In Dusseldorf...

In the dead of night, the trams sound like an invading force of tanks, rumbling to a stop four floors below me. If you need an early morning call and you're staying in what was the Novum Madison (but is now Garners, part of the IHG group) you can pretty much bet on the trams waking you up. They woke me up, on many occasions, and each time I simply lay there staring at the ceiling and, oddly, thinking of that moment in The Polar Express movie when the train arrives outside the boy's house and everything starts shaking and rattling.

Since IHG has taken over they've spruced the place up a bit, but not by much; there's still a rough edge to the place and they've replaced proper hotel room keys with, yes, those awful key card things. My room (room 44) is huge and I could easily play table tennis in what amounts to unwanted space between the bed and the wardrobe. That said, I'm glad I have a wardrobe and not, like the Moxy in Nashville, a few wooden hooks sticking out of the wall. There's a desk too so I was quids in having spent a whole week in the Music City without desk or wardrobe and then, a week later, the same scenario but in Rotterdam. Perhaps wardrobes and desks are not part of the future for hotels. Let's hope they remain in situ.

My favourite restaurant of all time was fully booked, Christmas parties apparently, even in late November, so I found myself trolling around the streets after dark looking for somewhere decent to eat and not really finding anywhere apart from the usual crapperama (pizza restaurants mainly). That said, there was a place called Pho, a Vietnamese place as far as I could gather, but unfortunately for me, my earlier desperation to eat something had led to a chocolate bar, a Ritter Sport, which I'd bought to break up a 50 Euro note. I just about managed to eat the spring rolls (which were great) but the huge bowl of noodles and strips of crispy fried duck, not forgetting the pak choi and everything else, was too much and for the first time in my life (I think) I admitted defeat. "No, no, no, it was great, it's just that I stuffed my face with a chocolate bar and now I'm full up," I said, meaning every word of it because it was true and hoping they'd understand, but of course they didn't give a damn, I was still paying.

Room 44, Garners Hotel...

Afterwards, I wandered around in the dark peering into shop windows before eventually returning to the hotel and later being rudely awakened by the aforementioned early morning trams. Not that I was getting much in the way of sleep. I was due to moderate the opening session of an event on the outskirts of town the following morning, so I found myself reading through what I had to do (as I always do on these occasions) and then getting back into bed and listening to the noises of the city outside the window. It wasn't just trams; somewhere out there was a drunk shouting the odds at someone or something before he was drowned out by yet another tram.

When the event was over, I was invited to dinner and accepted. I just made it back to the hotel and had enough time to put some power into my iphone before jumping into a cab and heading for the shopping district of town. All the big brand names were there, Max Mara, Fendi, you name it and while I managed to check out some expensive watches that I couldn't afford, I didn't really have time to dawdle about. Later I walked back to the hotel, it took all of 20 minutes. It's hard to get lost in Dusseldorf.

The following morning, after more early morning trams, and another loud drunk (perhaps it was the same guy) I had a late breakfast and then hoofed it down to Dusseldorf central station to buy a ticket to Brussels Midi. I then tidied the room, put my suitcases behind the front desk before heading off on a trek into nowhere, which ended prematurely in a coffee shop (Mr. Ben's Coffee Shop no less) where I ordered a cappuccino and a flapjack. I always think I can relax, but when I'm travelling and I have places to be at specific times I always find myself preoccupied with the time and can't really settle. I strolled back to the hotel, picked up my suitcase, loitered for a while and then headed for the station. Platform 15, 1254, but it was late, arriving just past 1300hrs, a short ride to Cologne and then another train, the one I'm on now, heading to Brussels, where I'll have another wait for my EuroStar train.

Dusseldorf has always been my favourite European city, or one of them. I like them all to be honest, apart from Paris. A couple of weeks ago I spent a few days in Udine in northern Italy; that was great, but it was ruined by the cheese and ham rolls and the sugary cakes, which were everywhere, and then there's Linz in Austria, which is a longish train ride from Vienna, home of The Third Man ferris wheel and other attractions. In Linz there used to be a shop called Wanke. Yes, I know, very juvenile, but also very funny. I don't think it's there anymore, perhaps the shop owner went blind.

View from Room 44...

I wasn't that keen on Rotterdam, which I keep misspelling as Rotherham, especially after seeing a giant rat waddle unaccompanied into a restaurant. I won't be eating there, I thought. On that occasion I was staying in an easyHotel, which is basically a room and that's it: no breakfast, no wardrobes and no desk, but it was fine, especially after my adventure in Nashville where I was first introduced to the concept of hotel rooms without wardrobes and desks. These things are sent to try us and ultimately I find myself accepting whatever I initially thought of as a problem. In fact, where the Moxy was concerned, I felt a little guilty about criticising the hotel as it all worked out in the end.

We've just left Liege in Belgium and the weather is piss poor: grey skies and drizzly rain. In fact, everything is grey, not just the sky but the roads and the buildings and probably the people too, everybody shuffling around in puffa coats and trainers. Or perhaps that's just the UK.

I'm now in Exki, it's a cafe on Brussels Midi station. I was here on the way out on Tuesday morning as I needed somewhere with wifi so I could attempt to book a train online. Why couldn't I use the ticket office like normal? Because there was a three-day public services strike and there were no ticket people working. It proved a huge problem and in the end I even considered flying to Dusseldorf, but in the end help was at hand and one person checked me in for a train to my favourite German city. Now I'm back, awaiting the 1756 EuroStar to London. I can't wait. I've ordered roughly the same as I ordered when I was last here on Tuesday afternoon, but again I have to complain about the cuisine. When you're on the road, the food is basically a load of rubbish. Here it was all cheese again: cheese quiche (I hate quiche) followed by a cheesecake and, foolishly, I bought a cookie, which I've yet to eat. I'd buy a cup of tea in which to dunk said cookie but time is running out and I'd probably miss my train.

Time is a real issue at the moment. It doesn't matter how early you get up, time seems to catch up with you. On the way out here I was awake around 0330hrs knowing that my alarm was going off at 0600hrs, but I couldn't sleep as I didn't want to oversleep and miss my train, so I got up and got everything ready and then I was given a lift to the station and I jumped on the 0709 train to London Victoria, took the tube to St Pancras International and then, after going through security and what have you and despite seemingly having enough time, it turned out that there was no time to chill whatsoever. I  just about managed to eat a custard Danish and drink a cup of tea and it was time to go. Soon the train was called, Platform Five, and suddenly we were off, heading for Brussels. And when I got to my destination I was told of the public services strike and time crept up on me again. I figured if the worse came to the worse I would fly, but as I said above, everything was suddenly fine, but by the time I reached Dusseldorf and checked into my hotel time was running out fast. There were no tables at my favourite restaurant and suddenly time was in free fall again. But you know all of this, I'm just saying how odd it is that even if you 'leave enough time' you soon don't have any left. It's like now, I've only got around 20 minutes before my alarm goes off and I have to check in for the EuroStar home, everything seems to run after everything else, I can't get off the roundabout. The only occasion when time stands still is if you get to the airport early, security is fast and you have the full two hours in a cafe somewhere.

So I'm sitting in Exki and for good reason. I could have gone through the barriers for the Eurostar but I know there's nothing there, nowhere to chill, just a shop selling tacky duty free tatterama and I don't want that, no sir. The friendly woman on the door so to speak told me that there would be an Exki inside the terminal in the new year, which is great. I'll remember that for when I next find myself here in Brussels.

Lastly, I don't know about you, but I really resent having to pay to go to the restrooms. I firmly believe that if "they" could charge you for the air you breathe they would. And something else, lights on timer switches. No! How many times have I fallen foul of them (read one of my previous posts on the Quo Vadis hotel in Udine for more). This time, I was in a cubicle when it went pitch black and again, I found myself waving my arms about trying to get the light to come on again. It did but I decided there and then to use my iphone light for when it goes off again (which it didn't). It's all very annoying. While I get the point of energy saving lights, not in the cubicle of a toilet, have some respect for heaven's sake. The last thing I need is to piss all over the floor because I can't see where I'm aiming. Surely, make sure the lights in the toilets are not on a timer OR that the timer is set to be on for, I don't know, 10-15 minutes. Give people a chance. It's 1648hrs and I've got around 10 minutes before my alarm sounds and I have to make my way to the EuroStar terminal for the last leg of my journey. I simply can't wait to get home, but I can say that it's been a very successful trip.

The ride to London was boring. Having eaten a lot of rubbish, I decided not to tempt myself by visiting the buffet car. I read a bit of my book, The Absence by Budgie, the former drummer of the Banshees. It's a great book and well written. We arrived home bang on time at 1900hrs and then I crossed London on the tube and took a train to my home town.

Leaving Dusseldorf on the train...

I am sitting in a Starbucks on Cologne railway station. I've been here before, a couple of weeks ago, and now I'm back, but the queue is long and I don't have much time because there never is any time. Even if I think I have time, like now, I don't really. There's around 50 minutes until my train for Brussels leaves and I must be on it because there's only a 20-minute margin for error when I reach the Belgian capital, just 20 minutes and then I don't know what will happen. I'd have to hope that I can jump on a later one and get home around 2100hrs, something like that.

Carpeted corridors at the Mutterhaus

I was on the 1258 train from Dusseldorf to Cologne and there was just enough time to find the platform from where the Brussels train would depart. I had 10 minutes. Fortunately the platform was nearby and I was pleased to be standing there waiting for the train that was advertised. But then, without any warning, the sign changed and I asked somebody on the platform whether they knew what had happened. "Cancelled," he said. "Cancelled?" "Yes, welcome to Germany." This I found rather odd as normally the Germans are really efficient, their trains leave on time, everything works, but not today. I was told to wait for the 1540 so I decided to find somewhere to eat lunch. I found a brewery, a kind of huge pub, dark and cavernous, but it didn't look as if I'd be served for a long time so I left only to find that the restaurant opposite the central station was the same place, the brewery, Gaffel Kölsch. I ordered meatloaf with a fried egg and sliced and roasted potatoes, just what I needed and now I'm sitting here in Starbucks without a coffee because the queue is too long and they haven't rumbled me because they're too busy to notice that I've not ordered anything, I'm just using their wifi.

There's about 40 minutes to go and I must ensure that I don't get carried away here and then miss the next train. The day started early. It always does. I remember being awake around 0600hrs just staring at the ceiling wondering how to play the day. I knew I had my expenses to do, which is a big faff, but first there's breakfast. The Mutterhaus offers a decent breakfast – because it's a decent hotel (of which more later). All week I've been having roughly the same thing: a mix of granola, porridge oats and muesli with a strawberry yoghurt on top, then a green tea (maybe two) and a couple of slices of bread with marmalade. I've also had a pastry of sorts, something that changes daily, but it's always worth it so I never miss it. Over the past three or four days the routine has been breakfast followed by getting showered and then leaving the hotel behind, jumping on a tram and going to work. Then, unless there's something else to do, like attend an evening function down by the Rhine, or take somebody out to dinner, I go back to the hotel area (Kaiserswerth) and have dinner in Casa Massimo down by the river. I did this twice, on Sunday and Monday nights, but on Wednesday I had dinner with a colleague in what I've always called 'my favourite restaurant', which is Da Bruno, a small Italian trattoria on Karlstrasse. The food at Casa Massimo is on a par with Da Bruno, but it lacks the personal touch. On Sunday night – my first at Casa Massimo – I enjoyed a mozzarella and tomato starter followed by spaghetti bolognaise and accompanied by a large bottle of sparkling mineral water and a non-alcohol beer. The latter was wonderful and I must put it on record that no-alcohol beers over here are tremendous, a million times better than Becks Blue or Heineken 00. Last week I had a few bottles (three at most) of Warsteiner 00 at an industry event on Tuesday night and that was good too. So, all is hunky dory on the no-alcohol beer front.

Chilling in Casa Massimo

The Mutterhaus is an amazing place to stay and I'd love to return some day. It's a big, red-bricked former hospital and the interior decor is immaculate, all the passageways are carpeted, all the hotel room doors are huge, heavy wooden affairs and yes, you've guessed it, you get a proper key. I was in room 213 and there was nothing to complain about other than the plugs being too far away from the desk at which I could work; this meant that I had to charge my computer on one side of the room and then, when charged, move it to the desk area. It wasn't a big faff if I'm honest, I made do. There's no restaurant here, hence my two visits to Casa Massimo, which was about 400 yards or so away, just a short walk and then across the tram tracks and down the street past quaint shops, including Schuster, the café serving amazing cakes and cappuccino. I experienced the delights of Schuster this morning as there was time to kill after I'd checked out around 1000hrs. I left my bags at the hotel front desk. There was no 'concierge' and when I returned I noticed that my bags were still simply behind the counter where I had left them, not that anybody was going to steal them. I reckon all the guests who stay at the Mutterhaus are good people. The hotel is very quiet. I don't think I ever met anybody in the lift or along the corridors and I only saw a few other guests in the breakfast room on the ground floor.

Starter at Casa Massimo

The hotel receptionist was a pleasant woman called Piros, which doesn't sound very German. I always thought the Germans were a little short on a sense of humour, but no, I am wrong. She was always laughing at virtually everything I said and did without any prompting from yours truly. Women seem to take liberties and I must say that I'm a bit baffled by it all; yesterday, a woman who had been watching my 'performance' at a panel discussion I was chairing, sidled up to me afterwards to discuss my suit. My suit! She asked me if it was new and I said no, it was a year old, give or take a few days. "Oh," said she, and proceeded to tell me that the jacket's flaps at the back were sown shut when they shouldn't be; I must say that it hadn't bothered me and, in all honesty, I hadn't noticed, but when I returned to my hotel room I checked it out and she was right. What with Piros laughing at virtually everything and this other woman offering clothing advice, I'm beginning to think that something's afoot, I'm always on their radar, I thought later as I ripped the flaps of my suit jacket loose before hanging it in the wardrobe. Perhaps I just made Piros laugh for some reason, Listen, I'll pick up on this conversation later, I've got a train to catch.

Breakfast delicacies at the Mutterhaus Hotel

I'm back! And what a palaver! Remember, I was booked on to the earlier train so my seat reservation (I'm guessing) was null and void. I, like my fellow passengers booked on the 1342 to Brussels Midi, were now wandering the carriages of the later train, the 1540, pushing heavy suitcases in front or behind of us and wondering whether to take a gamble and just sit down (as I did, only to be told 'this is is my seat'). Well, you can have it, I felt like saying, but instead I remained polite and carried on with my trek towards the front of the train. I made it to the buffet car where there were 'seats' (of a sort) that meant I could lean back behind a raised table. Perfect. I won't be moving from here in a hurry, although the woman next to me, who was on her laptop, has now packed up and gone to the washroom, leaving behind a huge purple suitcase and a smaller, bright orange rucksack. More room for me, but not much. Prior to her departure I had ordered an English breakfast tea and a large Twix, both of which are now gone (the woman is back and rubbing something into her hands, probably sanitiser). Her lap top is out again and she's back on it.

The Mutterhaus hotel from the second floor

Outside there is nothing but trees, well, not just trees, fields, little villages, the usual stuff you expect to see out of a train window. I'm going all the way to Brussels Midi and then it's the Eurostar to London and I can't wait if I'm honest, which I am.

Bookmarked books opposite reception. Why? 

Back in Dusseldorf, Klemensplatz was the nearest tram stop to the Mutterhaus. I used the U79 and went backwards and forwards along the line at different times of the day and night depending on the event I was attending or who I was meeting. Klemensplatz and the area surrounding it are very pleasant. I've already mentioned Schuster, the café where I took advantage of the outdoor seating this morning and last Sunday when I first arrived. On Sunday I had a kind of marzipan cake and today an apple tart and a cappuccino whilst reading a bit of my new book, The Full English by Stuart Maconie. It's great and I'll probably read it again shortly when I've finished this post, or when I'm on the Eurostar home. Schuster and Casa Massimo are both worthy establishments, the rest, while quaint – toy shops, clothes shops, bookshops without any English language publications, a chemist and a health food shop – did nothing for me. But I did like Kaiserswerth and guess what? Yes, I could live there, but would I? No. Why? Because it would be impractical on virtually every level. Let's just say it's a nice part of Dusseldorf and it's very close to the city centre.

Down by the Rhine in Kaiserswerth

As I mentioned before, time is non-existent. Never think you've got time for anything, just get up and go and do any loitering about when you reach your destination. Wandering around the shops of Kaiserswerth did me no favours. On the tram to Dusseldorf's central station I realised that I was cutting things fine but when I got there all was well and I managed to get to Cologne easily enough. As I said, they cancelled my first Cologne to Brussels train and now I'm on the 1540 sitting in the buffet car blogging. Since my last update on the scenery outside the train there has been little change, although it's looking a bit more built up than it was earlier. We've just gone over a river, quite a big one, and the train is slowing down. 

More Mutterhaus breakfast delicacies

My clock says it's 1545hrs and we're coming in to somewhere fairly big, I'm guessing it's Liege, so we're in Belgium, next stop Brussels Midi. The platforms are empty, there's nobody around, just a few passengers getting off. I'm trying to think of what else I can tell you about my latest visit to Dusseldorf. On Monday night I walked from the middle of Dusseldorf back to Kaiserswerth along a fairly rural footpath that kind of followed the Rhine. It was a 5.5-mile yomp with Dr. Martens shoes and a heavy case and it took me 1 hour and 49 minutes. It was one of those journeys I started to regret almost immediately as it was hot and I was ill-prepared for such a walk.I started to wish I had a bike, which would have made the journey a little quicker, but I didn't. While most of the journey was along the rural path it eventually dipped inland and followed suburban streets lined with fairly large houses. It was quiet and again there was nobody around, or hardly anybody. The houses were pleasant in the evening summer sun and there were top-of-the-range German cars resting in the driveways. Soon I found myself at the Klemensplatz tram stop. I walked across the tracks and decided to go straight to Casa Massimo and drink a huge bottle of sparkling mineral water and a bottle of Jever alcohol-free beer. It was perfect, but later I found myself wide awake (unlike now) and in need of more mineral water. I nipped downstairs barefooted (remember, the whole place is carpeted) and bought three bottles of sparkling water plus a bottle of orange Fanta, now there's a drink I haven't experienced in a long time. I guzzled the Fanta and one of the bottles of mineral water and then went back to bed... and slept like a baby. I'd already had two hours of sleep and now I slept for an additional six and a half, so eight and a half hours in total and much needed. I've just ordered a large cappuccino as I was falling asleep, hopefully it will revive me. 

Some of the amazing cakes in Schuster Café, Klemensplatz

One thing that did make me laugh, more out of bafflement than anything else, was a fairly large wooden sideboard opposite the reception area of the Mutterhaus hotel. It was baffling and mildly amusing. There were a lot of books stored in the sideboard and they all had bookmarks in them. What, I wondered, was that all about? I asked Piros and of course she laughed, but I wanted to know why people left books in reception with bookmarks in them. Why weren't the books in their rooms? Or on their person so they could read as and when the fancy took them? She laughed again, and later she laughed even more when I suggested moving the bookmarks to different parts of the books to inject a bit of confusion into the proceedings. Left to my own devices I might have moved a few around as the books in question had been in the same place ever since I arrived at the hotel and I couldn't figure out why people would leave them by reception. Fine if it was dirty boots or wet umbrellas, but books are pretty harmless, just keep them on the bedside table, surely that's the time when you're going to read them, before you hit the sack.Still, stranger things and all that.

Chilling before the journey home

It's 1722 and I'm guessing there's not much longer to go; the shutters have come down on the buffet counter and now somebody is saying something over the intercom, probably that we're about to arrive at Brussels Midi or Noord, I think it was the latter. I need to guzzle my coffee a little bit faster, but it's still too hot.

When we reached Brussels Midi it was clear that I had missed the 1756 Eurostar to London and would have to travel on the 1851 instead, which wasn't a huge problem even if it did mean arriving in the UK around an hour later than planned. I was alloted seat 44 in coach 8, right next door to the buffet car, not that I wanted anything to eat after the huge lunch I'd enjoyed in the brewery opposite Cologne railway station. But first, the Society of the Spectacle. I went straight to the perfumery section and tried out the Allure. All aftershaves smell the same, be it Allure or Eau Savage or whatever. Only Old Spice has its own distinctive cheap and powdery appeal and that's why I have some in my suitcase. Nothing better than cheap aftershave or deodorant! Whatever happened to Denim and Hai Karate? In the hot weather something is needed and that's for sure.

I found a wobbly seat and tried to use my laptop, but the wifi was rubbish so I gave up and then it was time to board. I was sitting next to Melinda from Cologne.We chatted about this and that until it was time to disembark. She was going to Nottingham to meet somebody she hadn't seen since 1997 and I was heading home.The heat of the week continued.I took the tube and then the overground and soon I was home.

Meeting Paul Simonon...

It's hardly been a week since I was last here, but I'm back, it's 0511hrs and I'm sitting at a beautiful, old-fashioned wooden desk in room 213 of the Mutterhaus Hotel in the Kaiserswerth district of Dusseldorf. The day is dawning outside of my window and I am surrounded – or so it seems – by the greenery of tall trees, although at present they are in the black and white of the waning night.

A mystic portal at St Pancras station

The Mutterhaus is a fantastic hotel, it's a huge, old, red-bricked building and there is a history that I will tell you about just as soon as find out more about it. The room is wonderful. Wooden floors, two small, upturned shield-shaped windows, the aforementioned desk and bags of room, this is not in anyway cramped and, to make things that little bit better, it's a four-star hotel. Make no mistake, this ain't a corporate-looking hotel, it's set in its own grounds, a bit like the Villa Dragoni in Buttrio, Italy, and it's no more than around 350 yards from some of the quaintest shops and streets that I know... and a tram stop that will whisk me (in around 10 minutes) to my place of work for the next few days. In other words, I couldn't ask for more.

The last time I was here I decided to take the train from London rather than fly. It's a little more civilised and there's not much in it in terms of cost. I was booked on the 0901 train from St. Pancras International and from the moment I woke up yesterday morning (it's now Monday 12 June as I write this) I wished that I hadn't booked such an early train. But ultimately, I'm glad that I did as later complications with trains would have put me on a considerable back foot. I say 'complications', it wasn't that bad. In essence, when I reached Brussels Midi I was informed that the train to Dusseldorf that I would normally take was basically full and that to wait around for the next available InterCity service – here it's not called that, it's either an ICE train or a service run by Thalys – would have meant an arrival time of gone 2300hrs. The last thing I wanted was to arrive late at night and miss dinner so I opted for local trains (two changes) that got me in around 4pm, which was just perfect and no hassle whatsoever. In fact, everything was smooth-running for which I am grateful.

Eurostar breakfast...on the 0901 to Brussels Midi

I was offered a much-needed lift to East Croydon station from where I jumped aboard a train to Victoria, took the Underground to King's Cross and then, as has been the practice of late, joined the huge queues at the international terminal to go through the arduous process of security followed by passport control. It's far less arduous, I hasten to add, than flying. For a start, you're advised to be at the terminal just one hour before 'take off' and the very thought of not flying makes everything a little less fraught. It helps (in all circumstances to be honest) if you have a decent book 'on the go' and for this trip, I had Stuart Maconie's The Full English which, I must say, is absolutely wonderful, the sort of travel book that I like as the author puts in the travelling, it's not just him writing about places, he's actually visited them, following, in this instance, the route of JB Priestley in his book English Journey. 

Liege station

Getting through security and passport control at St Pancras is far less stress-inducing than being at London Heathrow airport where the regimen is slightly more strained (and officious) as people have the hassle of knowing they have to fly off somewhere; and while yesterday was what British Airways pilots often refer to as 'great flying weather' there's always a bit of me that worries, so to be on the train, travelling on terra firma is just perfect and, as I've said before, no need for taxis to the airport and the grief of having to listen to a racist taxi driver moaning about the Mayor of "Londonistan".

Welkenraedt station

Today was special for another reason. I first noticed the figure of Paul Simonon, erstwhile bassist of punk supergroup the Clash, at the security conveyor where, like me, he was awaiting his suitcase to appear on the other side of the scanner. I didn't twig immediately that it was him, although I did notice he was wearing a brown pinstripe suit and some interesting-looking polished brown boots, which set him apart from your average traveller. In short, he looked good and then suddenly I twigged, it's Paul Simonon from the Clash. I wasn't planning on asking him for a selfie or anything naff of that sort, but I realised that I'd have to ask him it he was really who I thought he was and when I did he said yes and we stopped for an amiable chat. Naturally, I remained calm and collected, although it would be fair to say that I was meeting one of my heroes, something we are always advised against doing. 'Never meet your heroes' they say, but on this occasion it was fine, mainly because Paul Simonon is a decent chap. I began to wonder whether he was impressed that I had recognised him. He's not a 'frontman', a lead singer or lead guitarist so I would like to think he was a little chuffed that I'd strolled over to introduce myself having spotted him a few moments earlier. Remember, Simonon was the bassist of a huge band with an international following and he's still hard at it, working with other cutting edge bands like Gorillaz and engaged with his own important projects. It's hard to work out how rockstars of his standing are going to react when somebody like me, 'from off the street', approaches and identifies them as if they're Chalkey White from the Daily Mirror and I was there to collect my £200. Simonon was as polite as can be, we shook hands and engaged in a shortish, possibly 10-minute, chat in which he told me that he used to live in my home town of Carshalton up until the age of five when he moved to Brixton. He was now on his way to Paris to play a gig. Turns out (I discovered later) that we are both Sagittarians. I was born 10 December, he was born 15 December, but two years earlier. Sadly, I had to run to catch a train, but the meeting with such a punk icon as Paul Simonon remained with me all day and is still glowing brightly as I write this blogpost the following day. In fact, everything pales into insignificance, even the trip here which, all things considered, was pretty uneventful apart from the meeting with Paul Simonon.

Catching the 1522 to Dusseldorf from Aachen

So how did I get here? Well, I jumped aboard the first of two local trains and had to change at Welkenraedt where I waited a short while for a train to Aachen and from there I picked up a train to Dusseldorf. The longest journey was Brussels Midi to Welkenraedt, but Welkenraedt to Aachen was no more than 10 minutes and the journey to Dusseldorf was fairly short. 

Room 213, Mutterhaus Hotel, Dusseldorf...

What really pisses me off about Europe, or certainly Belgium and Germany, is that you have to pay to go to the toilet. This really isn't cricket especially if, like me, you don't carry cash. I was in urgent need (as we all are occasionally) and found myself diving into the Starbucks on Dusseldorf station only to discover that there were no toilets other than those on the platform. To reach the hotel I was told to take the U79 tram, but when I reached the platform there was nothing doing for at least half an hour so I broke the habit of a life time and took a cab, a cream-coloured Merc from outside the station, and was whisked to the Mutterhaus in around 15 minutes. I was abroad so there was no taxi driver racism. In fact, I made a decision not to strike up a conversation, mainly because there would clearly be a language barrier, but also because I wasn't in the mood to make small talk.

Cake at Schuster – really good!

I checked in and then raced to room 213 in order to relieve myself (I just made it!) and then I took a stroll as directed towards the nearest tram stop (Klemensplatz) and the most amazing little café, Schuster, which offered some equally amazing (and I mean amazing) cakes. Naturally, I ordered one. I watched as a young woman ahead of me ordered around half a dozen and had to resist making a wisecrack that would clearly have been lost in translation so I didn't bother. She waltzed off in her sequinned miniskirt with her cakes (surely not all for her) and then it was my turn. I ordered the cake you can see in the photograph above and it was fantastic. The sun was shining and I sat there with the cake and a cappuccino reading Maconie's The Full English in the heat. This, I thought, was the life, and decided on the spur of the moment to suggest to my wife that she and my daughter join me, "just jump on a flight to Dusseldorf on Friday and I'll meet you at the airport" said I impulsively in a text, having thought it through for all of five minutes, but of course we are short of cash (I'm not an international rockstar like Paul Simonon) and eventually the idea was scrapped and we talked instead of a 'proper holiday' meaning Spain or elsewhere, somewhere hot with a swimming pool. Not that the cash situation will be improving any time soon. Unfortunately, we just don't have the money and I'm now considering freelance work. Whilst in Detroit I found a hotel industry magazine in the lobby of the Doubletree in Windsor, Ontario. I 'stole' it and have it on my person now so I'm planning to drop the editor an email over the next couple of days to see if he fancies a UK correspondent. I used to write a lot about hotels and I'm still writing reviews for Trip Advisor – which pays Jack Shit – so perhaps there's some extra money to be made.

View from room 213, Mutterhaus

I dined in an Italian restaurant, Massimo's, along the cobbled streets close to the Rhine – mozzarella and tomato, spaghetti bolognaise, a large bottle of Pellegrino mineral water and a no-alcohol beer, all very civilised as the heat continued into the evening. Then I strolled back, not really wanting to return to the hotel, so I looked in closed shop windows and slowly made my way back, resigning myself to a lonely evening in front of the television. I found the BBC (channel 98) and watched the news about Boris Johnson stepping down as an MP (good riddance, I can't stand the fat cunt) and the other MPs who have stepped down too, like the menopausal munter and others, none of whom deserve to be politicians. There were other stories, but I can't remember them, one was about a boat crash in the Red Sea, but then I switched channels and watched Avengers: End Game, which was dubbed over in German but still understandable.

After faffing around with the lighting and discovering that I could dim the desk light, I switched off every other light and lie on top of the bed in the continuing heat thinking about nothing in particular and simply staring at the ceiling, looking out at the trees through one of my two upturned-shield windows. Eventually I nodded off but would awake occasionally through the night only to find myself staring at the ceiling again until I fell asleep. At around 0430hrs I was fully awake but I left it until 0500hrs before I jumped out of bed and started to write this blogpost. It's now 0635hrs and my thoughts have turned to breakfast. I'll probably go down there before I shower and then come back and prepare myself for the day ahead.

Schuster – a great café selling excellent cakes

The sun is already out. The trees that were monochrome in the early morning light are now green and vibrant, I can hear the sound of crows and other birds as they go about their business and I'm starting to wonder about the breakfast offering. As I've said before, you can tell a lot about a hotel from the standard of its breakfast.

I started to wonder what Paul Simonon was doing. He's probably awake in a hotel room in Paris somewhere having played a gig last night; or perhaps his first gig is tonight, who knows? He might not be in a hotel, he might have pals in the French capital putting him up for a couple of days. Either way he's experiencing the heat of the early morning and hopefully looking forward to the day ahead.

London to Dusseldorf by train...

The day, Wednesday 31st May 2023, started with a negative edge in the shape of a train strike. I don't even know why there was a strike. I thought things had been sorted out weeks ago. But no, they clearly haven't been, and as far as I knew when I woke up, the strike was total and there was no way I was going to get a straightforward ride into town from my local station, a mere seven minutes' walk from where I live. I don't like taking taxis at the best of times: first, I think they're a rip-off and should only be used if absolutely necessary, like last month's trip to Detroit, which started with a cab ride because I had too much 'stuff' to carry. But when it's just a suitcase, depending on its weight, I prefer public transport, not that it was on offer. 

"I haven't got a cab for at least an hour," said the man at the other end of the telephone when I called my local cab company. Fine, I'll have to work something out. Another reason not to like taking a cab is the racist small talk. I don't want to listen to some Brexiteer moaning about the Mayor of London or referring to the capital as 'Londonistan'.

31/5/23 leaving London at 1104hrs.

I managed to get a lift to East Croydon (from where there were no trains) but I had already figured on using the Tramlink service to Wimbledon and then jumping on a tube train from there, all the way to St. Pancras International. I was supposed to 'tap in' with my debit card before I boarded the tram (I later discovered) but had been told otherwise by a woman on the platform; and I'm now starting to wonder whether she deliberately fed me with duff information, she was, after all, a seasoned tram user herself (or so I initially thought) and should have told me to tap in on the platform, like she had probably done. Anyway, it was all academic as the inspectors rarely jump on the tram (a friendly postman told me) and it turned out he was right. In other words I managed to dodge the fare all the way to Wimbledon and that was simply because I didn't want to risk getting up, running to the tap-in point on the platform and then missing the train and watching it pull out of the station with my suitcase full of clothes and a laptop. I think I would have preferred a fine to that awful fate. Still, it never happened and I jumped on to the platform at Wimbledon to discover (much to my surprise) that there were trains from Wimbledon into town. Good old South West Trains, I thought. I was advised to alight at Vauxhall, change to the Victoria Line and ride all the way to King's Cross, which is what I did. Perfect! 

I had arrived with loads of time to spare, but then again, not really. They were already beckoning people travelling on the 1104 to Amsterdam to 'go through security' so in I went and soon I emerged on the other side. I was up very early, something crazy like 0500hrs, so five hours later I was in need of sustenance and a cup of tea. I also invested in an almond croissant, but I started to wish I hadn't. Sometimes I wonder if I need to eat or whether it's a comfort thing. My sister called. We talked about mum who had fallen over again, she's fine though. I then sat there awaiting the time for boarding and soon I was travelling up to platform 9 on the moving walkway and looking forward to taking my seat in coach four (seat 98). Everything was smooth-running. Eurostar, incidentally, was not on strike. I was travelling to Brussels Midi and the plan was to pick up another train to Dusseldorf from Köln (Cologne). 

A beer in Brussels

As I emerged from the tunnel and found myself on the European side of the English Channel I noted, as always, that the roads were empty. We whistled through Calais Frethun, a station I remember from a trip I took some time ago when editing another magazine. I remember sitting there on the lonely, quiet and virtually empty station drinking a bottle of Kronenbourg 1664. I can't remember where I was going or why, but I'll always remember the desolation of the platform and a strange sense of being stranded in the middle of nowhere. 

It's been four years since I was last in Brussels just ahead of the lockdown. I think it was November 2019. I remember looking at watches in a Swatch shop and eventually buying one (in London) that I'd seen while in Belgium's capital city (at least I think it's the capital city). 

I decided not to get the 1425 train, which ultimately stopped at Frankfurt and was about to depart for Dusseldorf from platform 3. Instead I waited for the 1622, which would get me into Dusseldorf at 1900hrs. My decision was influenced by the fact that I couldn't book a seat, it was too late for that, and I didn't fancy all the potential grief of standing up and not being able to sit down. A seven o'clock arrival time was still early in my book. It was, therefore, time for lunch in La Brasserie de la Gare across the road from Brussels Midi station. I'd been there before, although I know not when, but certainly pre-pandemic. I ordered a pasta dish, which was very pleasant, and two small bottles of Leffe 00, which turned out to be very nice indeed. The sun was shining down, there were blue skies and, as it was only hours away from being June, I guess it was the perfect summer's day.

Waiting for the Koln train...

I needed to buy an adaptor but couldn't find a shop that sold them and almost risked missing my train, so I pulled myself together and vowed to check out the electronics shops in Dusseldorf if there was time. There wasn't. There never is. The journey was pleasant, mainly because nobody was sitting next to me, although I didn't have a full window, which was annoying. I sat there reading Murakami, eating a Twix and drinking English Breakfast tea from a paper mug. Having experienced the journey before by train I immediately remembered Liege when the train arrived. I remembered Aachen station from a trip I took ages and ages ago; I think I was en route to Dortmund and then a place called Ludenscheid (that was a drunken trip if I recall. I was 19 years old). I stayed in the Hotel Zum Adler and probably still have the receipt as I think it was my first ever trip abroad way, way back in the mists of time.

The train took me as far as Köln and I had a 15-minute wait for a local train to Dusseldorf, arriving around 1900hrs.

It was good to be back in my favourite German city and I wasted no time in walking to the Novum Madison Hotel from where I write this post. It's not a flash hotel by any means, but I've stayed here before (during a very hot summer's week in June 2019) and it was all I needed. I'm not one for flash hotels, can't stand them, especially those huge corporate places full of suits. Don't get me wrong, the Madison is not dirty or down at heel in any way, it's just an average hotel close to the central station and it offers proper room keys, none of that key card crapola. The check-in was easy and I took the small and silent lift to the third floor and room 304, which was literally on my right as I stepped out. I felt a bit miffed at the fact that my room was so close to the elevator as it meant that I would hear everybody who passed my door, even if they arrived late or were coming back from some drunken revelry in the early hours. Again, I wasn't really bothered as it's quite pleasant lying there in the dark listening to the comings and goings of strangers. I remember once, in a Quality Inn on the wrong side of town in Pittsburgh, listening to a couple arguing in the next room. I wondered whether one or both of them were packing pieces and whether the sound of gunfire might have disturbed the peace of the early morning. Nothing happened. 

Room 304, Novum Madison

My room at the Madison was very similar to the room I had here four years ago – in fact it was identical – and for a while I thought it was the same room, but it wasn't as the room I had in 2019 (room 416) overlooked Karlstrasse, the road on which my favourite restaurant, Da Bruno, resides. Check out how similar the two rooms are by clicking here.

After sorting myself out – and by that I mean putting all my clothes in the wardrobe and kind of 'setting up shop' – I was ready to go out and have dinner. Da Bruno hasn't changed a bit. In fact it's the same people running it and they remembered me, which is always good. They do have more competition than when I was here last. For a start, the sex supermarket across the road has gone and has thankfully been replaced by a restaurant, and there were two or three new eateries virtually next door. I had the strange feeling that they wouldn't be as good as Da Bruno so I didn't bother investigating. I certainly had no intention of 'pulling up a chair' as I was intent on enjoying 'my favourite restaurant'. By and large, it hasn't really changed, although I did wonder about the portion sizes. I ordered Parma ham and melon – yes, I know, a very dated dish if ever there was one, and I swear it was smaller and less impressive than the same dish I ordered four years earlier. It wasn't worth complaining about. In fact, less ham is far better for me, so I accepted it, not that I would have said anything. For mains I chose pappardelle with mushrooms and I didn't bother with dessert. I took the liberty of booking a table (for one) for the following night (tonight) at 2000hrs as I really can't be bothered to go trawling around the city looking for somewhere decent to eat. Perhaps I should do that, I've done it many times before but have always ended up settling for second best and then feeling disappointed and eager to pay up and get back to the hotel. It's currently 1921hrs, so in around 40 minutes from now I'll be heading on over there. Perhaps Da Bruno had simply lost the pizzazz of presentation, perhaps there had been a change of chef, I don't know, but it was still my favourite restaurant whichever way I looked at it even if the mushrooms in my pasta dish were just bog standard, nothing special, which, perhaps, they might have been four years earlier. In truth I don't know.

View from room 304

Today is Thursday. I spent most of Wednesday travelling and I'll be honest, I prefer it to flying. Cost-wise there's not much in it. The 188 Euros I spent on a return ticket to Dusseldorf from Brussels was less than the two £80 + taxis I would have needed to ferry me to and from the airport – and I would definitely have taken a taxi to the airport yesterday rather than endure public transport during a strike (the ride to St Pancras sans strike is a doddle depending on how much luggage I have and how heavy it is).

A sleepless night awaited me. I awoke around 0200hrs – I didn't know what time it was until I turned on the television as my iphone had run out of power and I didn't have a watch. I remember looking at my watch before I left home and thinking 'do I need it?' No, I must have thought. Note to self: always wear a watch on foreign trips.

Having woken up in the very early hours, I spent a fretful time hoping that if I did fall asleep I would wake up in time to get a train to Mönchengladbach. I was worried about the journey because I couldn't find a thing on Trainline and started to think there might be some kind of problem. So I drifted in and out of sleep, having strange dreams I can barely remember in great detail. I was out of bed by around 0530hrs, but then I simply lay there until around 0600hrs when I had a shower, shaved and got ready for the day ahead.

Starter at Da Bruno

Breakfast was fine: a bowl of cereal with added strawberry yoghurt plus two mini pastries and a mug of green tea. As I sat there, in a kind of sleepy daze, a bespectacled old crab appeared in front of me and started to berate me for leaving the water tap on when I made my tea. In all honesty I'm not sure this is 100% true as it's a natural reaction to turn the tap off, ie stop the flow of water, before removing the cup, which is what I did; so whether it somehow came on without my knowledge after I'd gone back to my table, I'll never know. But basically I took the bollocking, if that's what it was. Well, it wasn't so much a bollocking, just her telling me I did it and me sitting there looking dazed and confused and dressed like a clown with huge red shoes and a red nose (not really). Rather than continue sitting there on a kind of metaphorical 'naughty step' I got up and left.

Breakfast over I headed for Dusseldorf Central Station, mere minutes from the Madison, and jumped aboard the 0848 train to Mönchengladbach after spending a considerable amount of time messing around with the ticket vending machine. I spent most of the day in a meeting before walking a good 7km from the meeting place back to the railway station in the afternoon heat, hoping for the joy of a friendly gust of wind, always most welcomed in the summer heat. I took a suburban train back to Dusseldorf and then, after a little bit of work, I went out for my second sitting at Da Bruno. Today I ordered Mozzarella with tomato followed by a rather staid-looking spaghetti bolognaise and finished off with tiramisu. Yes, I wish I hadn't bothered with dessert, and because I was feeling so guilty about it I decided to walk to the Alt Stadt (old town). I reached the Rhine, took a photograph and then walked back and now I am in my hotel room, tired and ready for bed. I hope I burned off a few calories to compensate for that dessert. I'd better hit the sack. I need to be out of the hotel before noon as that's when my train for Köln departs. It's 2245 as I write this and I have my phone working again so I can set an alarm, although I don't really need to as there's no work tomorrow. I'll probably take a wander around town but in a different direction, check out a few shops, possibly have a coffee somewhere (I've been drinking a lot of English Breakfast tea) and then head for the station which, as I said, is but a five-minute walk from the hotel. It'll be a long day tomorrow but not half as stressful as flying. I'll sit on board the train, I've got a book to read, I don't need to be preoccupied with a flight and what's going on outside the window, I can just relax and chill, which is all I really want to do.

On my way to the old town after dinner, burning calories...

It's now Friday morning, 2nd June 2023 and it's 0602hrs. I'm going to throw some warm water over my face and then head down for breakfast. After that it's anyone's guess what I'll do next. I'll definitely pack things away and then check out and I'll probably leave my luggage with the concierge, not that there is a concierge at the Madison, it'll be whoever is on the front desk. Lots of hotels don't have a concierge and the word is often used in connection with leaving bags to be picked up later. I'm looking forward to the journey home because trains are involved. I don't have to be there two hours before take-off, I don't have to take the Sky Train to the airport, go through security, keep an eye on the weather, there's nothing fretful apart from the trains being late, which I hope they won't be. Germany's pretty good on stuff like punctuality, but let's not count chickens.

Maxplatz...

I often ask myself why I like Dusseldorf and why I refer to it as my 'favourite city'. One reason is its closeness to the UK. A flight from London varies from 55 to 70 minutes and once you land it's only a short journey to the centre of town, unlike the deal in London when you've got an expensive taxi ride into town. Then there's the fact that it's relatively safe here, that's why I wandered alone towards the old town last night. People are out enjoying themselves in the bars and restaurants that line the streets. Last night my stroll started on Bismarckstrasse – now that's an interesting road – and I walked in roughly a straight line all the way down to the Rhine and then back again. I've stayed in a few hotels here too, the Burns Art Hotel, the Friends hotel and the Mercure, and probably others too, and they've all been pleasant. Then there's my favourite restaurant and, of course, the generally friendly vibe of the city. I used to say my favourite city was Portland, Oregon, because of Powell's Books, the world's biggest bookstore and for other reasons, such as the Ace Hotel on First Avenue, but I haven't had cause to return and things, sadly, have taken a turn for the worse, thanks to Fentanyl addiction and possibly other forms of dereliction. I've been watching a few reports on YouTube and it's sad to see a city fall from grace in such a big way, but that won't stop me returning there one day, if only to spend the night in the Ace Hotel. I'd better get ready for breakfast.

I reached the Rhine as the sun started to set...

On the 0817hrs Dusseldorf to Paris Nord train (heading for Brussels)...

When I woke up this morning it was only 57 degrees Fahrenheit. Most of the week it’s been in the high eighties. That’s not to say it won’t get hotter as the day progresses. I’m on board the 0817 train to Paris Nord, although I’m getting off at Brussels Midi. I’m sitting in seat 14, coach 22, right at the back of the train, but the carriage is virtually empty, the seat wide and I’m as happy as Larry looking out at the passing landscape.

One thing I noticed on the journey from Brussels to Dusseldorf - and I’m now reminded of as the train slows down as we arrive in Cologne - is that the Germans really love their allotments. I’ve never seen such elaborate sheds, some sporting their own back gardens, most with net curtains; the Germans really make themselves at home and their sheds could easily double as houses, places where people could live.

We have stopped on a railway bridge over the Rhine, right in the middle. I remember walking over this bridge back in 2007, or thereabouts, but I can’t remember exactly why I was in Cologne, although it was probably something to do with the international potato processing industry or food manufacturing in some shape or form.

We have arrived in Cologne and loads of people are now standing to my right with their suitcases. To my immediate right is a south east Asian couple are trying to put their massive suitcases in the racks over the seats. Miraculously, they’ve succeeded and now a steady flow of people are pushing their suitcases in front of them. Just when I thought the journey was going to be silent, I can hear the apologies. “I’m so sorry”, “excuse me, sir” and “sorry about that”. These are all holidaymakers in shorts and tee-shirts and trainers, a world alien to me.

The train is edging out of the platform, we pass the Merian Hotel and the backs of apartment blocks and then Cologne Hansaring station on which more holidaymakers stand waiting for a train. The train picks up speed and it won’t be long before we leave the city behind.

The guards have been round checking the tickets, always a nervous moment for me for some reason, but all my documents were in order and now the food trolley, but I want for nothing; I’ve eaten breakfast and that’s enough until I reach Brussels Midi. Although I’ve just heard it’s complimentary and I have the choice of sweet or salty. No, I must resist and I do so easily - until I’m offered a croissant. “Orange joose, multi-vitamin?” He’s moved up the carriage as we pass through a town and back into the fields.

Outside the sun is shining, the wind farms are still and the skies are blue apart from one solitary cloud expanding like ink on blotting paper as it splurges from some kind of industrial plant. It’s lovely out there. Everything is bathed in sunshine, everything is still, blinds are down, umbrellas are up. All is quiet.

Some of the passengers are tucking in to their breakfasts, sipping water or fruit juice, and I’m looking out of the window at the woods where all is still.

I was up at 0600hrs this morning and I’d had a fairly good sleep, mainly because I was packing stuff away last night and didn’t hit the sack until around midnight. Compared to earlier in the week the heat of the night had gone, but I kept the windows open as it was nice to listen to the city before nodding off to sleep. I was in the hotel breakfast room at just gone 0630 having showered and shaved last night in order to save time in the morning. Mint tea, yoghurt, a couple of mini pastries, cereal and that was my lot. No scrambled egg or fresh fruit this morning. Check-out was quick and soon I found myself on the railway station passing the time by reading English newspapers. The very thought of going back there depressed me: Boris Johnson, Brexit and all those associated with it. I’ve avoided watching television all week and my only contact with the UK has been through the BBC website.

Ebbsfleet, I'm back in the UK and not happy about it...

We’re in Aachen. After a short stop the train lurches out of the station and I fall asleep only to awake at Liege, but I thought we might have arrived in Brussels. Panicking slightly, but knowing deep down that we can’t possibly be there just yet, I jumped up and asked the guard. “Liege, Belgium,” he says and with a sigh of relief I went back to my seat. It’s 0953hrs and we’re due to arrive in Brussels at 1035. 

Trains always make me sleepy, but that’s what’s nice about them. Liege is nice too, what I can see of it. The town is surrounded by wooded hills, but it’s a picturesque sort of place with tall, narrow, close-knit townhouses. And now we’re passing through Ans. Within seconds there are fields and once again the sleepy, sunny stillness returns and I am reminded of what my life knows as ‘the magical year’, 1989, when all was good with the world, the Berlin Wall came down and I enjoyed a fantastic holiday in Menton, South of France. We travelled there by train and I remember the return journey when the weather was similar to what it is now. This was before the recession hit and redundancy loomed and I felt angry with the world for the first time in my life. Up until the start of 1990 I had no real gripes with my position in the world, but after 1990 things started to go wrong and the United Kingdom of today was born and by that I mean a distrustful place full of career politicians and angry, bigoted people. Perhaps for others this awful world had arrived earlier, who knows? But for me, 1989 was the last of the good years, the end, if you like, of innocence. After 1989 I lost friends, I lost jobs and I lost respect, there was nothing but uncertainty in all spheres of life and it has continued physically, mentally, politically and professionally.

Cake and a mug of ginger orange tea...

Travelling through Europe as I am right now on a Thalys train, through the fields and towns and sitting here in comfort writing and admiring the passing countryside, I find it odd to think that my country, the United Kingdom, has voted to leave the European Union. When I arrived at Dusseldorf Hbf this morning I was wondering if there was any way of giving up my British citizenship and just becoming a ‘European’ of no fixed abode, meaning not British, not French, not German, just a European. I think I’d simply like to stop being British, it’s such a pile of poo, especially if it’s going to be headed up by that huge, obese buffoon, Boris Johnson. The thought of that oaf representing me is abhorent. It makes me angry, although I think the real cause of my anger right now is the fact that I’m going home. Sooner or later I’ll be returning to the United Kingdom and I’m not happy about it.

Trendy, yes, but a great piece of cake!

When I arrived at Brussels Midi I found that I had to pay to take a piss. I remember reading somewhere, I think it was Chomsky, who said ‘they’ - the man - would charge for the air we breathe if there was a way. They make it complicated here just to take a wazz. First you have to buy a token and then insert the token in the wall and magically a door opens. I’m sitting in a cafe now, a place with a weird name, like EXKI It’s a bit trendy, but not too much and I’ve just purchased an excellent slice of cake and a ginger orange with vanilla tea, it’s great! I’ve decided that for the month of July, no cake, no chocolates, no biscuits. Thirty one days of abstinence should sort me out. I feel as if I’m putting on weight so all the crap has to stop, pure and simple.