Heading for home...

There was a time when getting up early, being 'up with the lark' and so forth, was not impossible, but not pleasant. I distinctly remember feeling like a fish out of water, standing in the kitchen unable to do anything, and everything around me looking as if it was something I simply shouldn't be witnessing or watching or whatever at such an ungodly hour. I remember using the snooze button on alarm clocks with regularity as a kind of step-down towards waking myself up; so I'd be rudely awakened by the alarm, but would reach over and press 'snooze' and then relax and try and enjoy being in bed until the 10 minutes were up and I'd end up pushing snooze again and again until I felt awake enough to deal with what the world had to throw at me. Not any more for some reason. Nowadays I'm invariably raring to go at around 0530hrs (my alarm is normally set for 0600hrs) and I have to stop myself from just getting up, trotting downstairs and making breakfast ahead of time.

Stockholm airport, about to board...

Yesterday was a long day and was rounded off with a pleasant dinner with a colleague, not somebody from my workplace, but somebody I knew, an American from upstate New York who was in the advertising business. We parted quite late, around 2300hrs, and I then I made my way back to my hotel on foot, it took about 10 minutes and towards the end of the walk I passed Dolce Vita (see previous post) long closed and the tables and chairs left outside because nobody in Stockholm was going to steal them; it would be a different case in the UK, I thought, as I passed the darkened restaurant and headed up the street towards my hotel, the Clarion Amarantem.

I messed around on the lap top and probably hit the sack around midnight, waking around 0530 and then heading down for breakfast a little later having decided not to shave until I'd eaten. Breakfast was a cacophony of chit-chat and clattering plates, very busy, lots of people and I wasn't impressed or prepared for it. Porridge, sliced pineapple and melon, a green tea with ginger and that was about it. I sat and read Climbers for a short while and now I'm back in the room, about to shower and get ready to check out and then fly home around lunch time (1310hrs to be precise). Generally speaking, time just disappears and if I don't get up from this desk now and set things in motion it'll be a huge rush.

Leaving Stockholm...

The shower here is rubbish. It leaks water all over the floor. I watched as the small towel I had placed on the tiles quickly soaked up the water that was falling on to it. And then, because there was water all over the floor, I had to shave whilst standing in the bathtub at an awkward angle. The tap in the sink was rubbish too as it worked on a kind of overly sensitive gear stick mechanism that turned hot and cold pretty quickly at the slightest touch. Function before form, I remembered a hotel designer once telling me, function before form. Clearly the Clarion didn't read the memo. Look, the hotel was alright, but because a lot of things simply pissed me off – the room was too big, the shower sprayed all over the floor, the breakfast was loud and clattering and not that good, there was no restaurant, just a bar offering – I won't be going back even if it was just a short walk to the central station.

I trundled my way down to the Arlanda Express, bought a ticket and boarded the train, then I fell asleep and miraculously woke up as the train reached the stop for Terminal 5. I checked in, secured myself a window seat and then swanned around. I had a cheese and ham sandwich at Caffé Ritazza and a cappuccino and then I went through passport control and now I'm in a Lavazza outlet with another cappuccino (I wanted a mint tea but there was no water) so I bought a bottle of still mineral water from which I am now sipping. I can't waste too much time sitting here writing this, mainly because there's not much to write about. I'm on the 1310hrs flight to London Gatwick and then I'll be home after a short train journey. I could get a cab from Gatwick but we'll see. The train's easier, to a degree, but the taxi just means sitting there and getting home. I'll probably train it. Anyway, that's about it, better stop writing, drink my coffee, sip my mineral water and then board the plane.

At Gatwick in the sun...

The flight was full but I managed to bag a window seat (22A) and, like the outbound flight on Tuesday, it was as smooth as you like. I ordered nothing and when I jumped off the other end and into the furnace-like heat of the UK's September scorcher, I felt as if I'd just landed in Greece, it was that hot. Taking a taxi would have meant waiting around for around an hour at the airport, possibly longer - and I was fed up with coffee shops - so I jumped on the train, called Natalie, who picked me up at South Croydon station and now here I am, back home, sipping a decaff PG Tips and feeling hot and increasingly sweaty in the heat. I might nip outside and continue with Climbers, but I figure the heat outside might be a little unbearable. Either way, I'm glad to be home.

Sweden is a great place and the weather over there was warm and sunny but not as sweltering as it is here. There was a warm breeze which made all the difference. Here, it's a dry heat and no breeze, but nobody dare complain as we've had a pretty crap summer, apart from June.