In Avilés, Asturia, Spain...

I should never have opened the chocolate-coated almonds, but I did. And I should never have opened the nuts, but I did. Fortunately, I never opened the jelly babies, but there's always tomorrow.

I'm sitting in front of a huge, flat-screen television watching, at close range, the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon on CNBC. I tried to watch BBC World, but nothing happened, and it's too late and I'm too tired to watch Bloomberg and I really ought to be getting to bed in the huge double bed behind me with its six cushions, make that 'pillows'. Good question: when does a cushion become a pillow? Infact, what's differentiates a pillow from a cushion? Is it that pillows are rectangular and cushions are square or that pillows are to rest one's head upon while cushions are merely decorative? Who said philosophy is dead?

On the tarmac at Stansted ... horrible

I'm staying, for the next three days, in the NH Collection Palacio de Avilés in Northern Spain and it's very nice, so far, although when I got here around 9pm there was no restaurant open so I wandered outside, found what I thought was a bona fide eating establishment and ordered a Caprese on ciabatta bread, except that this was some kind of tapas bar, meaning that I should have ordered more than the one postage stamp-sized piece of bread with pesto and other stuff inside. There was a side of crisps, but they didn't disguise the fact that I was the only customer with just one, miniscule burger on a square white plate; everybody else had an array of different ciabattas containing different fillings, but me, I just had the one and it looked really stupid, especially as I'd also ordered a no-alcohol beer, which dwarfed everything on the plate. Disappointed, I left and went back to the hotel where I had two more chocolate-coated almonds and then decided against a camomile tea, although I could murder a Big Mac. I'm just going to have to wait for breakfast, or I could raid the minibar and have that packet of Oreos, but no, I mustn't do that, I should go to bed, get a good night's sleep and look forward to breakfast in the morning.

I flew in here from Stansted airport – easyJet, one hour and 40 minutes. The flight was fine, but the woman sitting next to me kept being sick into a bag. It didn't smell too bad, not that I'm suggesting vomit is in any way appealing, but I could have done without it, let's be fair.

Stansted Airport is a depressing place and so is the journey there from Liverpool Street station. East London looked awful and even when the train had reached 'the sticks' – if you can call Broxbourne 'the sticks' – it was still grey and miserable. Once I'd cleared security – which involved taking off my shoes – I had a late lunch in an American diner – chicken burger with sweet potato fries followed by a 'fruit bowl' with a scoop of ice cream on the side. Thank God I never had the ice cream plonked on the top of the fruit as it would have melted and melded in with the fruit juice and ended up looking unappetising.

Inside the NH Collection Palacio de Avilés

Monday 12th March
I awoke around 0500hrs to the sound of wind and rain outside my hotel room window. Peering out I noticed the palms swaying in the breeze. I could have stayed up but I went back to bed and eventually nodded off, waking up an hour later and then resetting the alarm to wake me in 30 minutes. And now hear I am, sitting in front of the computer, writing and I have nothing much to say other than I need to be ready and out by 0830hrs. I've got an hour.

I'm in a place that is known in the UK as 'green Spain'. I've been told that it's a beautiful part of the country and worthy, perhaps, of taking a holiday here later in the year. I'll get some time to wander around and check things out, but the good thing is it's only 90 minutes away from the Blightly.