It took me three hours to get to lunch today. Three hours of mainly beaches, the place names a litany of movie locations or home towns of West Coast Swing dancers.

The car needed filling again, another 6 gallons, another $20. US gallons are smaller than normal ones, 3.81 litres rather than 4.44. That makes the price marginally less cheap but the fuel economy even better. 45.2mpg today, but its still an awful car. The wing mirrors have blind spots big enough to hide a truck, something I fortunately noticed before changing lane.

For lunch I was visiting somewhere I’d been before, the first time I’d done that since Heathrow.

Another UK visitor was in reception, the accent obvious, confusion about the campus layout. His face was vaguely familiar, senior management from London, not someone I knew well enough to say hi.

Checking the Wi-Fi it retained the same SSIDs I was familar with, none available without credentials. I noticed a division still had its own wlan, clearly resisting integration over a year after I’d finally seen some traction in getting them embraced.

The person I met for lunch reads these updates, as do some of her colleagues and maybe her manager. So no names, but it was great to catch up, gossip a bit, find out how she’s doing. She’s doing well, in and out of work, nice to see.

She gave me a whistle stop tour of great places to eat in the area. In Huntingdon Beach, the place everybody in the UK tells you to visit if you’re in the California office, a chicken and waffle shop, the chicken tasty even without the waffles, the combination weird but effective.

A quick drive elsewhere and finally a tea I don’t dislike, bubble tea from a bubble tea shop. I skipped the tapioca and candy floss options, went for the Horchata, found it like a sweet runny milkshake. I’m not sure I’d buy it again but can happily recommend it.

Had I not confessed to never trying bubble tea we’d have had ice cream instead. We did stop at the ice cream parlour, stuck our heads in to watch them make it. They start with a pretentious menu and add nitrogen, flash freezing the ice cream before serving.

I dropped the car at the airport, dropped my bags at the hotel, dropped my laundry at a ‘wash, dry and fold’ place that charged by weight. I had under their minimum weight, added the two stained shirts. Maybe the laundry could work some magic.

I dropped myself into the sort of restaurant where, when they deliver your bread, they tell you the butter today is rosemary and garlic.

The bread was warm, melted the butter. I could’ve enjoyed a meal of just that.

The complimentary appetizer arrived, the wild boar sausage made on the premises surprisingly bland, a simple sausage. That let them add the desired flavour separately, a warm salsa enveloping the sliced sausage, mash to the side. The plate was so hot I burned myself on it after finishing the appetizer, consoled myself with another slice of bread.

The appetizer was complimentary because I’d balked at entering, their prices high and their steaks small. She was offering a discount on the New York Strip, selling it for a sane price, but I wanted the filet mignon. She couldn’t discount that, could throw in the free starter.

They got their money back on water, $7 for a litre bottle of still water that I didn’t even finish. They also charged for the sides, sauteed onions and mashed potato, which arrived in shareable portion sizes. I took advantage, skipped dessert.

I’d assumed the steak would come with a side or two, but they charged me for both. I got petty revenge, didn’t point out that they hadn’t charged me for my coffee, left only a 12% tip. The waiter wasn’t great but his colleagues were, attentively assuring I had everything I needed, getting more thanks from my waiter than from me.

San Diego has changed a little since I was last here. The large mall is mostly empty, boarded up shops and empty storefronts suggesting Amazon have diminished the town centre shopping in the US too. There feel to be fewer options for food, but the city itself remains lovely, one of the rare cities worldwide that I actually like.

Walking back to the hotel after dinner it reminded me of the scene in Ghost Dog, just after you see him acquire a car, driving through the night city, a musical backdrop helping keep him remote from the scenes before him. I needed passing cars to provide the music but they obliged, and my Aspergers allowed me that detachment from the city at night, the people in and out of bars, shops, late night pharmacies. I could live in San Diego.

I was though late picking up my laundry. I got, erm, distracted.

The white shirt was finally clean. The blue one still showed the strange mark that I hadn’t been able to remove, didn’t know the source of. It also had fabric damage where someone had clearly been scrubbing to get it clean. I might need to write off that one.

Today’s drive, not including the lunch detour in someone else’s car, the taxi to the hotel, or indeed the 8km or so that I’ve walked.

Tonight’s hotel is a surprisingly nice one. Surprising in that I didn’t think I’d booked anywhere this expensive in California. It’s a proper four star hotel, the only fault the usual Californian belief that everybody needs perpetual cold air blowing violently into their room.