In Bologna...

When I got back to room 436 of the Fly On Hotel after dinner, I noticed a strange-looking insect with a rear end like a locust and a nasty-looking sting coming out of its arse. I can't say I was happy sharing a room with it so I went in search of a newspaper or something I could hit it with. A copy of the New Yorker would suffice, I thought, having bought it a few weeks ago and only reading one article on the plane coming over from London.

Arriving early at T5 Tuesday morning

The insect in question was in the bathroom and I wasn't sure whether it was going to join me in bed later so I hit it hard and sent it rolling into the sink. I turned on the tap and washed it down the plug hole, but rather worryingly it scuttled up and tried to get out of the sink so I whacked it hard again and this time, with the aid of more water, it disappeared and was never seen again. I left the room and later returned and when I looked at the sink I was under the illusion that it had filled with water and was about to overflow on the floor. I wondered whether the insect had mysteriously grown in size and somehow managed to reach out and turn on the tap. I felt paranoid enough to place a drinking glass over the plug hole. The sink was empty so what made me think the opposite started to freak me out. Perhaps, I wondered, it might have something to do with my recently acquired Coke habit; only a week ago I had a Coke Zero and somehow I'd acquired the taste for it. But no, surely not. The drinking glass, I thought, would stop the advance of the insect if it somehow reformed and edged its way back up the pipe.

When nature calls and your flight
awaits, this is the last thing you need!

Later, once in bed, I kept an eye on the area around the bathroom and started imagining the insect, now around six feet in length and with no legs edging its way towards my bed, but nothing came and I feel asleep until my alarm woke me at 0600hrs. Another day in paradise, I sighed, thinking about the stressful day ahead of me and how I would be confined to the hotel for the rest of the day. In truth I felt fat. Very fat. I certainly needed the exercise and while I had vowed not to eat any cakes or biscuits, I had fallen foul of my decision, which was especially damning after having rubbished the reputation of an extremely fat man I know, somebody morbidly obese, who, I often wondered out loud, must have had many moments in the lead-up to his current and unbelievable size, when he peered in the mirror and thought 'perhaps I'd better knock off the cakes'. Well, let's say that I was thinking the very same thing as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, knowing there was more of the same ahead of me as another day of sitting down presented itself and I started to feel guilty about doing nothing. My cycling had been non-existent (virtually), one week on, another week off, and, I fretted, I really needed to do something about it and quick. I figured I was at the stage that my morbidly obese associate had been at some time ago and had ignored the warning signs. I mustn't do that, I must cease all bad things now. 

I was staying on the outskirts of Bologna in Italy, close to the airport, in a rather dated hotel that had a few issues but was perfectly okay. The shower worked, which made a change, the small bottles of shower gel were great, not too gloopy in a tomato ketchup sense and enough per bottle for two showers. There were towels and even face flannels, the beds were changed daily (unlike in some hotels that don't bother until you check out, citing environmental reasons, which is rubbish). The bed is comfortable, the black-out curtains work a treat and I'm generally very happy, even if the hotel is a little confusing.

The plane at Bologna airport...

The reception area is on the fourth floor as is my room, which follows an upward-sloping corridor from the front desk. By the time I get there and take a peek out of the window and over the balcony's edge I notice that I am high up, at least a few floors from ground level and I simply can't work it out and decide it's best not to bother trying. I started to wonder whether what seemed like a strange kind of reality was simply another illusion, like thinking the bathroom sink was full-to-overflowing with water or that a giant insect was heaving its way towards me as I slept. I started to wonder if I was going insane, but then they always say that if you think you're mad, you're probably not. 

On Tuesday I awoke to bad weather. Despite it being June, the skies were dark and heavy rain was falling. I had woken up at 0345hrs (never let other people book your flight) made breakfast and then reluctantly went upstairs for a shower and to complete my packing before lugging the heavy case downstairs and leaving it in the hall for when the taxi arrived. Sure enough, around 0430hrs, a bearded foreign gentlemen was sitting patiently in the driver's seat while I faffed around inside the house checking I hadn't forgotten anything.

The drive to the airport was hell on earth and at one point, looking out into the gloom as we raced along in the driving rain, I swear the driver was careering towards another car and only managed to miss him by pure luck. I was glad to get out and I'll be taking the train home.

The view from room 436, Fly On Hotel, Bologna...

When I reached Giraffe in Terminal Five after a painless run through 'security', I couldn't face a big breakfast (I'd already eaten two Weetabix and a banana plus some bread and marmalade and very tasty it was too) so instead I had a mug of tea and one of those healthy smoothies.

It was time to fly, from gate A21, but I needed to answer the call of nature. In both bathrooms all the cubicles were in use. Somebody suggested trying the one downstairs, which I did, and it was the same situation: loads of men taking early morning dumps and spending far too long doing so. I started to worry, the gate was closing at 0720, it was now 0710. Fortunately, a door opened and in I went. Then, afterwards, I strode purposefully towards the gate and was there in good time.

The skies brightened and by the time we roared along the runway in the broad daylight, the grey skies had been replaced by a light bluey water colour painting that somehow turned to clouds. There was some turbulence initially, but not much. I had seat 8F, a window seat, and I spent the flight looking out of the window unable to concentrate on reading, apart from one article in the New Yorker magazine about Donald Trump.

We landed and then had to endure the new finger print and photo stations installed throughout Europe and causing many delays for travellers throughout the continent. It wasn't that bad to be fair, and once out the other side there was a short courtesy bus ride to the hotel. Check-in was easy and soon I was in my room and putting away my stuff, including my new Reiss suit that had been stuffed in my suitcase since the early hours but was soon on a hanger (one of only three!) in my wardrobe.

Room 436, Fly On hotel...

I didn't get to see a lot of Bologna as the hotel was far away from the city, but I managed to get to the 'downtown' on Thursday night for a dinner with a few industry friends, which proved very enjoyable. On Wednesday night myself and a few colleagues found a 'local' restaurant (football shirts on the walls, a snooker table, the smell of cigarette smoke) that offered basic food, nothing to write home about in my opinion, but it was okay if a little ordinary. All that said, it was an experience, not the sort of place you would visit out of choice, perhaps, and that was something in itself.

While the weather coming out of the UK had improved from the torrential rain of early Tuesday morning, it got better when we arrived in Bologna. Getting out of the plane reminded me of the days when I would go on holiday to Greece and that lovely moment when the heat hit me square between the eyes; the weather improved as the week progressed, and now it is time to head home. I need to pack my suitcase, take my passport out of the safe and head down for breakfast for the last time. In fact, on that score, the breakfast offering has been fine, I can't think of anything to moan about (for a change!).

Another shot of room 436...

Outside I can hear the birds tweeting and I know that behind the curtain is blinding daylight. It's almost time for breakfast, but first a shower. Actually, a word about the shower, bearing in mind that my bathroom at the Residence Inn by Marriott in Pittsburgh, USA, offered nothing but tepid water at best unless I'd left it on for five or 10 minutes. Here at the Fly On, it was a great rain shower that was easy to use and the water was just right. The hotel is a little dated, a bit rough around the edges, meaning there was a bidet in the room, something I have never ever used (I wouldn't know which way you're supposed to sit or crouch on them, there's no seat) but, like a true Englishmen dying for a pee I nearly (and I stress that word 'nearly') used the bidet instead of the toilet. Fortunately I noticed at the last moment, not that it would have been THAT disastrous as there was a plug, but thankfully I realised in the nick of time! It could, of course, have been much worse, but let's not go there.

It's now Friday morning, time to go home, well, time to have breakfast and then back to the room for the boring bit: packing. I hate checking out of hotels. I don't mind checking in, but checking out is hell. Better go!