weekend in california

Time and space tend to contort when you're dealing with a nine hour time difference and still need to work and be vaguely functional, but so far, despite the annihilating jetlag, we managed to have a radical weekend.

She Who Loves Tweed (commonly referred to as Tweedy here) and I decided to do something different from our usual exodus to California, and hire a car and drive two hours south to the little Pacific town of Carmel.

Clint Eastwood lives there and owns a B&B, (and judging by a few Google reviews, not everyone has been overly impressed. Come on Clint, with a name referring to a swine's breath, you have to ensure standards are high, dude.)

Anyway, here I am. At his pozzie.

 You'll see a bright green bag in my hand. Wee bit of shopping at Kate Spade. They always seem to have these shit hot amazing sales when I'm in the US, so Tweedy and I went mental for it.

It's Hallowe'en. Yanks celebrate the fuck out of all holidays that most of us on the other side of the pond find a bit random,not least here with an entire sweet shop dedicated to bespoke Hallowe'en sweets.

Bless.

 It's fall and the maples are alive.

 As we were up at like 4am, we headed to the only bakery in town, grabbed a few gigantic pastries and a tea (try getting anything smaller than your hand in America. It's offensive to even ask.)

Beach was freezing, as there's this Pacific fog that descends on these places early morning that literally penetrates your bones. Beach reminded me of Cape Town a bit - lots of kelpy, deciduous plantation and vibes. Cold, basically.

Could be Robberg beach in Plett if I didn't tell you otherwise.

From my hotel on Union Square in the heart of San Francisco. A lovely location, it's right next to all the best shops.

Which is what us on the pound do a lot of when we're heart - dollar is beautifully favourable for us.

View from the office. Bay Bridge is a little beeyoody.