Another country, another hotel without a wardrobe or desk...

 ...but again, I find myself getting used to it and not, I hasten to add, penning an angry Trip Advisor post. In many ways, the cheaper hotels in this world are so much better than the corporate brands and the cosseting they offer with their concierges and porters and "this way, sir" and all that jazz just because you're paying through the nose for a room. I'd rather give my money to the homeless. It's all so false, like business class on planes. I flew Club (or whatever it's called) to Vienna a few years ago and I sat on the border with Plebland (only a grey curtain separating me from the proletariat for heaven's sake)... but beyond the grey cloth divide they were being served their tea in paper cups (I had bone china) and nobody was calling them sir. I wonder if they're told that in training, "In economy, no reference to sir or madam." I think if I was cabin crew I would go out of my way to be hospitable to those in 'coach' (as the Americans call it). I would even go as far as calling them 'sir' or 'madam' in the hope that some pot-bellied, golf-loving CEO with an unhealthy-looking paunch would blow his top and have to be escorted from the plane.

No, not one of those statue people, a proper non-human statue!

So the hotel, an easyHotel, is basic. So basic that there's no wardrobe or desk or chocolates on the pillows in my room; or even a common area downstairs where, like the Moxy Vanderbilt in Nashville, I could sit and write and read or listen to live music. But I know what easyHotels are all about and besides, when I booked my stay in Rotterdam, the only alternative was a bed in a hostel dormitory of, say, eight or 12 other beds. It wouldn't work, put it that way. The easyHotel was bang in the centre of town, there was no cosseting, no, 'yes, sir' – nothing so vulgar – just ordinary people in jeans and tee-shirts on the front desk, a vending machine by the lifts selling all of life's necessities and that was it. My room, room 607 on the sixth floor, was fine. The shower wasn't brilliant but it did the job, there was a pillar between the bed and the window, and the ceiling, I noticed, was high, but only when I was lying in bed, it was a little closer when I stood up, but still fairly high.

With easyHotel there was no compunction to 'engage' with anybody, it had a certain anonymity about it, which is what I like; I can come and go as I please, no questions asked, and being bang in the 'centrum' I wasn't far from restaurants and, like now, a Starbucks. In fact, hats off to Starbucks, a coffee retailing brand that has an established offering, it does what it says on the tin and loyal customers know what to expect. I've been in here answering emails and doing stuff that needs doing, in addition, of course, to drinking a couple of large mugs of English breakfast tea. I'm glad that Starbucks exists because, like other coffee retailers, it provides a service, it picks up where hotels without desks left off and it helps people when they're in nomad mode, like I am at present. I'm on the later train home to London today, leaving Rotterdam at just before 5pm and getting home around three hours later (there's no headwind with a train). Unfortunately I've got to change in Brussels, although it's good in many ways as it means I don't go through passport control until I reach the Belgian capital. I suppose that means I could leave Rotterdam now and seek a different Starbuck's, but in all honesty, I love this place and the easyHotel where my suitcase is stored in a locker, and I'm happy to leave it there until I'm ready to head home.

I haven't been to Rotterdam for a very long time. I flew here the last time and I remember the aircraft, a Dart Herald, had difficulty unlocking its landing gear (there were emergency vehicles on the tarmac but all was fine, thank God!). And by that I mean the plane landed without incident, thanks to a member of the crew who somehow managed to hand-crank the undercarriage into position. It was an old plane, but not, I hasten to add, a Sopwith Camel.

A couple of days ago, walking nonchalantly along a darkened street full of restaurants, I spotted, to my surprise, a huge rat lolloping along and heading straight for one of the eateries on this particular stretch of road. I was going to bring it to the attention of those al fresco diners, who were blissfully unaware, enjoying the early summer heat, but decided not to. Fortunately, I'd eaten earlier, but it kind of put me off so I vowed never to eat in any of the restaurants – there were lots of them – along that stretch of road close to the easyHotel. A rat for heaven's sake! Not that I haven't seen them before. I remember once in Chicago I saw a few of them darting from one sidewalk flowerbed to another and they weren't small rats, they were huge, like the sort of thing you see in horror movies (and on the streets of Rotterdam).

Rats aside, I've rather enjoyed my short time in Rotterdam. Being as there was no hotel restaurant and, therefore, no breakfast offering, I consulted my Microsoft Co-pilot (AI at its best) and asked if there were any places offering the most important meal of the day. The robot on the other end of the line said yes, there were some interesting establishments I should check out. One of them was a place called Lilith Coffee, a café with that female touch that makes the world a better place. By female, I'm not saying 'girly', that wouldn't have worked at all. This was more Kate Bush than Doja Kat. There were old typewriters and other bric-a-brac, not forgetting a painting of a naked woman with a snake, that lent Lilith Coffee a bookish vibe that I found calming and joyful. I liked it so much I came back for more the following day, choosing exactly the same dish from the menu – a 'mango bowl (EUR11.50) consisting of bananas, strawberries, berries and oats and, presumably, mangoes. Very tasty, very healthy, and I left with a skip in my step (on both occasions).

Lilith Coffee opens at 0900hrs and being as I've been going to bed early (around 2000hrs) I was up with the lark and ready to stroll along Nieuwe Binnenweg to this fantastic place, but each time arriving too early. Not a problem because Vlahmsch Broodhuys was open at 0800hrs so in I walked and ordered an English breakfast tea with an almond croissant on my first visit and a different kind of bun on my second. What a chilled establishment it was, and even more so when you realise that they sell jars of white chocolate spread. White chocolate spread! I've never seen it in the UK, but it's alive and kicking here in Rotterdam so, after tasting some, I bought a jar and a smaller jar of forest fruits jam.

The vibe in Vlahmsch Broodhuys was different to Lilith Coffee, but both establishments had the calming feminine touch and, therefore, what it takes to make my life that little bit better. They both get top marks for all the usual stuff: good service, happiness, decent food and, with the former, of course, that white chocolate spread. I forgot to ask them whether to 'refrigerate after opening'.

Check out from the easyHotel was (ahem) easy and soon I was a nomad, a temporarily homeless person wandering the streets. I should have taken the earlier Eurostar home but because there was uncertainty surrounding my meeting, I opted for the later train and now, here I am, in Starbucks, writing this article with plenty of time on my hands.

One quick mention of another excellent restaurant needs to be made. Super Mercado, a Peruvian restaurant where I dined last night before strolling back to my hotel for yet another early night. What an excellent place. If you find yourself in Rotterdam (it's so easy to type 'Rotherham') then I would recommend this place. Try the grilled salmon with asparagus.

There's lots to say, loads in fact, but I'm thinking it best to sign off and get on with whatever else I need to be doing, like checking emails 'and sich like' (as they say in The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists).

Idle thoughts from a Nashville Starbuck's...

After a while – and especially when I know I'm just hanging around waiting to go to the airport – I start to get bored with everything that's going on here in "Nash Vegas" as an Uber driver told me it's known. It is, like Vegas, he said, a party town, but it caters mainly to women or, as he put it, 'bachelorettes'. By that he meant women in denim skirts and cowboy boots, drunk, yelling out Shania Twain songs from a boogie bus travelling a proscribed route around the city. It's the last thing you want to see, believe me, let alone hear. "A-woo-hoo-hoo!"

Inside Biscuit Love, which made the trip!

I wandered up Broadway to escape the downtown razzamatazz, the grating sound of too many bands playing different songs next door to each other and simply making a racket as a result. All the good bands were playing in the Bridgestone Stadium, Pearl Jam last night. I met two fans in the elevator back at the Moxy. "I love that song Debaser," said I, but they didn't know what I was talking about. How can you be a Pearl Jam fan and not know about Debaser?

It's hot out there, the weather that is, and as I crossed from Broadway on to Demonbreun Street – with a view to paying one last visit to the Gibson Garage before attempting to walk back to the Moxy (with whom I've made my peace) – I spotted a Starbuck's in the red-bricked Cummings building (it used to be a railway freight terminal). Decaffeinated black coffee, it's awful, but drinkable – just – so I'm sitting here writing this and because I have no idea how to save a draft of what I'm writing, I'll finish it before I head to the guitar Mecca next door.

The look here for women is definitely denim skirts and cowboy boots. The men wear what the hell they want, which is normally tee-shirts and knee-length shorts with trainers. I'm quite happy in my new Carhartt jacket and black chinos, but I wouldn't say I was the height of fashion, never have been.

The worst thing about knowing you're going home is, ahem, knowing you're going home, not because you don't want to, but because you know that to get there you've got to endure the hassle of airports and, in my case, a nine-hour flight across the Atlantic. But that hasn't really sunk in yet. At present I'm trying to work out how I made such a pig's ear of trying to find East Nashville. It started yesterday when I keyed into my Uber app "East Nashville" and got nowhere fast. Today I figured the best way to find it would be to go on Google and key in "lunch in East Nashville". This would bring up a list of restaurants in this supposedly magical area of the city (where I might find enchanted book shops and places that sell wind chimes). I found a place called The Wash and took a chance. It seemed to take ages to get there, even the Interstate was involved, and when I was dropped off I found what used to be a car wash turned into around half a dozen ethnic food kiosks selling everything from Mexican food to Peruvian food, Vietnamese street food and Cuban food. I settled for the latter, a chicken dish with plantin, rice and black beans and it was very very good, but that was all there was, no bookshops, no nothing apart from a vintage clothes shop across the street selling stuff from American yesteryear, mainly hippy garb, belts and Zippo lighters, you know the rap. So I left, ordered an Uber to take me downtown and here I am, escaping the marauding drunks and the women singing Shania Twain on 'boogie buses'.

I tell you what is making me smile, something so miniscule you'll think me a fool – and perhaps I am. Back in 2017 or 2018, I can't remember the year without looking it up, I was here in Nashville for the same reason I'm here now, AISTech, arguably the best event in the steel industry's global calendar. I love it, pure and simple and always enjoy the Town Hall Forum on the last day. The last time I was here I paid a visit to the Hard Rock Café but forgot to pick up a fridge magnet. Well, I nipped in there and bought one for my fridge door, which is creaking under the weight of too many fridge magnets from around the world. It was something that needed to be ticked off.

You know what? I could walk straight into the Gibson Garage and buy that guitar. It's tempting, but I just know that British Airways will charge me big for it, so I guess the sensible voice inside my head will stop me. It's probably for the best as I dread to think what my wife will say as I bowl through the front door with all the bravado of American game show host and tell her I still need to buy an amp. Actually, it's probably worth doing just to see what she would say!

Nashville is a nice place, on the outskirts of town, but as I'm often criticised by those who know me for saying of every place I visit that "I could live here!" I won't say it now, although, let's face it, I could live here. Doh!

Checking out...

I'm beginning to wish I hadn't been so harsh on the Moxy Vanderbilt hotel. I was a little miffed that there was no wardrobe and no desk and, I hasten to add, no 'tea and coffee making facilities' but, on reflection, I'm wondering if it really matters. Why the change of heart? Well, I was sitting in what I've named 'the common room' listening to live music last night, feeling, it has to be said, fairly chilled about life when it struck me that their might be method in the Moxy's madness. Not having a desk was, I'm now thinking, quite a good move as it gets people out of their rooms and downstairs mingling with other guests, the environment is buzzy and for some – me included – I find it easy to focus on writing if there's a little hubbub going on.

Reception area, The Moxy hotel...

The pegs on the wall instead of a wardrobe? I got by fine and I spent so much time drinking bottled mineral water that I really didn't want for a cup of tea. In fact, on that score there was always Badass Coffee down the street; I ended up in there a few more times and almost finished my Eric Ambler novel there, but in the end I finished it here at the Moxy, sitting in one of their easy chairs in, yes, 'the common room'. So while my review on Trip Advisor moaned about no desk and no wardrobe what I'm saying now is that it doesn't really matter. I actually get what they're trying to do here and it works. The only thing that doesn't work is the food and beverage operation, that needs vast improvement, but everything else is fine.

As I think I've written somewhere else, hotels become a home from home, a sanctuary and I always look forward to getting back to the room and crashing out. I've been hitting the sack every night at 8pm mainly because, when you're on your own there's little to do other than shut down and go to sleep. I've been getting between six and eight hours' sleep most nights and haven't really noticed any bad effects from jet lag.

I sit here now, writing this article downstairs, listening to music from the Moxy sound system and I'm going to miss the place. I'll certainly miss my room. The shower was fantastic, the bed was comfortable and the hotel's close proximity to Biscuit Love across the street has made it all worthwhile.

Wall decor in the Moxy Hotel Vanderbilt, Nashville

I have to check out by 11am and my flight home isn't until later this evening, 2125hrs to be precise. I'm going to have to leave my case here and come back for it, which isn't a huge deal and the plan is to wander a little around Nashville. People are saying that East Nashville is a little quirky so I'm going to head over that way, if the UBER allows it. Yesterday I keyed in "East Nashville" and the system simply didn't respond, possibly because my destination was too vague, but today I'm giving it another try.

The Moxy Hotel Vanderbilt from the outside...

I'm wondering whether it's worth going to the Gibson Garage for one last look at the place, but I don't think I will. Buying that Grabber bass – a friend informed me today that Krist Novoselic of Nirvana used to play one – is not a good idea, even if it is worth far less than music retailers in the UK are charging. As already explained, it'll cost me to get it on the plane and then there's the risk of damaging it. So that's out of the question.

Nashville is a great place, a bit of a party city, granted, but you don't have to partake and I certainly didn't. The last thing I wanted to contend with was a hangover or worrying whether I'd said anything (or done anything) I shouldn't have. I've been there and done that and I have many T-shirts to prove it.

People often think that international travel is jam-packed with glamour, but as the photo accompanying this article proves, it's not. Invariably (in fact, most of the time) the view from my hotel room leaves a lot to desire, it's never anything to write home about and is, invariably, the view of a car park or some unattractive high rise buildings.

I can't say I'm looking forward to a nine-hour flight back to blighty, but at least it's direct. There's nothing worse than flying into Chicago O'Hare en route to somewhere else, be it Pittsburgh or, like last year, Columbus, Ohio, and then, as a result of huge queues at O'Hare missing the connecting flight. Direct is best, so the thought of not having to board an internal flight fills me with joy. I get on in Nashville and get off in London, simple. I do hope there's no old lady with a sneezing fit sitting next to me or any Americans wanting to apologise for Donald Trump, although I will accept their apology if they do.

I'm sitting here in my new Carhartt jacket feeling very pleased with myself. Normally I don't bother with myself when I'm abroad. I might buy others stuff and then get told it's the wrong size or the wrong colour so this year I thought I'd treat myself and I think I did well. I'm sure it'll last me a long time and it's ideal for the UK weather, although I wouldn't want to get it wet. That said, I'm glad I wasn't wearing it yesterday. There was a massive electric storm, there was heavy rain hammering the roads and sidewalks and I had to take shelter outside of Badass Coffee before walking back to the Moxy. I'd been chilling in Badass reading the last chapter of Eric Ambler's The Mask of Dimitrious. I've now read two Ambler novels, the other being Epitaph for a Spy, both were good and I'm on the look-out for more but couldn't find any in Parnassus Books in Nashville and instead bought an Alan Furst novel. He's supposed to be very much like Ambler in style, but I'm not convinced. I'll see if I can read a bit on the flight later, but I doubt it very much as I always focus on everything going on around me, there's little time to read.

A 'Southern Benny' for breakfast

When I reach home it'll be 0630hrs in the morning for me, but it's only 1230pm in the afternoon for most English people. In other words I might be a little jet-lagged, but let's see. Sometimes it's not as bad as I think it's going to be.

I've caught the eye of a Snickers bar and might well have to buy it, but perhaps I'll resist as, well, I was about to say it's nearly lunch time but it's only 1029hrs so no, there is time to indulge. I haven't really eaten a lot of sweets on this trip so I might well hold out. And I have to ask myself: do I really need to eat a chocolate bar? The answer is a firm no, I don't. So I'll resist the temptation and get on with my life.

I've checked out. Incidentals of just $52.00, that's the beauty of not drinking alcohol, the bill is never gut-wrenchingly expensive. One thing I will say about the Moxy is the staff are really friendly. I'm going to miss the place despite moaning about no desk, no wardrobe, no tea and coffee-making facilities and so forth.

Biscuit Love – brilliant for breakfast when the hotel fails you...

Biscuit Love, Nashville, Tennessee, USA – it's great!

It doesn't matter which way you look at it, the best part of the hotel experience has to be the breakfast, it's the most important meal of the day and, done properly, it sets you up for the day ahead and makes you love the hotel you're staying in. That's why, when you suddenly find that the hotel you're staying in DOESN'T offer a decent breakfast you get a little depressed. Not suicidal, far from it, but a little down in the dumps, and it's important to rectify the situation as soon as possible.

Biscuit Love, it's the best!

The thing is, these days, a lot of hotels have dispensed with the idea of breakfast – a major faux pas if you ask me and as much of a sin as dispening with wardrobes, desks and tea & coffee making facilities. How very dare they! Well, they do so you'd better get used to it.

All is not lost, though. Perhaps the first port of call for hotel residents on the look-out for a decent breakfast outside of their chosen place to stay is the coffee retailers. I'm sure that Starbuck's, Costa, Caffé Nero and all the independents out there offer something, even if it's just a Danish and a cup of tea or coffee.

Last year, in Columbus, Ohio, I was staying in a wonderful hotel, the Aloft, on the outskirts of town. It was a great place with plenty of quirky things going on, but they thought (wrongly) that it would be really quirky to dispense with breakfast. Big mistake, but it didn't put me off the hotel because, while quirky in some respects it was comfortable and, crucially, it was across the street (make that the parking lot) from an excellent Starbuck's where I would find myself every morning having a pretty decent breakfast. Naturally it became a routine, every morning.

So, here I am in the Moxy Vanderbilt, Nashville, downstairs writing this because there's no desk in my room, but let's say no more about that (I've said enough), let's instead talk about the seriously sub-standard food and beverage operation here; I know, I've mentioned it before, many times, but let's discuss it again but this time in the context of the hotel breakfast. The limited menu, which seems to be mainly pizza-like food items that can go in the bar top grill oven I've been talking about, makes the whole idea of waking up and looking forward to breakfast a bit of a no-no, that excitement simply isn't there – or is it?

Across the street from the Moxy Vanderbilt is a place called Biscuit Love. Yes, Biscuit Love, it's wonderful and it serves an amazing breakfast that's a cut above what you'll get in a coffee retailer like Starbuck's or whatever. The vibe is good too, there's decent music (probably because we're in the Music City) and the staff are bright and breezy and always have a smile for anybody who walks in; there's merch too, which gives the place a little added cred in my book. I've been going there since I arrived, by-passing the Moxy's poxy menu and crossing the street, confident that I'm going to get a warm welcome and, of course, a decent breakfast.

This morning, having been going there since Sunday morning, I was offered a free breakfast for my loyalty. I was bowled over by their generosity and ordered my usual: an omelette and an English breakfast tea, but not something you'd find in your average British greasy spoon, something far, far better, the omelette being served with roasted potatoes. Perfect! And the tea is out of this world, served in a glass teapot with an infuser, it's just the best and it knocks the Moxy's offering into a cocked hat.

I think hotels need to be careful. If they don't watch out they will become the fly in the ointment of their own existence and will have to sit back and watch their slow but inevitable decline. People won't put up with hotels that don't have desks or wardrobes or breakfast purely for the sake of being 'quirky' and instead they'll head for the nearest Air B&B. I was earwigging a conversation yesterday when I discovered that one company had put its representatives in a house for the duration of a big industry event, they all got their own rooms, they could cook their own food if they wanted to and when it came to breakfast, well, they'd just have to ensure they had cereal and fruit enough bread for toast and what have you. Who needs a hotel breakfast? Nobody, especially if it's very poor like the Moxy offering.

But there are now dedicated breakfast operators outside of the coffee retailers. Biscuit Love is one of these operators, it has a few stores in the Nashville area; and then there's The Brekkie Shack in Columbus, Ohio, a short walk from the Aloft hotel. Alright, not as close as the Starbuck's across the parking lot, but worth the extra few yards.

I think we'll be seeing more dedicated breakfast operators over the next few years as foodservice operators twig on to the trend for hotels that don't offer what they're supposed to. What's next, I wonder? Hotels with half a dozen sleeping bags in the room and nothing else. "Hey, they can watch TV on their iPads, they've got iPhones so we don't need to give them a landline and just shove a few pegs in the wall, there's no need for a wardrobe or, for that matter, a desk. They have laptops don't they? Well, they don't need a desk, they can use their laps, and if they want tea and coffee we'll shove a couple of bean-to-up systems downstairs in the reception area."

I wonder how far it will go? It's a bit like when you go to the airport and are expected to check yourself in. I hate that because the price doesn't drop, you're just doing the work of the airline and they're quids in as a result. Perhaps one day you'll arrive at what looks like a field laid to lawn with a sign providing the name of the hotel and a man in uniform handing out tents and camping equipment. "Pitch up anywhere, and if you want breakfast there's a nice little joint down the road. There's no desks either, or wardrobes or anything. Oh, and that's £200 for the night."

The Gibson Garage

After the work was over today I took a stroll up Demonbreum Street in the direction of the Gibson Garage. There are two such establishments in the world: one is here in Nashville, USA, and the other is in London. The Nashville store was the first (and is only around 15 minutes from the Gibson factory) and the London outlet is smaller but on two floors, unlike the one in the Music City.

A Gibson Les Paul.

I guess you have to be a bit of rock lover to appreciate the Gibson Garage and, of course, it helps if you can play the guitar. I can't play a note and sometimes that makes me feel like an imposter, which I am, but, like Harley Davidson motorcycles, Gibson guitars are something to behold. I decided a few years ago that passing my bike test and buying a Hog, as they're known, would result in an early death, so I stopped the idea dead in its tracks and haven't thought about it ever since. Guitars, however, are a little safer, so I am one of those people who promise themselves that one day they'll buy and learn how to play a guitar. It's become real and in so many ways I'm only days, hours, perhaps even minutes, from simply buying one and then watching countless videos on YouTube to teach myself how to play. They reckon that self-taught people in any sphere of life are normally the best at what they do; there are countless rock stars who taught themselves how to play and there are countless chefs who taught themselves how to cook.

So, I crossed the car park just past the old blue pick-up truck that is advertising the Gibson Garage to passers-by and soon I'm there, in the thick of it, Gibson guitars on an overhead conveyor belt threading their way around the store, rock music blaring out and books by Slash, or about Slash's guitars, on display for all to see. This is the sort of place where you can find rock stars, but the staff say little about who they are and when they're in town and, therefore, likely to come visit. Last Saturday, or was it Friday?, Metallica played here so there was probably a good chance that James Hetfield would drop by and, you know what? If he did, he'd probably be invisible, you wouldn't see him and then somebody would announce that Hetfield had left the building and everybody would be slightly miffed that they missed him.

Gibson guitars are not cheap. At the low end you can probably pick one up for around a couple of grand, but they can cost thousands of pounds. Go to Denmark Street in London's Soho and you'll see what I mean. Gibson Les Pauls dating back to the sixties or even earlier can cost huge sums of money, like £30,000 or even more, but these are special guitars and they certainly look the business.

I actually considered buying my bass guitar while I was in Nashville purely because I figured it would be a good story, a good piece of provenance, if the guitar I owned originated from the Gibson Garage in Nashville. What a story! But it's funny how things work out or how there's no way you can escape the con of capitalism. The Epiphone Grabber bass looked like the perfect instrument for me, it was $999 and that translated to something like £750 in UK money, a considerable saving in other words if I did buy it there and then – and I could have – but there are many catches, the first being would I be happy to place my newly purchased Grabber bass in the hold of an aircraft for a nine-hour flight home? Matt, one of the sales guys in the store, who I spent hours chatting to about rock musicians, spoke of many horror stories. He said the best thing would be to buy one of those ultra-rigid cases, but they're not always the answer. There are stories about guitars in cases being ruined, being run over by those electric carts that pull the small trucks of suitcases behind them en route to the plane, and then there's the cost. How much would it cost I wonder? Small display units can set people back around £80 so a guitar might cost double that: already that difference in cost is narrowing despite the fact that the pound is running well against the dollar at present (the chief reason for buying the guitar here and not in the UK). I checked out the UK-based Amazon site and the Anderton's website listed the Grabber bass as selling for £929 – remember, brand new in the US it's worth $999 and that money converted to pounds is only (as I said) around £750. So a guitar that's only worth £750 or so retails in the UK at £929, almost £200 more than it's actually worth. But, the risk is trying to get it across the Atlantic in the hold of a Boeing 777 (or whatever the plane might be) is huge. Apparently, you can buy a seat for the bass guitar and treat it as a passenger! Imagine that! You buy an extra ticket. How much would that cost I wonder, and suddenly the guitar is costing me much much more than it's worth. You can also ask to take the guitar to the gate rather than place it on the conveyor at check-in. In short it's a nightmare and, as I say, you can't beat the system. I found that rather annoying and even more so as it seems that it's difficult to win in this world. Wouldn't it be good to be able to buy the guitar in the USA for £750, in Nashville, the Music City of all places and, for once, beat the system? But no, it's not to be; I'll be honest, the injustice of it all has been bugging me and I'm feeling the grief just a little more than normal purely because I caught a cold on the plane coming over here. I was sitting next an old bag who wouldn't stop coughing, she kept putting a mask on and then taking it off and I sat next to her for nine hours straight, probably a bit longer. I wish I hadn't been so nice to her now as I'm coughing and spluttering and my nose is running and I'm not sleeping well, all because I drew the short straw and found myself sitting next to the old bat. I'm feeling a little better but not by much so all I need is the realisation that, if I wanted the Grabber bass from Nashville I'd have to pay over £200 more than it's worth. I considered buying it online from an American website, but I'm sure there would have been shipping charges that again would fuck me over. So, my dream (like so many of my dreams) has been shattered. I won't be buying a bass guitar in Nashville, the fucking Music City, because the system is against me – and everyone else. Perhaps if I bought the guitar, hired a car, drove to New York, booked myself on a cruise to the UK, then I might get away with it, but they'd probably think of something, like customs, to get me paying that additional £200 and I can't afford to be out of the country for another week sailing the Atlantic with a new bass guitar. I'll shut up now, I'll say no more other than to say I'm disappointed.

With my work done I took a stroll to the CVS along 21st Avenue to buy some Sleepy Time Bear tea, a bit of a hike for a few teabags, but I like them so I did it, then I found myself in Badass Coffee again, armed with an Eric Ambler novel. I ordered a tea, sat down on a leather sofa and read a chapter in between nodding off (put a jet-lagged me on a comfortable sofa and I will fall asleep). Well, I didn't fall asleep as such I just nodded off for a split second, it was nothing to do with the book, it was me. I've spent the week walking around a lot and, I hasten to add, eating a lot of junk food, chips with everything – apart from one Japanese meal in a restaurant next door to the Gibson Garage. I've also been going to bed really early, like before 8pm because there's nowt to do and nobody to talk to. My colleague and I have been having early dinners and then parting company, me taking an Uber back to my hotel, which is around a 45-minute walk from the downtown. 

My sleep regime has been interesting: hitting the sack around eight and then waking up around 0200hrs, calling home and then hitting the sack again after about an hour. I thought it was working well until, one day – the day before today – I never got back to sleep. Anyway, sleep patterns aside, all has been well.

As for the Moxy Hotel, something else I needed today was a kettle to make tea in the room, plus, of course, a few teabags and some 'dairy creamer' (I don't expect semi-skimmed milk). But no, if I wanted a cup of tea I'd have to come downstairs to the upbeat 'common room' from where I write this and pay for it, although noise is good when I'm writing. I know some people need silence but for me it's the complete opposite most of the time unless I'm writing an article that's a little more complicated, which I'm not at the moment. So, another lost point for the Moxy. On the plus side, though, like all hotels on trips of longer than a couple of nights, I'm starting to regard it as 'home' and look forward to the moment I get back here and head for my room, my sanctuary if you like, and I'm beginning to feel a little guilty about slagging it off, even if my comments about no wardrobe, no desk and no tea and coffee-making facilities all stand. A word on the staff, they're great (that's two words) but they are, they're helpful and friendly and what more could you ask from a hotel? Well, a wardrobe and a desk would be nice. Alright, alright, sorry, I won't mention them again!

It's 1930 or 7.30pm, I'm sorry about this post's house style inconsistencies on time. Normally I use the 24-hour clock but for some reason that's gone awry, not that it matters, let's embrace the inconsistency!

The music continues, there are the games, the travel Scrabble, the chess board, the tethered table skittles, the giant Jenga and the giant Connect Four and there are people enjoying it. I feel like an outsider, an imposter and while I'm thinking that perhaps I should eat something, one thing the Moxy is NOT good at is F&B, the food and beverage operation leaves a lot to be desired and it's a shame. I wish there was a restaurant, table service, a bit of variety on the menu, but there isn't, just the square bar offering pizza-based products like 'chicken, bacon and ranch'. I don't want that, I get enough of that sort of cuisine downtown, even in the decent hotels. 

Why are so many Americans the size of dust carts? Because of all the pizza and burgers and chips they eat, that's why. But listen, I like the Americans, always have, I just wish, for their own sakes, that they lost a bit of weight. I doubt I'll eat or drink anything now until tomorrow and then I'll visit Biscuit Love again. I'm on my own, there's nobody to talk to and nothing much to do, I've visited the local shops at the end of Belcourt and they're not that good, even Badass Coffee ain't brilliant, it lacks something, like atmosphere, and the rest of the shops up there are boutiques or those places that sell scented candles and other tat. 

Heading downtown...

Today, as I planned to walk from my hotel to the Music City Convention Centre in downtown Nashville, I heard there had been a homicide on Friday in the early hours of the morning. An international traveller had been stabbed in the head and was robbed of his iphone. The police did take a man into custody, according to a news report. I'm guessing that, in the UK, the newspapers would probably have used that well-worn phrase "no arrests have been made" but this isn't the UK, it's the USA and, credit where credit's due, there's always a strong police presence, which is reassuring to the general public, especially after a murder has taken place.

My hotel, the Moxy (see previous article) is a fair way from the convention centre where I was due to meet my colleague and, sadly, for the Moxy, more disparaging stories from the hotel without wardrobes. I was advised to take a cab or an Uber and avoid any possible incident with Nashville ne'er do wells. Unfortunately, my Uber app, which is rarely used, didn't seem to work so I asked the receptionist if she could call me a cab. "You're a cab," she said...alright, she didn't say anything of the sort, that was my little joke. But what she did say was, "We have a cab company, sir, but they never turn up if we call them." It's not what you want to hear, is it? The hotel has a cab company, but when anybody calls them they don't bother turning up. What kind of a cab company does that and what sort of hotel allows the situation to fester and become so commonplace that the receptionist on the 'front desk' openly tells customers that it's really not worth booking a cab as they never bother to turn up. 

Well, I'd better face up to facts and hit the mean streets of Nashville and just hope I'm not accosted by an axe-wielding nutter. I started to walk along a street that would become (if it wasn't already) Broadway. A few yards into my journey I thought I'd download the Uber app as my one wasn't working properly. Perhaps I'd find somewhere with free wifi as I don't want to be charged a fortune by the phone company. So I darted into a coffee shop called something like Badass Coffee, ordered a tea (I don't like availing myself of the services of a foodservice operator without in some way giving them business) and sat down with a view to getting the app installed on my phone. There's a little notice on the service counter with the wifi password on it so I keyed it into my phone only to discover that it didn't work and I really couldn't face any kind of engagement with the counter assistant so I decided (again) to continue with my walk. "Just checking, but is it safe to walk into downtown from here?" I finally asked. "Yes, it is. All is fine during the daylight hours, but I wouldn't do it at night," she said and I realised that Nashville is just like anywhere else. Walk around late at night or in the early hours and basically you're asking for trouble. So I resolved to continue with my journey, but first, as I'd been drinking tea all morning – I had around three cups in Biscuit Love and another one here in this Badass coffee joint – I thought it best to answer the call of nature and not later find myself trying to walk cross-legged or, worse still, having to dart behind a tree or bush to take a leak.

I walked towards the passageway that would lead me to the restrooms (as they say politely here in North America – in the UK it would be 'the bogs'). When I reached the door there was a keypad affixed to it, meaning I would have to go back to the service counter and ask for the password (how humiliating!). When I got there the girl behind the counter recited a list of numbers and added 'plus pound'. Plus pound? She didn't really elaborate and when I got back to the door of the restroom I couldn't see any £ sign and had to return to the counter. "You mean the hash tag?" And that was just what she meant, the door opened, I answered the call of nature and I was ready to continue my walk through the mean streets of Nashville. Except that they weren't at all mean. I had no troublesome encounters whatsoever and reached my ultimate destination (the convention centre) without incident.

I was, however, simply amazed that stuff wasn't working: my Uber app (which I later successfully uploaded) then the password for the Badass coffee shop's wifi and then the toilet door confusion over whether the push-button code had a £ sign or a hashtag. 

What was great about today (Sunday) was Nashville's Gibson Garage, a shop full of expensive Gibson and Epiphone electric (and acoustic) guitars. I can't play a note and nor can my colleague so we decided not to be imposters by buying a Gibson tee-shirt and instead walked to an area of Nashville called The Gulch where we found a fantastic English pub. I ordered a burger and fries, my colleague opted for a shepherd's pie, both very tasty, and then we continued to swan around the downtown, merging with the merry folk of Nashville. I remembered a cartoon I used to watch as a kid and a horse called Quick Draw McGraw who used to hit his enemies over the head with an acoustic guitar. That's it, I thought. I don't need to pack a piece, all I need is buy an expensive Gibson Les Paul and if anybody should dare to steal my iphone I could shout "El Kabong!" and land my guitar squarely on the head of the robber. The problem, of course, is that I might end up seriously hurting the bad guy – or perhaps the 'badass' – and then find myself in the slammer or, even worse, on Death Row, my feet shackled as I make my way to the visitor window where, with the help of a Bakelite telephone receiver, I can talk to my family from the other side of some heavy duty plexiglass or whatever it is they use to separate prisoner and visitor.

For Moxy read Poxy – in Nashville, Tennessee...

Well, it's day one, perhaps I'm a little lagged, who knows, although I managed to get a fair amount of sleep last night, waking around 0200hrs but getting off to sleep a couple hours later so I feel pretty okay. The problem with the Moxy, let's make that plural, the PROBLEMS with the Moxy are as follows: first, it's trying its best to be 'quirky' – never a good thing to try being quirky, you either are or you're not in my opinion, a bit like 'cult'movies, and I think the best example of quirky is the Ace Hotel in Portland, Oregon, a great place that I don't think has been equalled by any 'boutique' hotel that has followed.

On arrival at Nashville airport...

The Moxy is playing the role of 'student digs' with pool table and foose ball and darts and a square bar where everything goes on, it's an area that you encounter on entering the hotel because, yes, you've guessed it, the bar is also the reception area (wow! that's off the wall!) and the person who checks you in is likely to be making up your pizza later in the evening. And while we're on the subject of food, it ain't good here. The menu is limted, there's a bar top grill machine of sorts that really only makes pizza-like products, nothing at all healthy about it. In fact, last night I had "chicken, bacon and ranch" and, while it was sort of okay, it was nothing to write home about. I didn't particularly want a pizza for dinner but that was effectively all there was and what I got, that and a bottle of Perrier (and I had to ask for the glass).

Room 406, Moxy Vanderbilt hotel...no desk or wardrobe!

So, this morning (it's now Sunday, I flew in here last night on a direct BA flight from London, it was great and because of that there's little to write about, there was no turbulence, it was smooth all the way and took around nine hours, that flew by) I even considered breakfast this morning until I realised that the aforementioned limited menu is basically anything that can be cooked in this kind of grill over on the bar top. Also, when I tried to order the woman behind the bar ignored me completely so I used that as a reason not to have breakfast at the hotel but instead to go to Biscuit Love across the street. Avid readers will remember the Brekkie Shack in Columbus, Ohio, one year ago today. Well, it's kind of like that. I ordered an amazing omelette plus a large mug of tea AND one of their famed 'biscuits' which ain't a biscuit at all, more a kind of pastry, a cross between a scone and something a little more fragile, like filo pastry, served with butter and strawberry jam. The whole thing was great and as I walked in they were playing Stevie Wonder's Living for the City, arguably one of the best songs in the world, but it wasn't the longer album version, which is by far the best, "New Yarrrrrk! Just like I pictured it, skyscrapers an' everythang!"

The shower in room 406...very good!

After breakfast I was feeling elated and wandered down to a row of local shops, boutiques and more breakfast establishments. Clearly everybody knows there's no point in having breakfast at The Moxy because, in a nutshell, it's POXY! I think I'll be back in Biscuit Love tomorrow morning for another huge breakfast.

So, back to the hotel: there's no wardrobe and, wait for it, no desk! No desk! In a hotel room! I'm guessing that when the guys at Marriott Bonvoy sat down to work out the Moxy concept they thought, "Hey, let's get a student vibe going here, how about no wardrobes in the rooms and no desks, and hey, that'll bring the true meaning of the word 'laptop' into play." Well, it's not great I can tell you. I've got (as always in American hotels) two huge double beds and a load of unused space where they could quite easily have put a desk. It's really annoying to discover that my hotel for the next SIX nights has no desk or wardrobe. Instead of the latter they have hangers on the wall on wooden hooks that protrude from the wall and now, if you were in my room (or anybody else's for that matter) you'd see a row of shirts and trousers and a suit hanging from the wall. I'm sure that I'm going to wake up in the middle of the night and think there are other people in the room, like I did once in a 'boutique' hotel in Didsbury near Manchester in the UK, some years ago. On that occasion I forgot all about the mannequin in the room, on which I draped my coat. I then woke up in the middle of the night thinking there was somebody standing at the foot of my bed. Frightening...until I remembered.

Inside Biscuit Love...the best breakfasts in town

So right now I'm downstairs in what we should refer to as the 'common room' – my nam, not there's – there's music blaring, which is absolutely fine and, to be fair, the vibe is good, but a hotel with crap food, no wardrobes and no desk...no DESK! is unforgiveable. It means that I have to trampse down here just to use my laptop OR take full advance of the fact that it's a 'laptop' and balance it on my (ahem) lap. It's not cricket, put it that way.

The best breakfast in town...

The weather here in Nashville is a bit poor. It's cloudy and damp and my iphone weather app says 'no results found for Nashville'. I don't believe that for a start, but who am I to argue with a phone that's supposed to be 'smart'?

I can hear the clack of pool balls over on the other side of the common room, people seem pretty relaxed and on one level it's fine, but on others it's not fine at all. You know that thing about survival and people saying that if they're down on their luck, homeless or without money for food they'll end up stealing it if they have to? Well, that's how I felt this morning. Okay, it would be hard to steal a wardrobe, but coathangers maybe. So I stole some, from the 'stash' area. All floors here have a stash area where guests can use an ironing board and do stuff of that nature. I suddenly envisaged somebody standing there in there underpants pressing a pair of trousers and oblivious people around them taking no notice or perhaps complaining and the police being called and, well, that would be the end of the 'stash' area, I thought.

I'm guessing people buy into this Moxy concept. I mean it's a bed for the night. I asked two guys travelling down in the lift with me what they thought of the no wardrobe/no desk scenario and they didn't have a problem with it. One of them even said he liked the coathangers on the wall set-up, but then he was a young guy of around 20 who is probably used to finding slices of pizza on the carpet and other 'student lifestyle' statements. The older guy seemed baffled by my question and also didn't appear to have a problem. So it's just me. Well, what can I say? It normally is just me.

View from room 406, Moxy Vanderbilt Hotel, Nashville

Is anything good about Moxy? How about the shower, that's okay. A rain shower and loads of space inside the rectangular cubicle, meaning I can switch the thing on without getting wet and, therefore, get the temperate right before jumping in. Not that I 'jump' into showers, I normally walk, I step in. So that's good. What other positives? Actually, none.