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.