In Budapest...

Thursday 16th January: I'm writing to you from room 501 of the Hilton Hotel in Budapest. This morning I was up at 0530hrs in order to catch the first train to Gatwick and an easyJet flight, which took two hours and 10 minutes and was pretty smooth all the way over. Heavy fog hung like a shroud over the airport, prompting some kin of instruments-only landing that mean all electronic devices had to be switched off and couldn't even be on flight-safe mode. I complied, but many people ignore such requests and that never fails to annoy me. I especially despise the know-it-all types who think they know better than those who work for the airlines. "You don't have to switch your phone off, it makes no difference," they say without a shred of knowledge.

Room 501, Hilton Budapest, the one in Buda

The journey by coach from the airport to the hotel was extended because of some kind of altercation between the coach driver and somebody in a rental car, but I eventually got here and checked in and now, at last, solitude. The room is very pleasant and peaceful; there's the usual twin beds pushed together to look like a double (they're not fooling anybody, least of all me) and the now obligatory flat-screen television plus a minibar and a round table, which doubled as the desk and dining table. Incidentally, I could have eaten a Kit Kat but chose a small tin of salted peanuts instead.

Because I was starving when I reached the room - and based on a texted photo I received from the International Man of Mystery of his burger and chips - I decided to order one myself along with an alcohol-free beer (well, 0.5% abv). It was a late lunch and much needed and took around half an hour to arrive at my door.

I was last in Budapest in late September when the weather was a little warmer, but while it is cold here, it's not as bad as I thought, even if the trees on the route from the airport were frosted in a very pleasant and festively decorative way.

Coffee and cake in Lipoti Bakery & Cafe

I'm here until tomorrow night and I'm looking forward to walking around the city after the work is completed. There's nothing better than mooching around and that is what I intend to do before boarding a return flight tomorrow night. A new pair of Doctor Marten's shoes need breaking in. I bought them in Street Talk, an amazing little store in Redhill in Surrey, having originally purchased a pair of Kickers boots that leaked - not good - so I exchanged them at no extra cost, which is also good because they were £30 more expensive and they never charged me the extra. People talk about the death of the high street, but if all shops were like Street Talk in Redhill, then perhaps there would be less boarded up shop fronts.

Was this the best cafe in town?

Friday 17th January
I didn't sleep well; I tend not to when I'm staying in a hotel, especially if I'm only there for one night. I must have hit the sack around 1130hrs having enjoyed a pleasant dinner in a restaurant close to the hotel, and while I did sleep, it was in short bursts, punctuated by fretful dreams. I remember dreaming and then waking up and the pattern persisting as the night progressed. As always, I was eventually woken up by my iphone at 0700hrs. I jumped out of bed to press the snooze button, but when it started again 10 minutes later I resigned myself to getting up, having a shower - and what a wonderful experience that was - and then getting ready for breakfast. I was in the restaurant by 0730 hrs and I decided to go mad, starting with a bowl of porridge and a couple of small pastries plus a strawberry yoghurt and a banana and then continuing with scrambled egg, mushrooms and sausages and following up with fresh fruit - slices of orange, tinned peaches and melon, not forgetting a banana, all washed down with a peach tea followed by lemon and lime tea. I half-inched a handful of teabags to take home, they won't miss them, and then I left without touching the orange juice I'd ordered.

The stunning view from Room 501...

Breakfast over, I'm back in the room...
I've had an Eartha and I'm ready for a day of walking around Budapest, a great city if ever there was one. I'm waiting for the International Man of Mystery to surface. It's 0838hrs, I've sent him three photos of my mammoth three-course breakfast and I've heard nothing back. Time, perhaps, to check out of the hotel ahead of everybody else. I thought there might a pool, but there wasn't and even if there had been I didn't bring my trunks.

I went downstairs with my book, 1971 by David Hepworth, and sat on a chair close to the elevators reading it until my companion surfaced. Having checked-in my overnight bag with the concierge we headed outside, turning left and slowly making our way down the hill to the river and, of course, the Chain Bridge. On the way we passed by the Hungarian President's work quarters, which was guarded by police and soldiers, and then crossed the Danube. Once off the bridge we carried on walking for a short while and then was about to make a left turn in the direction of the next bridge when we stopped at a cafe, Lipoti Bakery and Cafe, for a cake and a cappuccino, all very pleasant and it was good to rest our feet before resuming our journey. We were now on the Pest part of the city and heading towards the bridge that would take us back over the river to Buda. We passed small artisanal shops and old book stores where I found a Thomas Tryon novel, but not the one I'd been looking for, Harvest Home. I've been on the look-out for it for years, but have never found it and I'm left wondering why it's so rare.

The International Man of Mystery's burger

A little further along I stumbled upon a music shop and another potential passion of mine - or perhaps that should be an unfulfilled desire of mine, a need I've had since the age of six: to play the bass guitar. I say a 'desire', but not really; it's more that back then I wanted one, I didn't get one and, if I'm honest I forgot all about it, but occasionally kid myself that I want one, until I start questioning myself, asking myself, and then I think well, perhaps not. But occasionally I think I should get one and learn how to play it. For some reason my parents never bought me one; perhaps they thought I'd join a rock band - or form one myself - instead of wearing a suit and working in an office. The fantasy, the passion, the yearning (perhaps all three words are little exaggerated) have nagged at me, but I've never had the spare cash to buy one. You know the deal, there's always something else to buy. The reason I think I can play the bass is because my mum and dad were happy for me to learn how to play the violin; they saw it, perhaps, as a little more civilised (and not so 'common') and wouldn't have minded so much if I had become a concert violinist wearing tails and sporting a bow tie or whatever it is that concert violinists wear. I played the fiddle throughout my school life and even took a few private lessons with my music teacher, Frank Stapleton, who, for some reason, we all called Frog. But I changed when I reached the second year of high school, found that I was easily led and soon I became a bit of rebel who didn't really want to be in the school orchestra rehearsing. I wanted to be out on my bike down at River Gardens with my magapult breaking the windows of a derelict factory, not practising Gilbert & Sullivan's Ruddigore. When I left school I sold the violin and bought an air pistol as I figured I'd never make the London Symphony Orchestra, but perhaps I could shine in Wormwood Scrubs. Thoughts of learning the bass surfaced again around 2008 when I found myself in the New Forest over the Christmas period. Everybody there was playing guitar and I often picked one up in an idle moment, not really knowing what I was doing, but I somehow rekindled my old desire for a bass and found again that there was never enough spare cash floating about to buy one. Perhaps I should sell my useless Rolex and get one, which I eventually did, but that was to pay off a debt so the bass guitar never materialised. I'm annoyed about selling the watch too, although it never kept the correct time, needed to be serviced (at a cost of £400) and was far too ostentatious to wear out on the mean streets of London. But now I figure I could teach myself how to play the bass and besides, it would be a relaxing thing to do and a great achievement if I succeeded.

My burger! I was starving hungry, nowt went to waste...

We spent some time in the music shop. I felt like an imposter. I picked up a secondhand Fender Precision bass and then looked at a couple of acoustic bass guitars upstairs; and then we left and continued on our journey towards the funicular railway opposite the Chain Bridge. Perhaps if I'd really wanted a bass guitar I'd have bought one by now. Clearly it's not that much of a passion, even a potential passion. Perhaps I need to buy one to realise that I don't want one, who knows, although I think I'd give it a go (learning how to play) as I'm more grown up these days. The irony of the whole situation is that I have bought a book on how to play the bass guitar, but not the guitar.

Now that's what I call a church!

Our walk continued and eventually we reached the bridge that would take us back to Buda. The plan was to cross the bridge and turn left and then head for the funicular railway that would take us back to the hotel. It was cold (around -2 degrees) but thankfully we were both kitted out with the appropriate clothing and were glad of our woolly hats that we'd pulled down over our ears. I wasn't wearing gloves, but for some reason it wasn't that bad. I think my hands were numb to the cold.

Yours truly in hat and coat

The bridge back to Buda - which is the posh part of the city - had a kind of dog leg shape to it. Half way across it turned slightly left, but trams still thundered across it and so did cars and pedestrians. Once clear of the bridge we turned left and kept walking. Soon we were on board the funicular railway and heading up the hill and back to the grandiose buildings, the presidential palace and a small cafe that we'd found inside the Prima grocery store. The cafe didn't appear to have a name, but it was quaint and cosy and perfect for when the weather was cold. We followed some stairs at the back of the store that led up to a galleried walkway to the cafe. On Thursday, the day we arrived in Budapest, we'd gone in for a cappuccino and a small triangular pastry, an iced fancy as they're known in the UK. This time we ordered a late lunch of ham and eggs and a cup of tea. There were four fried eggs and they'd been cooked with the ham and laid on top of lettuce leaves. There was also sliced tomato and peppers and a soft bread roll into which the International Man of Mystery loaded some of his ham and eggs. I left my roll to last.

Ham and eggs with a roll and cappuccino

The cafe had a pleasant ambience. It was, in fact, the place of my dreams, the cafe I always look out for but never find. I knew that I could come back here and sit and read my book and that, of course, was the exactly what I did. Nobody would find me up here, I thought! Believe me these places are rare, but they do exist.

It's that church again...

After the International Man of Mystery had departed by coach to the airport and a flight back to the UK, I did go back, book in hand, and ordered another iced fancy and a cup of tea, it was around 1600hrs and dark outside, just how I like it. There's nothing better than being in a cosy cafe as the light fades, armed with a decent book, sipping from a cup of tea and nibbling a pastry of some sort. I was living the dream - at last! But before I revisited the in-store cafe I wandered around, checked out a another secondhand bookstore, peered into other cafes, wandered into an arty clothes shop, checked out the fridge magnets and bobble hats and bought nothing. I have everything I need except, perhaps for that bass guitar.

Inside Lipoti Bakery and Cafe...

After sitting there for quite a while I considered heading back to the hotel, but was joined by two colleagues and stayed for another cup of tea. We chatted and were joined by two more colleagues and then it was time to leave. I paid up and headed back to the hotel where a coach was waiting to whisk us off to the airport and a flight home. But the plane was delayed. I wandered off alone with my book to the far end of the airport and ordered a bottle of mineral water and banana from a Cafe Ritazza before finding a table and continuing to read David Hepworth's 1971. I checked out a few of the airport shops, sprayed myself with some expensive aftershave and then, eventually headed for the gate and the flight home. It was late when we touched down at Gatwick, just gone midnight, and it would be 0100hrs before I reached home, far too late so I aborted the ride and hit the sack.

Looking down on the Danube and the Chain Bridge from Buda

In Budapest...

When I woke up on Tuesday morning there was driving rain and gusty winds. Not ideal weather for flying. Fortunately, I was due to fly to Budapest at lunch time and hopefully the weather would calm down: that was my thinking anyway. And it did calm down, the rain stopped and the flight, which had been delayed because of the poor weather conditions, took off around an hour later than scheduled. It was relatively smooth, but as always I couldn't relax. The flight was too short to get immersed in a good book, there were no movies, so instead I flicked through the High Life magazine, read John Simpson's column and looked longingly at some of the watches in the shopping supplement. I sold my Rolex a few years back to pay off some debts. I didn't order anything to eat either and that was because I'd already eaten a chicken burger followed by an apple tart with ice cream and a cup of tea, two cups, actually, at the Oriel bar and restaurant in Heathrow's Terminal 3. My colleague Paul had texted me to say he was there, so I made my way after checking in and paying an extortionate £65 to stow my suitcase in the hold. One of the most annoying things about my Samsonite case is that the company that made it said it offered cabin dimensions, but I know that it's a bit bulkier than the sort of case one normally takes on board, that's why I bought it. But when the check-in woman asked me to put it in the metal frame that determines whether a case can be taken on as hand luggage or not, it failed the test and I had to pay up.

Room 102, Sofitel Budapest

I was running late so my case was probably one of the last to be loaded, which meant it was first on the baggage carousel when we arrived in Budapest. We took a taxi from the airport and soon found ourselves at the Sofitel hotel, which is one of those places with a massive, galleried atrium and glass lifts that run eight floors up the side of one wall, exposing the occupants.

Once, a long time ago in Mexico, my work colleagues and I played a game of dare; we all had to write down a dare and place it in an ash try and then it was a lucky dip as to what dare we were going to choose. Various dares were on offer: one was singing with the hotel band, another was travelling in one of the escalators dressed in nothing our underpants and another was running around our hotel floor - or any floor we chose - stark bollock naked. And that, my friends, was the dare I picked. I could do it at any time as long as I did it some time before the end of our stay in the hotel. I chose my floor, which was some way up, I can't remember my room number, and I picked 2300hrs as the time I'd attempt the dare. We were sitting down in the hotel restaurant one evening when I announced that tonight was the night. One of my party had already sang along with the hotel band, another had travelled from the top to the bottom floor dressed only in his boxer shorts and now I was going to run around my hotel floor naked. If I'm honest, it didn't phase me. I simply went to my room, took off all my clothes, ensured that I and nobody else had my room key and off I went. Fortunately for me nobody came out of their rooms and I reckon I completed a circuit in about three minutes, probably less. These were pre-digital times and when I reached home I asked my wife to drop my film at the chemist for developing. This she did, but what I didn't know was that one of my little group had somehow managed to half inch my camera during my nude run around the hotel. I got back home from work one day to discover a neat little fan of prints on the dining room table and they were all of me running naked around that hotel in Mexico. What I'm saying is this: there's photographic evidence, folks. Mind you, had Facebook been invented those images would probably be circulating around the world.

Breakfast most days...

In Budapest, I was staying in room 102 on the first floor and the room was great. Quite a big room with the bathroom on the left as you come in followed by a huge double bed with fluffy pillows; there was a sofa, a table, which was the desk and a flat-screen TV. There was a minibar stuffed with booze, which I didn't touch, plus a couple of Mars Bars, which are still there, and a couple of small cans of chocolate peanuts and spicy peanuts, which I did touch, and I owned up later when asked 'did you have anything from the minibar?'

The bathroom was pleasant. It had everything I needed, there was even two showers, one in the bath and the other in a self-contained shower room. The only thing wrong with the room was the plug in the sink, which remained permanently shut. I had to prise it out with my fingers and managed it once or twice, but there was a period of around a day or two when it remained full of water. Not even the housekeeping staff bothered to empty it, so it was down to me. It was best to keep the plug out at all times.

One of the Sofitel's elevators

The most annoying thing about the hotel, however, was the lifts. They work using the room's key card - never a good idea - and it's a bit of a faff. I've had one or two occasions where I've been faffing around trying to get it to work and then noticing that the lift was travelling somewhere to pick up other guests, leaving me to say something like, "Oh, this isn't my floor". Pathetic. There's a pool, which I haven't used and a gym, which I haven't been near, and outside there's a city, which I haven't seen, although I've been to Budapest before and on previous visits I've walked all over the place.

Last night I took a brief stroll around the city and returned to the hotel to have dinner: venison soup followed by chicken with a non-alcohol beer and a bottle of mineral water. I skipped dessert based on the fact that all week I'd been nibbling at little cakes and pastries during the coffee and tea breaks of the conference I was attending.

I think this is St. Stephen's Basilica...

It is now Friday morning and I have a bit of time to go exploring before heading home, although, as I write this, it's nearly 0900hrs and I haven't had breakfast yet. I fly this evening around 1700hrs (1720 to be precise) so I don't have to be at the airport until mid-afternoon. No doubt I'll take a stroll across the river and sit in a Starbucks reading, if I can find one. Something like that. Last night I switched off my alarms as I didn't want to be woken up at 0600hrs and I wasn't. I woke up around 0830hrs and right now I'm sitting here in the dark, curtains drawn, lights not on, typing away on my blog.

The Sofitel from the chain bridge

Today, incidentally, my blog is 10 years old, something I'll probably write more about at a later date. It's been 10 years since I started writing and it's been good, it's kept me out of mischief when travelling abroad and it's documented my life over the last decade. I say it's kept me out of mischief and by that I mean that I tend to sit in my hotel room of an evening writing the blog rather than sitting in the hotel bar drinking too much. Of course, I haven't been drinking for the past two years so that's now out of the equation, but in truth, I enjoy writing, like now, alone in my room. In fact it's distracting and I tend to miss breakfast as a result, like now.

It's 0903hrs and I'm going to have to rush to make breakfast ... but now it's 1036hrs and I've returned having enjoyed sausage, scrambled egg, mushrooms, potatoes, cereal, a couple of bakery items and a peppermint tea. Check-out is at 1100hrs so I'd better get moving. There's never any time. First I'm rushing to reach the breakfast room and now I'm rushing to check-out. I'll leave my 'stuff' with the concierge and take a wander around town. I'll probably have lunch somewhere and then I'll head back to the hotel, pick up my 'luggage' and head for the airport. But first I've got to print out my boarding pass in the business centre downstairs. They've got quite a good business centre. It's on the ground floor, close to the front desk. But enough of all this! My work here is done, so to speak, and I'm looking forward to getting home and re-engaging with my usual routine.

A Jamie's Italian? In Budapest? And it's still open!

I decided to cross the Danube on the bridge across from my hotel, which I think was the chain bridge. I then followed a path to higher ground where I visited Buda Castle. There were soldiers marching around and flags, perhaps it was a Government building, who knows? I popped my head around a few gift shop doors, bought a fridge magnet and then sauntered back, down the hill and across the river to the hotel and then I decided to get some lunch. I found a fairly posh gaff, which was part of the Four Seasons Hotel where, incidentally, Will Smith was in residence. I never saw him and he didn't see me either so all was well.

Soldier at Buda Castle (I think!)

I'm getting fed up with non-alcohol beer, by the way. It's so awful and not really worth buying so in future I'll stick to sparkling mineral water, it's more refreshing. Lunch was beef bourguignon (their spelling, not mine) and it was fantastic. I also stuffed myself with a few bread rolls and then asked for the bill.

Back at the hotel I ordered up a taxi and fell asleep on the one-hour journey to the airport, from where I finish off this post. Check-in had already been done online, I dropped off my bag and was told that the plane would be empty from row 20 backwards. I changed my seat from 18A to 20A and had a whole row to myself, which was wonderful news and I'm now at Gate C12 waiting to board. I'd better go.

In Budapest, day three...

Thanks to airport security restrictions I invariably find myself in a foreign hotel without toothpaste or shaving foam. Normally, I've had to hand in such dangerous substances prior to reaching the X-ray machine and it's not until the following evening that I realise I can't clean my teeth. A phone call to the front desk follows and I often end up with a tiny tube of tasteless putty that will have to suffice until I find the nearest chemist or, as they often refer to them outside of the UK, pharmacy.

Budapest's Liberty Bridge

Yesterday I found myself searching the streets for a Lidl, which I never found, but I did spot the familiar pharmacy green cross logo and bought my toothpaste there. It's odd how, whenever I enter a pharmacy abroad they seem like much more sacred places than they are in the UK where companies like Boots and Superdrug have lessened the experience of visiting the chemist, a bit like modern churches – there's nothing worse – have taken something away from the religious experience one gets in a proper old church with its cooling stone floors and rickety old pews.

But here in Budapest (and elsewhere in mainland Europe) it's still pretty sacred entering a chemist. Invariably I'm the only customer, as I was on this occasion, and behind the counter there was a quietly spoken woman dressed in a white uniform not dissimilar to those worn by nurses. There was a certain hush about the place and, of course, a pleasant smell of talcum powder. All the products were behind glass and when I asked for toothpaste the woman in the white uniform behind the counter led me to the back of the shop and a wooden cabinet with glass panels behind which were a variety of different toothpaste brands. She unlocked the cabinet and ran through each brand one by one explaining their various attributes and in the end I opted for Sensodyne (it was the only brand I could recognise). I made my purchase back at the counter and left the store, which, I'm guessing, reverted back to its hushed silence blended with the smell of the talc.

Yesterday I switched my flight and I'll be flying back today instead of tomorrow. There was no point staying until Thursday when it looked highly likely that I'd be able to catch the Wednesday flight home.

Alföldo Vendéglo – unpretentious food

Something I do a lot of is walking and yesterday I put in the miles through the late afternoon and into the evening. In the end I tired myself out so much that I felt strangely low and depressed as I searched for somewhere to have an early dinner before hitting the sack. I found Alföldi Vendéglo, a traditional Hungarian restaurant with some other English guests. It was a fairly basic, no-nonsense sort of place with a friendly old white-haired waiter and offered unpretentious food at reasonable prices. Because of all the walking I'd been doing I had a lentil soup with bread to start followed by a Hungarian beef stew with dumplings and a draught Hungarian beer and finished with apple pie and ice cream.

I headed back to the hotel using the SatNav on my phone, which can be confusing when I'm tired, but I got back fairly quickly and went straight to bed, although I did clean my teeth with my new Sensodyne toothpaste first. I needed the sleep having walked around the streets for miles and miles prior to finding Alföldi Vendéglo. My trekking prior to dinner took me across the Liberty Bridge to Buda (or was it Pest?) and back across the Danube and the further I walked the more depressed and despairing I got. Drinking that beer in the restaurant prior to getting my beef stew was wonderful. Now I know how John Mills felt when he downed that glass of Carlsberg in the film Ice Cold in Alex.

This morning I resumed my walking and went over a lot of old ground, eventually stumbling across Alföldi Vendéglo, but it was miles too early to be considering lunch, I'd only just finished breakfast. On Sunday or Monday, or even yesterday, I can't remember which day, I went out in search of a Starbuck's. I wanted to chill out with a cup of tea, a cake and a book, but I couldn't find it. Needless to say I'd been putting in the miles on foot prior to using the iphone's SatNav to find the place and was having no joy. I was getting that despairing feeling of complete hopelessness that I tend to get when I'm abroad after a couple of days away from home and it's because I get lonely and bored when I travel alone. I gave up on the Starbuck's and went back to the hotel where, I realised, that my despair and hopelessness was little more than tiredness. My problem is I don't know when to stop walking. The up side of this story is that when I found Alföldi Vendéglo yesterday I also found the Starbuck's, but it was too late for chilling with a book and besides, it's fine when it's spontaneous, but take my word for it, when it's not spontaneous it becomes little more than a poorly put together sequel of previously good times.

So right now, as I write this, I'm moments away from leaving the hotel. Outside there are blue skies and sunshine. My bags are packed, I've asked reception if the taxi drivers take credit cards and they do and while I was going to take the metro and then a bus to the airport – like a real traveller would – I decided that a last walk around town would be a better idea.

Budapest's Bike Share Scheme
Just to say that the bike share scheme in Budapest was far too complicated, meaning that I couldn't simply take a bike out. The process involved logging on to a website or getting hold of some kind of access card so I didn't bother. The hotel receptionist told me it would be easier to simply hire a bike from the many companies offering the service. Time was running out so I didn't bother.

In Budapest...day one

So far it's all been smooth sailing: a cab to Gatwick Airport, tea and a ginger nut in Starbucks in the North Terminal and then a pleasant flight with easyJet to Budapest, which took around two hours and twenty five minutes. The weather is roughly the same as it was in the UK this morning, that is blue skies and sunshine, albeit a mildly cold breeze, but nothing to grumble about, that's for sure.

Waiting to board at Gatwick...

Once I cleared passport control in Budapest, which was fast and efficient, I jumped into my free transfer Mercedes, which took me from the airport to the hotel, the Bohem Art Hotel which, as I suspected, was a typical 'boutique' hotel, meaning slightly contrived and quirky, but in a good way. The front desk was dark and cosy, there were big lamp shades and works of art on the walls and it all appealed to me so again, nothing to moan about. What's more, check-in was simple and soon I found myself in the lift heading for my room on the sixth floor.

The room is a little basic, but again in a contrived, ironic sort of way, but it's not in any way uncomfortable and while I initially thought there were no wardrobes, I eventually found them – and the minibar – simply by pressing the walls and hoping that doors would open for me; they did.

As I've come to expect, the view from the hotel window is nothing spectacular – it never is – just roof tops, the odd satellite dish and, of course, chimney pots.

View from my hotel room...around 6pm.

There is a free bottle of mineral water on the bedside table, with the Bohem name on the label, and while I enjoyed a croque monsieur on the plane, along with two of those small bottles of red wine (Malbec) I'm still a little hungry and might delve into the minibar and see what snacks are available. That mineral water might not be free, but I won't find out until Thursday when I check out of here.

Just to let you know that I've now delved into the minibar and found a small tin of wasabi peanuts, which are green, moreish and hot; and I'm now punctuating virtually every word I write with eating a wasabi peanut. They're hot but strangely pleasant. It's going to be difficult to ignore them until they've all gone. Ever since I typed the last word of the previous sentence ('gone') I've...hold on while I eat three more... had a good handful and probably won't stop until I've finished the lot. A walk clearly beckons, but so does work and I need to find out where I need to be and how far away I am from my planned meeting. I've finished the wasabi peanuts.

Blue skies and sunshine are deceptive and if, like me, you head out in such weather with an open neck shirt and no coat then you're in for a shock, like I was as I made my way back to the hotel after the meeting and dinner, keeping the Danube on my right. It was cold and despite being inadequately dressed, I still took a minor detour, having eaten pasta and a glass of wine in a place called I Quattro Artisti (an Italian and Hungarian restaurant). It was pleasant enough with it's red gingham tablecloths and jazz singer, but it was far from top end and the service was slow, although the glass of Merlot I ordered was fairly large considering I simply asked for a glass of red wine. I had opted to sit downstairs, rather than upstairs where I wouldn't have enjoyed the live entertainment, but in all honesty, I didn't want to be there; sometimes dining alone is disheartening and this was one of those lonely occasions.

Budapest at night...

Yards from my hotel I turned left on a whim and found there were perfectly decent restaurants within a stone's throw of my room, but how was I to know? I must, of course, try some Hungarian food before I fly back and there appears to be many options, although tomorrow there's an official dinner that I must attend so it will have to wait until Tuesday evening.

I'm back in the room now and while I considered using my complimentary drink voucher in the bar downstairs, it wasn't that appealing so I've saved it for another occasion. There's no restaurant in the hotel, but there is a breakfast room and as far as I'm concerned, breakfast is the best meal of the day, so I hope they deliver.

There's another bottle of mineral water on the other bedside table and I'm debating whether to drink it or not, but somehow I think it would be overkill so I'll await breakfast in the morning and a decent cup of tea (I hope!)

Postscript – there's a bike share scheme!!!
Expect a report from the road as I've found some bright orange bikes along the route between here and my meeting venue. When I get some spare time, I'll be taking one out.