America's "Special Relationship" With Us - part nine

It became clear once we’d set off that Mr Moustache had either hallucinated his seated companions, or was simply a big fat hairy pants-on-fire. Oh yes, make no mistake, we were “flying the friendly skies”.

We continued to make friends like this once we’d arrived at our destination. It was about midnight when we loaded up the rental car and embarked on our journey to Boston. Hmm, driving on the right – now that’s a novel idea. Within 5 minutes of being on the road we had managed to procure the interest of the local law enforcement officers. They pulled us over and, just like in the movies, waddled across to our car for “licence and registration sir”.
My husband dutifully produced his driving licence and informed the officer of the rental car status. The constable stated that he’d pulled us over because we’d passed too close to his stationery vehicle and proceeded to swerve in the road. It was complete crap.

Anyway, he scanned the UK licence back in his car and came out again to mumble a couple more questions about how long we were in the country, and where we were going, and then wished us a safe trip. And once again, we were off.