I reached the Mayflower Hotel, Washington DC, around 9 p.m. after a long trans-Atlantic flight, what seemed an even longer queue at Dulles Immigration, and an hour in a cab. As my body clock was telling me 2 a.m., I settled for a couple of beers after check-in, with the promise of exploring the sights after work the next day.

Work itself was uneventful, though I did find myself wondering if there was any possible correlation between the girth of some of the delegates and the number (and stickiness) of the danish pastries, cookies and brownies consumed per training session. As the sample was not statistically significant, I'd have to say 'not proven'. Still, it's odd that my previous delegates in London and Kuala Lumpur didn't chomp away mid-lecture and were noticeably slimmer. Another of life's mysteries, I suppose.

In the near dusk, or the gloaming, as we say in Scotland, I set off at a decent pace (it was around 40F, after all) down 17th Street - how do you guys come up with such imaginative street names? - and towards Lafayette Park. This required crossing several roads, each with pedestrian stop/walk signals which people largely seemed to obey, something I've only ever been aware of in Germany. In London, jay-walking is the norm. In Glasgow it's the rule. Another small difference to add to my traveller's collection. I'd been warned in advance that I'd be disappointed in the White House, but in fact I wasn't. Yes, it's small. Hardly Buckingham Palace. But there's a quiet dignity about its perfect classical proportions, viewed through plain black railings and across a simple lawn. I like to think the Obama family will be happy there, insha'allah, between National and International crises!

Rather like the White House itself, most of the surrounding buildings, or at least the older ones, wouldn't seem out of place in the UK, in Cheltenham or Bath particularly. The Georgian architecture, though it has a slightly heavier feel here where quarried stone takes the place of brick, is very true to type and time. In this part of the city at least, I felt entirely at ease. Such walkers as there were were mostly tourists or office workers finishing for the night. I pressed on, wanting to see as much as possible before dark, though I needn't have worried as most of the Monument area is pretty well lit.

Behind the White House now and keep on going. There's a big sticky-uppy thing on my left that can only be the George Washington Memorial Obelisk, unless they've tucked another obelisk away in a corner somewhere. Unlikely. I'm not a great obelisk fan so I give it a perfunctory nod and bear right, through the much more impressive World War II Memorial. I was surprised to see that this spectacular feature with its fountains and 56 columns was opened (by GWB) as recently as 2004, but I've since read up about the controversy over its loaction (twixt George and Abe). As a foreigner, I'm content to be impressed and not take sides in the debate. From the WW II Memorial, it's a short but dangerous walk by the waterside to the Lincoln Memorial. Dangerous, because the path is waterlogged from yesterday's storm and the waterside coping stones have been turned into a shit-slick by the hundreds of Canada geese whose habits seem no better here than in Hyde Park. More by luck than judgment, I make it to the end unducked.  

It's good for a country to have heroes. This huge neoclassical monument to the memory of Abraham Lincoln feels entirely right. Had he lived in different times, would he have stood up to modern-day prurience masquerading as investigative journalism, justifying itself by the public's 'right to know', to emerge unscathed as a National Hero? And if not, would not the loss be the Nation's, and not the man's? This place breeds reflection; how could it not? Read the text of his second inaugural address and of the Gettysburg address, engraved on opposite walls, and feel yourself in the presence of greatness. And above his head, read the dedication  "In this Temple, as in the hearts of the people, for whom he saved the Union, the memory of Abraham Lincoln is enshrined forever", and feel a Nation's gratitude.

But by now it's getting properly dark and all that remains is to get completely lost in the walk back to the Mayflower, through believing that American cities are built to a grid pattern. They are, but the grid isn't always rectilinear. WDC is distinctly curved! Eventually, seated on a well upholstered bar stool in a very 1920s Mayflower bar, I rediscovered something I'd long forgotten - America does bars well. Not beer, not pubs, but bars. Bars with liveried barmen who pour without measures and remember what you're drinking, and even with a piano man in the corner. Substitute a few trim Asian bar girls for that group of lardy-ladies and this could aproach paradise. What, was that politically incorrect? No, I assure you, it was merely a cyclic reference to my opening cookie quandary, to bring this ramble to a natural end.

Thanks for reading, and thank you, WDC. Another good flying visit.