Hating the sound of my own 'voice' and other observations...

I awoke to the realisation that I hate the sound of my own 'voice'. And the reason for those inverted commas is simple: I hate the sound of my written 'voice'. I'm annoyed with myself for putting myself in this predicament just for a bit of cash and now, of course, I have to pay the price: sitting in a Marriott Courtyard Hotel alone with nothing to do and nowhere to go. It's an airport hotel, there's not really anywhere to walk and if there was, it would probably be too dangerous. Don't forget, I'm in Detroit. 

The depths of depression

They have a pool but I have no swimming gear. There's a gym, but my shorts are packed and I don't possess any trainers, just the business shoes I'm wearing. And the last thing I'm going to do is head on down there in my underpants and shoes, it's a ridiculous look and would remind me of that guy in Grand Theft Auto who seems to be running around half naked for some reason.

What to say about the hotel? Well, it's an airport hotel so I don't expect too much in terms of luxury, but it does offer a fairly decent room and a comfortable bed, but then there's a loud air-con unit that I can't switch off for love nor money. The bathroom is fine and, because everything I own is packed and checked in, I had to buy some more toothpaste and a toothbrush. I took a shower earlier and all that remains is to clean my teeth.

Outside, the roar of jets taking off. Inside the noise of the air-con. Everything else is silence. There are a few people here doing exactly what I'm doing, hanging around waiting for a flight. Why else would anybody stay here? The shuttle leaves for the airport every 30 minutes and sooner or later boredom will get the better of me and I'll check out and get on board.

I'm sitting here drinking Pellegrino mineral water, swigging from the bottle every five minutes or so. I was thinking earlier how big the room is; there are two double beds for a start and I figured that, if you took one of them out, the room would be big enough to be an apartment (with the exception of a kitchen). Not that I'd want to stay here. I'm feeling homesick as it is, and it's at times like these that I realise the importance of having a family. Hold on a second while I go to the bathroom...right, I'm back. What was I saying? Oh yes, family. I miss being home and it's even worse when you consider that not being there right this minute was based on a decision I deliberately took yesterday evening, but let's not fret about that any more, it's happened, an extra night in Detroit has also happened, it's now morning (1021hrs) and I've got to kill time before my flight at 1835hrs. In fact, hold on again while I double check my ticket...yes, that's right, it's 1835 take-off, boarding commences at 1742 and I'm sitting in a window seat, seat 37J. Admittedly there's no leg room like there was on the flight out here, but beggars can't be choosers.

Breakfast at the Courtyard by Marriott...

And there's a moot point. 'Beggars can't be choosers'. Suddenly, through my own doing, I've gained myself 'beggar' status. I'm on a back foot, but at least I've learned a lesson. Money ain't everything. Ok, it helps, and that's why I did this (takes another swig of Pellegrino) but ultimately life isn't a case of 'time is money'. We all have a finite time on this planet of ours and we should be spending it with our loved ones. My plan next week is to take some days off. I need to if I'm honest with myself. I work day-in and day-out and pay little attention to the fact that the weeks go by and I've got to take some annual leave. I think I've only taken one day off so far this year and normally what happens is I end up taking loads of time off in December just before Christmas, which is nice, but we really ought to be having holidays as a family and the plan is to do that this year, go somewhere close-by, like France or Spain, but either way just chill by a pool.

Room 116, Courtyard by Marriott Detroit Airport

I travel a lot in my job as you can probably tell by looking at this blog – check out the column on the right and you'll see all the places I've been to. Talking of yesterday and the flight home that I never took, I remember checking in; it was a hassle (when isn't it?). First there's the auto check-in consoles that never seem to work and then there's the fact that there's nobody around to help. Then there's other people. I hate other people, they're always getting in the way with their massive suitcases and I find myself wondering what the hell are they carrying, sometimes four or five, huge cases being lugged on to the baggage conveyor. There were three people ahead of me in the queue and they each had a big suitcase plus around three to four slightly smaller ones. Why? What the hell is in there? I'm sorry, but it annoys the hell out of me. It's like when I approach a ticket counter – anywhere in the world – and there's somebody there asking a question that seems to be extremely complicated, so much so that the guy behind the glass keeps walking off and consulting the i-ching and voluminous volumes of ancient sanskrit, laying out tarot cards. I don't know, it just bugs me a lot. And then, when finally it's my turn, I say something like "Return to Victoria", they press a few buttons and hey presto! I've got my ticket. Why is it that everybody makes life complicated when they travel?

Mineral water, I need more...

And don't you despise those people who really get into air travel? You know who I mean, they cover themselves in blankets and have one of those stupid L-shaped cushions and can be found walking around in their socks as if they're at home in their living room, they even enjoy being in the middle seat of the middle row. Unlike me. I need a window or the trip is a nightmare. I have to know what's going on outside. I need leg room, which, incidentally, I don't have on my flight tonight. I'm just hoping they'll be an exit seat available, but I'm not counting my chickens. [Takes a swig of Pellegrino].

My problem is I don't like flying long haul (if you can call a flight across the Atlantic 'long haul'). My flight tonight is around seven and a half hours and I can't wait to land at London Heathrow early on Sunday morning. I know how I'm going to feel. I'm going to feel like shit, but at least I'll be home and that's the main thing. Very often on my travels I've had to stay over another night due to flights being cancelled and so on. On this trip, however, it was me who delayed things (see previous post) and now I sit here, in room 116 of the Courtyard by Marriott just outside of Detroit airport and I'm wishing I was home, even if it is a bit grey and cloudy in the UK. Now don't get me wrong. Avid readers (I know I have some!) will recall my general stance on the UK and how much I hate it at this present time, thanks to the incumbent government, but it's where I live and, in that sense, where I want to be.

It's 1050 and there's nothing to do but sit here writing this blogpost. I have just one bottle of mineral water left to drink, I don't need to check out until noon and, for some reason, the final bottle of water (Aquafina – 'perfect water, perfect taste') is not sparkling but still. There's something disappointing about that. I am told to recycle the bottle with the cap on, which is fair enough as I've put the cap back on to both of the empty bottles of Pellegrino.

What to do next I wonder? I could take a walk around the hotel again, head down to where the pool is, or I could go take a look at the rather uninspiring gym or the gas log-effect fireplace in the lobby or even take a walk around the courtyard, the actual courtyard, that I can see from my room. I'm guessing that all Courtyard by Marriott hotels have courtyards, but I can't see anybody out there (excuse me while I open my bottle of still mineral water and take a swig)  – ah! that's better! – the thing I like about mineral water, actually, hold on, I need to use the bathroom, it's all the water I'm drinking...I'm back, but so is that noisy (and cold) air-con fan. Where was I? Oh, the courtyards. Yes, there's nobody out there and all I can see on the balconies of other rooms are vacant metal chairs. Are they made from steel or aluminium I wonder? I'd need a magnet to answer that question and I have one in my case, a fridge magnet. Perhaps I'll check that out and report back later. Perhaps not.

I guess another reason for doing this is my dislike of flying back, especially on a night flight as that means I can't see out, and I like to see out, I like to know what's going on. So – ah, that's good, the air-con fan has shut off, which is good as I've only got a shirt and jeans on – everything else is packed, so when the fan is on I get colder by the second. Now it's off and that's good. Yeah, I mean, I hate the flight back, I've probably already said this and if I have repeated myself then I'm sorry. So I look for ways of putting it off – the flight – but there's no point as sooner or later I've got to do it, fly across the Atlantic to my safe European home. I was wondering what would happen if, when I get there later today, they ask for volunteers to stay behind for another night. No is the answer, I simply couldn't face another night in an airport hotel listening to loud air-con units and roaring jets overhead. Somebody else can live the dream for a change.

The only good thing about tonight's flight is that my bags are already checked in and all I have is hand luggage. Yes, I've still got to go through security, but I don't have to queue, I don't have to use one of those check-in consoles, I just take off my shoes, get the laptop out, get searched and I'm through. I'll bypass the Society of the Spectacle and head straight for somewhere I can read until it's time to board and head home. I'm not going to enjoy any of the flight, I'm going to be awake throughout and I'm going to be counting down the hours as they pass, awaiting that moment when the darkness is replaced by light and I know we're only an hour or so out of Heathrow. But between now and then it's all about killing time. There's roughly 50 minutes before I need to check out of the Courtyard. In the UK it's around 1611hrs on Saturday afternoon. It's going to be nearer 2300hrs (UK time) when I take off from Detroit.

So, here I am, in room 116, listening to the distant – and sometimes not-so-distant – roar of the planes. I'm sipping mineral water, looking out on the lonely courtyard and the dandelions, peering occasionally at the unmade bed behind me and wondering what to do next. The air-con fan is back and that's my cue to visit the bathroom again...hold on. And I promise I won't keep you much longer. I think I've said all that needs to be said...okay, I'm back and there's little more to say. I'm going to clean my teeth, check out and kill time over at the airport, at least over there I'll find shops and hubbub and destinations boards and people milling around just like me waiting to go home.