The 13-hour Qantas flight from Sydney to San Francisco was easily the longest uninterrupted one I had ever experienced.

I don't know if it's because I'm now used to travelling or not, but the time passed away quite comfortably. At the end of the day, if you take away the fact you can't move very much, the time on long distance flights invariably involves the consumption of free food and alcohol, reading books/magazines and watching films. There are worse ways to spend a day.

It was during the flight that I had to fill in a form which waives my need for a visa (something us Brits may no longer enjoy soon because of fears extreme Islamists within the Pakistani community could use it to gain entry to the US). The form had the usual stupid questions you get on any boarding card, such as enquiries about whether or not I was a terrorist who molests children. One particular question stood out on this form, however, and actually made me laugh out loud. I had to cross a box next to 'yes' or 'no' in response to being asked if I was a Nazi war criminal. For crying out loud, I know this is a technical procedure but I still found it absurd to be asked whether or not I had committed atrocities during a war that finished 32 years before I was even born. I briefly considered putting a cross in the 'yes' box before realising that the Americans are not big on irony, and that they would probably see it as an admission of guilt and lock me up in Guantanamo Bay.

America's reputation for over zealous security made me a bit hesitant when we finally landed in San Francisco. It was the first time I had ever been to the US, but instead of excitement I felt a sense of trepidation upon arrival. If they feel the need to ask if I'm a Nazi war criminal, what else were they going to do? Interrogate me about where I was the day Pearl Harbour was attacked?

Fortunately my entrance into the 'land of the free' was relatively straightforward, although they did take my fingerprints and photograph me at the Immigration desk (along with everyone else, I should add). It didn't come as much of a surprise. This is the nation of pre-emptive action, of course.

San Francisco is an incredible 16 hours behind Sydney, which meant I bizarrely arrived at 10.30am on Friday 6 July having departed three hours later at 13.55 on the same day.

I did promise myself upon arrival in San Francisco to banish some of my anti-American instincts that have developed in recent years. This was my first trip to the country, and I should judge it on my own experiences and not my perceptions of George W Bush and his supporters. It is a terrible shame how Bush's policies have turned so many people against America. I remember as a kid being spellbound by anything to do with the US and dreaming of one day visiting the country. And yet here I was, having to have a quiet word with myself not to think everyone here was a right-wing bible bashing lunatic.

A shuttle bus took me to my hotel in central San Fran. After a week during which I had slept on a plane, a train, in the desert, on a sofa and in a budget motel, there was no fucking way I was checking into some low rent shit hole for my first weekend in this city - particularly after a long-haul flight. The credit card would have to take a hit. Fortunately, you get a lot more for your money in Californian hotels. I was, frankly, amazed by the deal I got. For $90 a night (£45), I had a room with a queen sized bed, wide screen plazma screen tv, free wireless internet and all the usual trimmings. The hotel itself could not have been in a more central location and had a boutique feel to it. They even provided free wine between 4pm and 6pm on Fridays and Saturdays in the lounge. Back of the net.

After a three-hour doze and a shower, I had a stroll round the centre of the city. It had a very European feel to it and I enjoyed just walking aimlessly and getting a feel for my surroundings. After a couple of hours I decided to have a beer, and so parked myself at a busy bar just off Union Square. I was pleased to discover that the drink is cheap here too - $4 for a pint. An incredible amount of baseball games were being shown on tv screens behind the bar, all of which confused me a bit because I know very little about the sport other than that you are supposed to hit the ball and run as fast as you can. A guy sat next to me made a few observations about one of the teams, which I just smiled and nodded to in the hope I wouldn't be drawn any deeper into conversation.

I headed out to a club later in the evening, but didn't last very long. The sheer amount of travelling I had done of late was creeping up on me.