Bostonia:

So on the way into Canada I was given a hard time by the Canadian Immigration person for basically not phoning ahead to let the Canadian border know that a whopping 10 people were to be crossing into Canadia at Port Huron in the small hours of Saturday morning. The alcoholic (and if it takes one to know one then it similarly takes one to spot another at 50 paces) old crone was annoyed we'd distrubed her cushy graveyard shift and she had to get off her lazy ass to type-in some passport numbers. Kind of ridiculous to think that we were given a hard time because of this. I mean, isn't processing passports as people come through her job? Best line she said to me was, "Because I don't care how long it takes. I'm getting paid to be here."
Yes, I thought, but definitely not as much as I am.
Anyway, that aside, I liked being in Canada.

When we came to the US Border somewhere between Montreal and Boston we were again stopped, quelle surprise. This time the very polite immigration police asked us into the room and then searched the bus. Oh, how we laughed when they came back with someone's toiletries smelling of the kind of herbs used in baking rather than cooking. We all had to empty our pockets in turn (my most incriminating posession was an Ouef Fondant or Cadbury's Cream Egg and some Jurlique hand cream. And no, they're not related items...); everyone's prescription medicines were emptied out onto the counter (said herbacious person also had a couple of pill bottles that looked like they were full of smarties, such was the range of pills that poured out of them. Grave as the situation could have been, it was hard not to laugh seeing fifteen different types of sedative poured out on the counter). In the end they confiscated the controlled prescription medicines people had without prescriptions and gave a certain someone a warning. They were very nice about it and they could have been so much meaner.

Today's show in Boston is the last day we'll be on the bus. From now on we'll be sleeping at home every night and commuting to shows. I've been counting down the hours... Sure enough, everything that could be slow and awkward today was slow and awkward, parking, taxis, etc, etc. And then suddenly the band were offstage and somehow we're on our way home to New York. I'm too tired to be very excited but I am very excited. In six hours I'll be in my own bed.

Update - our driver stopped to wash the bus on the way home along the i-95. We are driving home after being away for four weeks and he choses now of all times to wash the bus. I couldn't care right now if the bus was covered in baby parts and vomit. I just want to go home, to my bed, and get off this fucking bus that keeps attacking me with every sharp corner it has whenever it can.