San Diego-ho-ho
When I was 11, 20 seemed really old. After the mysterious teenage years that were still to befall me, 20 was the age it all ended and people became proper adults, right? Now that I'm 3 x 11 plus the number you first thought of then take off a few for good measure, 20 seems very different. You see (some of you may know this but some of you won't): my 20-year-old self came to San Diego and lived here for a year as an exchange student. I therefore have a lot of affection for San Diego, and have come back to visit several times since then, but never for as long as this current trip. So it's only now that I'm truly realising how little I really got to know San Diego at all as that 20-year-old Scot who spent her teenage exodus in southern California. Of course, much of this city I'm seeing afresh this time round because my focus these days is on how to occupy two toddlers in between wiping the clods of dirt from the back garden off their faces and prising the iPad f...