Getting into Canada was interesting.
I don't know about anyone else but no matter that I have nothing to worry about I always have a moment when passing through foreign customs and immigration when I think that a hand will tap me on the shoulder and two burly men will take me to a side room to ask questions intimately.
Canadian immigration was just ahead on the 11th August and I suddenly realised that I had not thought through my arrivals outfit.
I had just left the land of luxury goods riots ("shopping with violence" I believe it has been revered to) where RIM technology had allowed the gangs to organise themselves to run rings around the police. With my short haircut, big-boned build (ahem) and unfriendly face I would already be a potential undesirable alien. That combination did not need the adornment of the hoody on my back on a warm evening and the Blackberry in my hand. Even worse, unlike any other trip where Karen has been in charge of packing, there was spare capacity in our luggage - plenty of room for the expensive items I could pillage from West Edmonton Mall.
I approached the immigration officer with trepidation, a weird grin on my face and one arm pushed straight out unnaturally from my body towards him to present my passport. Having only experienced the less than friendly US approach to greeting overseas visitors I expected a Canadian inquisition. The opposite occurred in this case - the officer showed an almost genuine interest in our travels (Canada and beyond) and waved us through quickly.
Welcome to Canada I thought and smiled.