemism for touching myself, before you comment.

They say nothing is lost till your mother can't find it, maybe that's the perfect person to hide this outfit.

Well the day did improve slightly before the flatline of an evening. Clutching onto dignity, I'm meeting up with a group of friends. Lunch at the waterfront is breathtaking and watching the seaplanes depart and shuttle around the city is a must. The vivid colours, the mountains, the freshest of air are all vying for your attention. This is a must see destination. It's a real celebration of culture here, it's a given of 'outdoor living' and with eclectic restaurants and attractions. That's what it's all aboooot(as they say locally).

After lunch I'm slightly secretly pleased, as my friend was handed the camera to take the group picture *isn't it always the ugly friend who gets this job, in the sorority showdown of life? Thankfully it wasn't me for a change, as my million selfies will stand testament. 

So Saturday night arrives, time to work the flight home. I love working Saturdays, said no one ever. However, I love working as cabin crew, the travel was my childhood wish and dream. My father would get so frustrated, trying to deter me. Although of the many things he tried to deter me from, this he knew he couldn't beat. Hunger for travel, it's part of your DNA. 

Dad also tried to deter me from other life choices, if I had a pound for ever time Dad questioned my then hidden sexuality, I'd have had a badass Harley Davidson, he would have been so proud(secretly with some super cute biker boots, sorry Pops).

So homeward bound, in time for the left overs of a weekend. Sunday. Ug. My mother used to say "beware, only dangerous women go out on Sundays" sage words, as I'm meeting my girlfriends that night. I always thought I was old enough to know better but young enough to do it anyway....but maybe not. As I know it will start with "I'm only going for one, I'm soooo jet lagged" to body slamming and stage diving, whilst encouraging people to make the best sexual choices and life decisions. Oops Britney, I did/do/done/will do it again. Who am I kidding, to miss the health benefits from that one glass of wine a day, that would be churlish! And the positive effects of the subsequent wines, lightning funny comebacks, witty asides and hysterical observational humour! Erm, before the inevitable spiral to singing as Whitney, thinking you move like Jagger, philosophising life in general and demonstrating the next internet craze like planking.

That leaves hangover Monday(everyone hates Mondays) and Tuesday(Mondays ugly sister) before I fly off again. I'm passenger-ing on the next trip, no doubt next to a guy who'll claim sovereignty over the middle armrest, but none the less, I'll be rested on arrival for a change. Roll up your sleeves Boston, I'm coming to get you!