Last night of freedom

Tomorrow I start work again. That's OK. It will be pleasant to have an income, and the writing is now at a stage when I can realistically hope to push it forwards in my spare time. As of today, the opening chapters of novel number one are at (joint) no. 20 on the youwriteon charts - a satisfying position for a first attack. I just wish the whole sabbatical wasn't already starting to feel rather distant, like some myth i once heard...

Byzantine audio blight (oh and Christmas and all that)

I still love Christmas. It really helps to have a small family who are sane about the important things (albeit quietly barking about the other stuff). New Year at the Mexican Ovaltine Factory, dancing amid the plastic cacti, was also a blast (for the confused - it was just a friend's flat. In an old factory. With a mexican theme - ish).

But I failed to make any resolution not to rant, so here goes. Audio guides for exhibitions - not exactly a major evil of our time. However...

I would be the first to agree that audio guides have their place. Alcatraz, for example, has a really great one, and most importantly the space for visitors to enjoy it. The Byzantium exhibition at the Royal Academy, though, has a number of quite small items in a confined area. I have no way of telling whether the audio guide was good - I imagine so - but it cursed the exhibition for anyone who chose not to use it. First, of course, it ensured dense crowds around the choice items as they clustered, determined to hear everything while still in close proximity. Secondly, there is a pernicious tendency to remove all the informative and enjoyable information from the labelling in favour - I presume - of the audio. When I see the extraordinary detail of a micro-mosaic, to take one instance, I long to know how it was made, by whom, over how long a time. Ideally, I want nuggets of anecdote to add to the factual info. What I get is a name - micro-mosaic of the virgin (or similar) - and a date. And the date is often a bit suspect. Come to that, the name can be tricky too - as per the painting of 'Jesus' which looks distinctly female. I urge the curators of exhibitions to consider their readers as well as their listeners - and to provide a bit more space if they are going to encourage hordes of people to enjoy a single earing or coin - maybe even a blown-up image of the thing above it. I surely can't be the only person wondering if Saint Euphemia in the illustrated manuscript is really topless, and if so, why?

The eagle-eyed will notice I'm in catch-up mode...

San Francisco is lovely. Even the Holiday Inn is pretty damn nice. The sealions honking at pier 39 are lovely. The fine and plentiful seafood is lovely. The cocktails are lovely. The views from the municipal pier and the Coit Tower are lovely. The public transport is charmingly various but seems to work. The incessant Obama posters let you know you are in friendly territory. You get the idea.

We went to Alcatraz, where the ranger gave an excellent talk about the military history and how it went from a base to a military prison (built by the prisoners) to a federal penitentiary (bought for $1 and an agreement to continue doing the army's laundry). The SF Museum of Modern Art and the De Young were both sensational - like the best museums in London only a more manageable size. Travellers wrestling with US portion sizes should also note that the museum cafes serve great salads and healthier-than-usual sandwiches. I would happily return to San Fran tomorrow.

So my first trip to the USA was a great success (despite my best attempts to sabotage it before it started by turning off the alarm in my sleep owing to a heavy cold... yes, we still made the flight). It made me realise very concretely what I have formerly known academically but failed to practice - you can't generalise about America or Americans. I can't imagine two more different places that Vegas and San Fran. The only thing they had in common - and I say this in all sincerity - is really excellent lemonade. None of the fizzy crap that passes for lemonade over here. And on that note I must continue my catch-up...

Sponging USA

There are several ways in which Vegas makes me think of sponge.

1. It is the most dehydrating place I have ever visited. After a 10 hour flight, you arrive shrivelled to your air conditioned yet smoky hotel. Whence you depart only for short walks in the desert air or in air conditioned buses. It sucks all the moisture from you. The lovely lovely waitress at the Stratosphere tower said as much, noting that we English would soon need to return to our humid environments. This makes San Francisco, home of London-esque greenery and freezing fog, the ideal place to move on to for comprehensive rehydration.

2. On holiday, I am generally in 'sponge' mode - absorbing all the new sights, sounds and so on. Even for a Londoner, though, Vegas is over-stimulating. The lights! The beeping of the slots! The salespeople! The multiplicity of alarming statistics that prove how Vegas defies nature! The flicking of the callgirl cards in the street! The number of shops! The size of the food!

3. Jet lag makes my brain spongy. Vegas doesn't help with that. It is full of things that make you go 'aaaaargh' and clutch your skull in sheer bafflement.

All of that said, I am delighted to have seen it once. Our friends' wedding was lovely - Vegas appropriate but not tacky. We saw two incredible Cirque du Soleil shows and a great gig by Franz Ferdinand (the less said about Bloc Party who were actually heading the bill the better - we left). We enjoyed siberian nachos at Red Square for my birthday. We gawped at the hoover dam and squeaked in adoration at the antelope ground squirrels who ate from our hands nearby. We shopped, we took endless pictures to prove how mad it all is, I developed a mild devotion to Wallgreen's pharmacy for their range of lotions and potions, and we spent some time trying to calculate how rich we would have to be to stay at the Bellagio and watch their exquisite fountains all evening.

So I had a great time in Vegas, but it's all just so very very wrong. As typified by the timeshare salesman who pointed out that the next big project is a water park and ski slope. In the desert! Right before he drew our attention to the singing rocks on the communal patio...