Not quite at home

... although there was something very reassuringly familiar about meeting a British telephone box, albeit on D Street, in Davis.  It looked, of course, a lot less beaten up than it would have done at home, and lacked the usual array of sex workers cards and general smell of stale pee - not authentic at all.

It was a long drive back ...  I'm not sure that the Guardian's piece on the treacherous nature of the Grapevine - and how it acts as a bell wether for the climate crisis - was quite the thing to read before driving over it, but all was happily uneventful, apart from a notice warning that a mud slide (in dry September?) was blocking one lane, and the usual assortment of crazed drivers in white Teslas.