Boats, baguettes, biscuits, bands

Somebody had spoken about an architectural boat trip along the Chicago River and being as I haven't enjoyed a boat trip for many a year, the thought of buying a ticket lodged in my brain, although that was just it, a thought. I knew that I'd probably never get around to it.

Skyscrapers and lots of them in Chicago

So I'm walking along North Michigan Avenue wondering exactly what to do - I had some free time having been working most of the morning - and my initial plan was nothing more than a stroll around the city and then, perhaps, a bite to eat somewhere. Until, that is, I spied a small kiosk and a man offering the aforementioned architectural cruise. At just $32 it seemed too good to miss so I booked myself on the next boat and off I went.

The boat chugged merrily along the Chicago River and a guide pointed out various buildings, or should I say skyscrapers of architectural significance, that might be of interest to us humble tourists. He was good. He certainly knew his stuff, but he spoke at such a speed I doubt if anybody's brain could take in the information fast enough. Mine certainly couldn't.

I made a note of all the bridges we cruised under: the Du Sable Bridge, a bridge under Dearborn Street, Clark Street, La Salle, Wells St, Franklin St, Grand Avenue, after which we entered the north section of the river, then Ohio St where the boat turned around and headed for the south section of the river. Kinzie St, Lake St, Randolph St, Washington Boulevard, Madison, Monroe, Adams, Jackson Boulevard, Van Buren, Congress, Harrison.

Our guide mentioned the Sears Tower, which used to be Chicago's tallest building, but not any more and while he did mention the name of the tallest building today, it was all so fast I've forgotten it. We passed the Civic Opera building where once, apparently, they planned to screen movies on the building's blank, river-facing wall, but it never happened as some local dignatory probably disapproved. We heard about how lots of companies were moving to Chicago and some were moving back to the city from the outer suburbs. As a result there was plenty of construction work going on.

To be honest, I wasn't that interested. I've never been the sort of person who listens too carefully to what guides have to say. I don't enjoy museums either, come to think of it. I'm not sure why that is, I just don't have the patience and I'd rather learn from a book. For me the thrill of the trip was simply being in a boat on the Chicago River, enjoying the sunshine, although there was a cool breeze.

The Chicago skyline taken from the boat

What did interest me was Lake Michigan. It's huge. I mean, it has horizons, like an open sea. But what I found amazing was that in parts it is over 900 feet deep. Now that's pretty amazing for a lake, I'm sure you'll agree.

Once back on dry land it was time to seek out somewhere for lunch and Toni Café and Patisserie fitted the bill nicely and it was inexpensive. There was something quaint and French about the place; it had marble-topped tables and a long glass counter displaying cakes and pastries. On blackboards high on the back wall behind the servery there were details of the food offering: sandwiches, baguettes and salads along with a range of hot beverages. This was the sort of place I'd been searching for; it was absolutely perfect. And while it was effectively a 'caff' it was licensed and sold some interesting wines.

I ordered a Pinot Noir (which came in glass mug, not a wine glass) but I like that sort of quirkiness, followed by cream of mushroom soup, a ham baguette, a cup of tea and a chocolate and walnut cookie. The tea and cookie was an afterthought, but because I loved this place so much I decided, having already paid my bill ($26) to stay for tea... and a decent cup of tea too.

Toni's Patisserie and Café. This place was the best ever...

Feeling suitably relaxed I wandered the city for a while. I travelled further down North Michigan Avenue, which became South Michigan Avenue and checked out a couple of bookshops  en route. In fact I wore myself out walking and by the time I returned to my hotel I was so tired I simply switched on the television, turned to channel 56 (BBC Americas) and watched Bear Grylls tackling the swamps of Sumatra and the wilds of Alaska.

I needed to be in the hotel at around 2030hrs so I could check in for my flight back to London using the hotel's business centre. The plan was to get a decent seat. But before that I figured dinner would be a good idea. I set my sights on a place called Spiagga - I think that's the right spelling. It took a while to find it. I knew it was out of my hotel, turn right and walk along North Michigan Avenue, but I couldn't find it at first. I'd almost resolved to find somewhere else to eat, but then I saw it. Or rather I saw the restaurant's name. It wasn't accessible at street level. I had to enter some kind of apartment building and take an escalator one flight before being guided into the restaurant, which seemed a bit poncy. Lots of waiting staff fussing around and being ultra polite. And then I realized why. This place was going to sting me for about $200! It got worse. The menus were 'tasting' menus and being as I know a bit about all this (having edited a fine dining magazine in the UK for four straight years and interviewed many a top chef) I can tell you now that 'tasting menus' are a big rip-off. Basically, a lot of little dishes in succession for an extortionate amount of money.

Foolishly I ordered a glass of wine ($16). Not too bad in the scheme of things, but did I really want to pay $195 for a tasting menu and be fussed around by a gaggle of poncy waiters all night? No I didn't! And I didn't want to part with my money either. To be honest, all I wanted was a main course dish, some bread and a glass of wine, maybe two glasses. I decided to make my excuses and leave. The original plan was to head back to Rosebud.

Downtown Chicago

Fortunately, Spiagga has a more conventional Italian restaurant across the hall and I decided to check it out. Certainly less expensive than the other place and not a tasting menu in sight. But while not as pricey, it was still annoying. The menu offered meals that were suitable for two people, meaning that whatever I ordered I was going to get enough for two. Why? Why can't I just eat a normal meal for one? But no, they were not that flexible. I ordered the charcuterie to start and a huge consignment of salami arrived. I was expected to eat it all. To be fair, I did, but then came the pork shoulder. It was reminiscent of the opening credits to the Hanna Barbera Flintstones cartoon when they go to a diner and a huge chunk of ribs lands on their car, toppling it over. I ate about half of it, had a couple glasses of Zinfandel and then paid up and left.

The food was alright, but it was still a bit pricey, and the only good thing was the waiting staff who had things covered. But in all honesty, I wish I'd gone back to Rosebud for a chicken Milanese. There's nothing worse than being confused by a restaurant - tasting menus, dishes that serve only two people and not one, it's all too much when all I wanted to do was eat and get back to my hotel. So I'm going to score Spiagga low, I'm afraid, and they can expect a similarly low score when I eventually get round to Trip Advisor.

Right now it's Thursday and I'm due to fly back this evening. I've checked in online, I've packed my suitcase and all I have to do now is check out of the hotel and leave my bags with the concierge until later. Then it's time to hit the streets of Chicago for one last time. I've really enjoyed it and I'll definitely return, hopefully in the not-too-distant future.

Postscript: I really enjoyed my visit to Toni's Patisserie & Café yesterday. So much so that I returned today (Thursday) for roughly the same lunch as before, except that I had a second 'glass' of Pinot Noir and instead of a cookie I had a pastry. While I was there somebody walked in and stole somebody's wallet. It was all so quick and he was gone. The police were there in minutes, but whoever did it got away.

Then, out in the streets, as I walked along East Washington, I heard some tremendous music. Jazz Funk stuff. The band was fantastic. So fantastic it brought a much-needed smile to my face. I had to go and listen to the music and was transfixed when I found the band further down the street. The bassist was tremendous and the brass players were on top of their game, so was the drummer who only had a snare drum resting on a milk crate and and upturned plastic bucket. They drew quite a crowd and I have to say that I didn't particularly want to stop listening; I could have stood there all afternoon. This was much more than busking, these guys could really play, so I left some money in the bucket and took a card.

If you live in Chicago, check out David C Walker Jnr on dav3130@gmailcom or call him on 001 773 809 0769. He's also on Facebook: Dwalker3130@facebook.com

The Bar at the Fairmont Hotel, Chicago...

This chameleon-like operation changes throughout the day. One minute it's a coffee shop and the next it's a bar. Located in the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel, a big 'corporate' affair, it's a pretty good place.

Tasty, tasty, very, very tasty, it's very tasty

I'd arrived early and needed some breakfast so I checked out the menu and got stuck in. In fact I'd go as far as to say that I enjoyed a really decent mug of tea – which makes a change – and then I had a choice: a Breakfast Piglet (smoked honey ham, fried egg, Wisconsin cheddar, bacon, onion, jam and roasted garlic) OR a sun-dried tomato and basil panini with a side order of strawberries and blueberries. The Breakfast Piglet was also a panini, although, really they were both toasted sandwiches, which I suppose is what a panini is, but in my book they were both toasted, crusty bread sandwiches.

I opted for the healthier of the two options, the sun-dried tomato and basil sandwich – and besides, that name, the Breakfast Piglet, sounded a bit unsavoury – and it arrived in one of those takeaway containers (odd when you consider that they'd offered me the choice of a paper or china mug for my tea – and I chose the latter – but gave me the takeaway container for my food order). It didn't matter and now I'm wondering whether that C in the word 'china' should be capitalised, although I'm not talking about the country but the material the cup is made from. Hey ho! Bill Bryson would know the answer, I'm sure.

The sandwich was tremendous. Very tasty. I could have eaten another one. The tea was the best I'd experienced on this trip to Chicago, so top marks to the The Bar at the Fairmont Hotel, although where I got that name from I don't know, probably the receipt. The bill, incidentally, was $11.60 and the sandwich set me back $8.00. The tea was $2.60.

In Chicago...

This is the first time I've been to Chicago without being 'in transit' somewhere else. Normally I arrive here at some ungodly hour and then, after eating a meal at Romano's Macaroni Grill, I catch a connecting flight to Cleveland, Pittsburgh or Indianapolis. Today, I went no further than Chicago. In fact there was one time recently – or possibly not that recently – when my flight to London was cancelled due to a faulty aircraft, and I was forced to make an overnight stop in the Windy City. It's documented on the blog. I stayed in a Marriott close to the Cumberland CTA station, so the following morning, prior to flying home later in the day, I took a trip to Clark and Lake, wandered around for a bit, had lunch in the Corner Bakery and then took a taxi back to the hotel where I enjoyed a glass of Cabernet before taking a shuttle bus back to the airport and then onwards to London. I remember feeling that Chicago was a boring place, but this was because it was a Sunday morning, I found myself in some kind of business district where everything was closed and that was the end of it.

Soup IN a roll! I ate the lot.

On Friday I took flight BA297 out of Heathrow's Terminal Five at 1605hrs and got there with enough time to have lunch at the airport – at a place called Huxley's. I had breakfast there once and it was pretty good. I remember because I uploaded a software update to my iphone and it took ages to sort out. Anyway, Huxley's wasn't as good as I expected it to be; I ordered butternut squash soup followed by a chicken burger with chips and a couple of glasses of Merlot – much needed. The soup didn't come in a dish but in a hollowed out bread roll with a lid, like some kind of pastry pot. I wasn't sure of the protocol but I ate the pot. And then, feeling a little down (alcohol can do that, it accentuates how you're feeling and I wasn't feeling good), I wandered aimlessly for a while wondering why women like shopping so much as I passed by Louis Vuitton and saw a few of them admiring the handbags. I considered a cup of tea and a cake at EAT, but couldn't be bothered and eventually took the escalator down to where the driver-less trains take people to various gates. In my case Gate B47.

The flight was uneventful. I swapped seats with somebody's 'mom' so they could sit together. I still had an aisle seat, which was what I wanted, but I would have much preferred seat 37A, an exit seat with plenty of legroom. The annoying thing was that I could have taken it when the seats became available on line 24 hours prior to flying – but at a cost of £58! Even the woman on the BA desk at Heathrow said they should have been free. Had I been sitting in that seat I would have enjoyed the flight much more. As it was, I stood most of the way. Once I'd eaten my dinner – chicken curry with rice followed by a chocolate mousse and a small piece of cheese with two crackers – I walked to the back of the plane and basically stood around for most of the flight. I chatted to a computer consultant from Cleveland who plays the stockmarket and buys property. A nice guy, Lebanese, on his way back from a trip to Beirut via London, without his wife who, for some reason, didn't fancy the trip. Apparently there used to be a direct flight from Cleveland to London operated by Continental, but not anymore. I wish I'd known that, although, if I had I would never have known how wonderful it was to sit and enjoy Pollo Caprese and a glass of Cabernet in Romano's Macaroni Grill (opposite Gate H3).

View from the rear of the plane – an arduous, boring flight

Sometimes, to ease the boredom, I used the toilet, but only to stand there for a few seconds of solitude, not even to take a piss. Then I flushed the toilet, purely for effect, and re-emerged feeling just as weary and cheesed off as before I went in. With about one hour to go, the trolley dollies brought out a chicken sandwich and a mini Kit Kat, so I returned to my seat where I'd spent no more than two hours during the entire flight. I'd listened to Saint Caen's Symphony Number Three (fourth movement) plus Stylo by Gorillaz, Park Life by Blur, Boy in the Bubble by Paul Simon, Jive Talking by the Bee Gees (I like the bass line) and The Wizard by Black Sabbath, not forgetting Joy Division's She's Lost Control and Love Will Tear Us Apart. I couldn't be bothered to watch any movies.

The flight was smooth – no turbulence – and daylight all the way. We glided into O'Hare and even the usually arduous task of immigration was smooth and fast, thanks to machines rather than humans. My suitcase was there on the reclaim – now that's an anxious part of flying – and soon I found myself in a taxi heading downtown to my hotel on North Michigan Avenue. My cab driver was from Namibia – where he says there are lots of Germans – and used to work for the cosmetics company Avon here in the Windy City, but was made redundant and took up cabbing. He moved to Chicago because he knew people in the city and hadn't been impressed with LA or New York. He found the latter dirty and wasn't keen on LA's downtown. It wasn't a long journey and soon I found myself in my room preparing to get some sleep. I haven't slept well (who does after a transaltantic flight?) and I know that over the next day or two I'll feel tired and weary at odd hours of the day until my body clock kicks in to US time. And then, of course, it'll be time to go home.

Even the view out of the window was boring

I've slept for about four hours. It's now 0608hrs and I've been up for around an hour.

The hotel room is fine: the TV works, the room temperature is just right, there's a minibar full of 'stuff' and a 'snacks draw', not that I'll be indulging in any of it. The room is sort of L-shaped. You come through the door and turn first right for the bathroom and second right for the bed. The desk, however, is too close to the cabinet that houses the minibar and 'snacks draw' and it took me an age to get the laptop's cumbersome charger plugged in – the desk is too heavy to move and so is the cabinet. Other than that, no hassles. I've entered the breakfast time zone so I think I'll head on downstairs to check things out. I could do with a decent cup of tea and some cereal.

In Cleveland, Ohio

Yesterday, as I wandered around Heathrow Terminal Five waiting for the 1120hrs BA295 to Chicago I spotted Jimmy Somerville watching the board for whatever flight he was due to take; it's funny as he's the second 'celeb' I've seen at T5, the other being Miranda Hart. Still, celebs are allowed to use the airports so it's nothing out of the ordinary, although I guess Somerville wouldn't take kindly to being described as a 'celeb' and who would blame him? I wouldn't want to be viewed as part the same clan that appear on I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here.

After a bit of faffing around, the plane took off and headed West, out across Northern Ireland and then skimming the coast of Greenland before turning left, or heading in a South Westerly direction, over Canada then Lake Michigan and into O'Hare airport where, I discovered, I had a long wait ahead of me. We landed around 1.30pm US time and when I found myself at Romano's Macaroni Grill it was 7.30pm in the UK and, therefore, time for something to eat. It was roughly 2.30pm Chicago time and my connecting flight didn't leave until 6.30pm. This meant that I could sit and read the newspaper and catch up with editorial comment on the General Election 'back home' – for the first time in history I've made a postal vote.

The reason I was feeling so chipper? Not really sure. I can only put it down to a fairly 'easy' and relaxed flight during which I read Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged and dipped in to the newspapers. I tried to watch Birdman with Michael Keaton, but a mixture of the small screen, the noise of plane and the fact that, it seemed to me at any rate, all the actors in the movie were just shouting at one another and Keaton's character seemed to live back stage made it not a good movie to watch. That's my view. I'm sure if I sat and watched it at home I'd enjoy it, but there you go. I was going to watch Nightcrawler but, oddly, there was a warning issued that the movie contained scenes of a plane in distress so, being at 38,000 feet over the North Atlantic I decided not to bother.

An incredibly boring shot taken at Chicago O'Hare yesterday

The flight was smooth. Very smooth. The plane was a jumbo jet and my only criticism would be that they really cram in the passengers. I'd chosen an aisle seat – 45C as these days I'm not fussed about having a window seat. What's the point? It means I'm pinned against the wall and have to ask for permission to go to the washrooms. An aisle seat means no real restrictions and there's an opportunity to stretch my right leg, albeit at risk to those passing by. Fortunately, after reading, I did manage to wander about and stretch my legs, not to mention meet my colleague who had originally booked with American Airlines but the flight was cancelled. As a result, he was given a decent seat on the BA flight. We stood and chatted for a good 45 minutes in the galley area of the plane so all was well. Likewise the connecting flight with American Airlines was good and I arrived at Cleveland at 2030, roughly 0130hrs UK time.

Thankfully the taxis accepted credit cards and the ride from the airport to the downtown was brief. The check-in was good – I was given two complimentary cookies, one of which I've eaten, the other is going in the bin. I've noticed that my general intake of biscuits is on the increase and while I've always limited myself to two per day during working hours, it's got to stop as of now, although, as I write this, that remaining cookie is still in its wrapping and resting on the television cabinet to my left. Still, it's going in the bin. I've got to watch my diet as I've noticed that 'crap' is creeping in a little bit, possibly because I'm compensating for generally not eating that much. Not that I'm pigging myself. This morning I had All Bran, tea and a slice of toast. When I'd cleared security at T5 I had a cup of tea and, unfortunately, a Nutella cookie. I should have known. I thought it was just a cookie with a few nuts, but it turns out to be a cookie with a Nutella filling. I resolved to eat nothing more until the inflight meal was served.

Romano's Macaroni Grill at O'Hare

I love airline food and on today's menu was chicken tikka masala plus one of those little chocolate desserts, which I should have left well alone but I figured you never know what might happen at 38,000 feet and I wouldn't want anybody thinking I left the world yearning for a chocolate dessert, not that anybody would ever learn about my dilemma had the plane not made it. Those small bottles of red wine plus a bread roll made up lunch and I didn't eat again until I reached the aforementioned Romano's Macaroni Grill where I enjoyed Pollo Caprese and a glass of Merlot – but no dessert.

The Hilton Doubletree Downtown is alright, so far. There's a pool, but there's always a pool and I never use it, although I always bring my trunks. Perhaps I ought to get down there and swim off the cookies. But then there's the streets of Cleveland and the possibility of hiring a bicycle. I know that there's a 10-mile cycle ride around town today (Sunday) but who the hell am I kidding? I've worn myself out flying across the Atlantic to be here, the last thing I'm going to do is find a bike and ride in a 10-miler. No, I'm going to abort on that one, lads. But I might find a bike later, if there's a bike share scheme and I know there is because I read about it online. Perhaps a bike to the convention instead of a taxi, but first I need to find out where the convention is being held and to be honest I'm not doing anything until I've had a decent breakfast.

In Chicago...

Now I don't know what to think about Chicago and you must forgive me for even passing judgement having been in town for no more than a few hours and having just an hour or two downtown. In fact, in that sense, my judgement doesn't count at all. But personally, I found Chicago not so much 'my kinda town' but a bit boring.

On the streets of Chicago – not my kind of town

I took the CTA downtown (roughly 40 minutes) but the journey was punctuated by a replacement bus service between Logan Square and Western, giving me a chance to see the streets of Chicago. Oddly, there was something familiar about them; something almost English. I could have been in South London and everything looked a lot older than, say, Indianapolis downtown. I can't put my finger on it, but yes, I could have been in Peckham, south east London, on a hot Saturday afternoon.

Downtown Chicago

The downtown seemed much more established than other downtowns I've visited and more in keeping with London and New York. I jumped off the train at Clark and Lake and found myself in a similar environment to a scene from Grand Theft Auto as the CTA track was elevated over the roads and I was reminded not only of GTA but also some movie scenes, normally those involving car chases. I'm thinking particularly of The French Connection which, for all I know, was filmed in Chicago (I'll check that out later).

They have a bike share scheme in Chicago too, but there was little time to take advantage of it so I took a photograph of the bikes in a docking station and that was it.

The odd thing was that Clark and Lake put me in the business district (or so I was told) and everything, restaurants included – although there weren't any proper restaurants, just sandwich shops – was closed. I soon discovered I was walking in the wrong direction, but even when a helpful guy in a covered market directed me to the proper downtown, I still hadn't gone far enough and in the end settled for a snack lunch in the Corner Bakery, a shop with more than one outlet in Chicago, where I had a fairly pleasant chicken carbonara and a paper cup full of tea. After that there was little to do other than go back to the Marriott O'Hare and head for the airport. I decided against the CTA for the journey back as I didn't fancy that replacement bus service between Western and Logan Square and instead jumped a taxi. There was heavy traffic on the road for some inexplicable reason, but I got back in good time, retrieved my case and had a glass of Cabernet before boarding the hotel shuttle to the airport – and more hassles.

Chicago has a bike share scheme too

I just knew things wouldn't be straightforward and once again it was American Airlines at fault. Oddly, however, whenever there were problems it invariably involved the number 13. The gate back at Indianapolis was H13 (although, to be honest, it might have been H11, I'm not sure, but when the plane pulled away from the gate I couldn't see H11, all I saw was H13) and now the London flight was going out of K13. Having had lunch in Chicago I decided to resist the temptation to visit my favourite Romano's Macaroni Grill and instead walked around aimlessly until my legs were tired enough to make me sit down and read (I've nearly finished Lean on Pete by Willy Vlautin).

But of course there were problems. The American Airlines 767 at gate K13 was going nowhere. There was something wrong with it; so now we've had a faulty door on the AA flight from Indianapolis and an unexplained problem with the 767 that would have flown us to London. We're moved to gate K15 and a new plane, from the hangar, is brought over – eventually. However, the delay has meant that my connecting flight from Dublin to London – not sure if I mentioned the fact that I couldn't fly direct to London Heathrow due to fully booked flights – would be missed, so I had to re-book on the 1145 Dublin to London flight instead and this meant another call to my taxi company in London to reschedule my pick-up. I was getting tired and emotional.

Three hours out of Dublin, Sunday morning

We flew out of Chicago around 8pm instead of the planned 6.30pm and I then had a seven-hour, 30-minute flight ahead of me. All pretty smooth and I had plenty of legroom in seat 11b, but only managed to get about an hour's sleep. At Dublin I transferred to Terminal One (a short walk) and after a bowl of Alpen, a cup of tea and an apple I was ready for the short flight to London during which time I had a shortbread biscuit and one of those small bottles of red wine that I love so much when I fly.

At London, fortunately, I was reunited with my suitcase and everything was intact, but I then had the cab ride from hell. The taxi driver – a shifty-eyed individual with swallows tattooed on both hands (which means he's done time) insisted on playing Bobby Darin at high volume and then engaged me in conversation over the noise of the music. It would have been irritating enough had I not been jet-lagged, but as I was jet-lagged it was even worse. At one stage, however, I actually nodded off, but imagine the horror: a drive home through South West London (my cab driver pointing out local landmarks – like Feltham Young Offenders Institute) while the music played and I occasionally acknowledged something he said with an 'uh' or a 'yeah'. I was so glad when he pulled up outside my house. I jumped out, bade him farewell and rang the front doorbell. I was home.

Stranded in the Windy City

Travelling can be a right palavar! And it always seems odd that I start to make decisions that will somehow backfire on me later in the day. One, for example, was deciding to check in my suitcase. I put my laptop in there and my wallet full of receipts and all because I figured that with such a full suitcase I'd have one helluva time getting the laptop back in after going through security. So I checked it in: mistake number one. Well, perhaps that was the only mistake, I don't know. I also distinctly remember a conversation I had with Mike, the manager of my hotel, the gist of which was that to fly long haul with an American airline was not good and certainly not as good as flying with British Airways. And guess what? I will eventually fly home on an American airline. It's amazing how conversations tempt fate in a certain way and how decisions come back to haunt me.

Anyway, I reach Indianapolis airport, Sam drops me off and I go through security and, for the first time ever, I hear my name boomed over the tannoy system. It turns out they want to search my bag and they need the combination on the lock. I give it to them and that's the end of it, although I start thinking, what if they simply steal my laptop or my wallet? So that bugged me, but I went through the security process and soon it was obvious that there was something wrong with the plane. It turns out that there's a faulty door and we, that is me and my fellow passengers, wonder if it'll be fixed in time. Eventually it is fixed and we're sitting in the plane. Outside there's some pretty severe storms going on and this means, as we're making our way to the runway, the pilot decides to turn us around and go back to the gate to get more fuel. Why he didn't have enough fuel in the first place is not explained, but I'm thinking it's got something to do with re-routing the journey and so on.

But of course it doesn't end there. We're told 10 minutes, but it turns into a couple hours and soon it is obvious that all of us on board are going to miss our connections. We eventually fly out of Indianapolis, the flight's pleasant, we land and then the process of sorting things out begins. I wanted to know what would happen to my suitcase as it won't be transferred to the London flight because that was long gone. Eventually I'm rebooked on an American Airlines flight to Dublin for Saturday night and this means a stay in the Marriott O'Hare, which is fine if you forgive them for labyrinthine corridors.

Dinner was pleasant enough and that old Dunkirk spirit crept in too, which is always nice. There was a small group of us: an American judge from Indianapolis and his South Korean wife, a former cop from Colorado and a girl who's heavily involved in to some kind of historical re-enactment society based in Indianapolis (she was flying to Lake Tahoe, the rest of us to London). In fact, the cop was staying near to me in Kingston upon Thames.

We all had breakfast and then I checked out and right now it's Saturday morning and I'm considering going downtown, although I don't want to be stranded down there and miss my flight, but I'll probably jump on the train (the CTA) at a place called Cumberland and ride the 40 minutes into town just to say I've been there. I need to be back around 3.30pm to catch the shuttle back to the airport (Terminal 3) and my flight to Dublin and from there my flight to London.

I discovered by chatting to people and listening to media reports that Indianapolis and Chicago are virtually equal in the battle to be the USA's most murderous capital. Whoever loses, of course,will be number two and it's looking as if Indianapolis might win. And guess who was staying in a dodgy neighbourhood out on East Washington? Yes, you guessed it. Me. And my taxi driver told me there were crack heads in a motel a few blocks away from my hotel and all manner of unsavoury people hanging around elsewhere. And now I'm in Chicago, a city with similar crime credentials.

I can't upload any images for this post because my camera is in my case along with everything else I need. American Airlines kindly provided me with a small overnight bag containing all the essentials, so at least I could shave and brush my teeth, but they didn't provide a change of clothes so I'm dressed exactly as I was yesterday. Still, I'm rested and ready to get back on the plane later today.

Thoughts from 38,000 feet ...

Travelling over the North Atlantic on a BA flight to Chicago. Just cleared the West Coast of Northern Ireland and have under seven hours to go, so I'm enjoying a glass of Merlot Cabernet Sauvignon while awaiting the in-flight meal.

Blindingly white cloud over Northern Ireland

I'm beginning to wish I hadn't booked a window seat as I'd much rather have the legroom and the freedom to get up when I please without annoying anybody.

All is not what it seems...
What a world we live in when suddenly all is not what it seems: children's entertainers and DJs being accused of child abuse and sexual assault, judges jailed for abusing the law and Max Clifford jailed last week for a variety of dubious crimes involving women. And what the hell is going on in Ukraine? The root of all evil at the moment (and probably forever) is nationalism and there's a lot of it about in Scotland, Russia and, of course, the UK generally in terms of UKIP's preachings. Why can't people be content with what they've got? Alright, there are situations that might justify conflict (Syria, Afghanistan and the like) but why bother in Scotland? It's not as if they don't already have different banknotes is it? And some of the men wear skirts!

I'm getting hungry and there's no sign of lunch. I can smell cooked food, but that's about it. In the UK as I write this it's 1340hrs on Saturday afternoon and I had my breakfast back in Terminal Five (granola, fresh fruit, tea and orange juice) around 1000hrs. Call me a pleb, but I love airline food, always have, and while I know it's likely to be chicken or beef (and I'll opt for the former) that's great so bring it on.

I need to stretch my legs so I'm now standing up at the rear of the plane having answered the call of nature. I won't go back to my seat just yet as I'd rather give my fellow passengers (an Eastern European or Russian who can't speak English and a British girl who, for some reason, likes to cover herself in a blanket) a break from me disturbing their peace by asking them to let me through – back to that reason why, on a long-haul flight, I'm not going to opt for a window seat in future.

"Are you waiting for the toilet?"
Looking around it appears to be a full flight and what never fails to piss me off is the way everybody else, except for me, that is, seems to be content to sit in their seats and entertain themselves. I need more than a movie or some boring 'establishment' rock to keep me quiet – where are the Inspiral Carpets when you need them? – but I'm not the only one: as I speak, the Russian (as I'll now call him) is also standing up. The problem with standing up just to get away from sitting down is that you will find yourself constantly being asked if you're waiting for toilet. "No, be my guest..." I always reply, chirpily.

A full flight. Shot taken from rear of plane.

 I wish my family were here with me and that we were going on holiday, but they're not, more's the pity.

I'm back at my seat now and I've just heard the air hostess ask somebody if they want chicken or beef. Lunch is upon us! Outside now there is a blinding sheet of white cloud just below the plane but, as the food arrives, the cloud thins. The meal consists of roasted breast of chicken, potatoes, peas, green beans, carrots and gravy – perfect! And followed by Lily O'Brien's milk chocolate mousse with caramel sauce (it's tiny so I'm not too worried about my diet and besides, I've managed to lose 28lbs).

And now I can hear the hostess asking, "Tea? Tea? Tea?" a bit prematurely if you ask me as we've only just been given our lunch. I lift up my shallow, white, plastic cup and she fills it with tea.

The choice of music is terrible, I discover as I check out what's on offer in terms of in-flight entertainment, although I did watch Tom Hanks in Captain Phillips, a very good movie that kept me occupied for a couple of hours before I needed to disturb my fellow passengers again and go for a walk to the back of the plane, a Jumbo, incidentally, and I'm in seat 41K. I think I have the same seat on the way back, but I might change it for an aisle seat.

John Simpson to the rescue – again!
We pass over the southern tip of Greenland with around five hours to go of this seven and a half hour flight and once again I find myself thankful for John Simpson and his column in High Life, the BA in-flight magazine. They should let John either write the lot of it or make him the editor as the rest of the content is pretty darn boring if you ask me.

Somewhere over North Eastern Canada...

John Simpson is definitely somebody I would invite to my 'dream dinner party' – not that I do dinner parties these days. Him and Will Self, although it's getting to sound like it might be quite heavy going if Mr Self is thrown into the mix. Perhaps not. It's all academic anyway. John Simpson is like a character from a Graham Green novel and I would love to spend some time with him chatting about world affairs and travelling. In fact I'd like to read his books, assuming he's written some.

"I'd leave it for five minutes if I were you..."
I'm back at the rear of the plane again, telling other passengers that I'm not waiting for the toilet. Mention must be made of going to the toilet on a plane. It's horrible. First, there's no space to swing a cat, let alone the old chap, and I can't stand the folding door or the oddly perfumed smell or the sound that the flush makes – it's really noisy. It's also pretty horrible when you emerge back into the plane again, especially if there's somebody there waiting to go in immediately after you: do you say, "I would leave it five minutes if I were you" or let them find out for themselves? Most people, I've noticed, opt for the latter and, on one occasion, a woman emerged sheepishly to discover one of her friends waiting. She wore an embarassed smile as if to say, "I've made a right pong in there and now you're going to remember that about me for the rest of my life."

Lake Michigan on descent to Chicago...

There's a single seat at the back near the toilets, which I'm guessing is reserved for the crew and it is here that I am sitting now, saying, "No, be my guest..." and pointing invitingly towards the toilet door. One person in the queue remarked to me that the plane must be pretty old because there was an ashtray fitted to the outside of the toilet door. Thanks, mate, I don't like to be reminded about the age of the plane when I'm 38,000 feet off the ground and in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean.

Icy terrain and I'd rather be mowing the lawn!
We're flying over Canada now and it's icy terrain. Back in the UK it's about 1700hrs and I'm wishing I was there now enjoying a normal Saturday with the family. But I'm not. I'm here, on a plane, high in the sky with a load of strangers telling them to 'be my guest' as they are about to use the facilities as if I'm some kind of toilet host. Life doesn't get much better than this! That's sarcasm, by the way. Life clearly does get better than this and for me, my quality of life would be much improved right now if I could simply be at home, mowing the lawn, going shopping, eating, perhaps, a petit filous or making a cottage pie for dinner. But I'm not, I'm alone on a crowded plane to Chicago.

There's one hour and 57 minutes before we land, according to the journey map, and you can bet it's going to drag and drag. We're over Quebec and it's nearly a quarter past six UK time, according to my watch, which I always keep on UK time as a reminder of what's happening back at home.

My in-flight meal. I never ate the starter but that dessert was nice.

Romano's Macaroni Grill
Time flies when you're flying (actually, it doesn't, but that sounded good). Having said that the plane has now landed in Chicago. We flew in over Lake Michigan and now I'm sitting in Romano's Macaroni Grill, an excellent Italian restaurant in O'Hare's Terminal Three. This is the second time I've been here, the last time was when I flew to Cleveland in 2013. Now I'm waiting for the 1750 flight to Indianapolis. I've ordered Pollo Caprese, a glass of Cabernet, a bottle of Pellegrino, and I'm not planning on eating any more until breakfast tomorrow morning.

The flight to Indianapolis with American Airlines was a bit shaky to start as the wind has picked up. The take-off was a bit rough as the plane seemingly caught some cross wind as it accelerated along the strip and appeared to be knocked off course, albeit momentarily, but it was enough to give me a jolt. Eventually, when we'd broken through the cloud and were cruising at 29,000 feet, all was well and remained so for the rest of what was a very short flight: no more than 50 minutes by my reckoning.

Romano's Macaroni Grill, Chicago O'Hare Terminal 3

In Indianapolis...
Indianapolis airport was a lovely place. It was very peaceful and when I saw a family meeting up with another family member – a homecoming of some kind or other – I felt homesick again (and tired). But I had to get a move-on and get a cab to my hotel, which I did. It took around 25 minutes or so and cost me $60, including a tip and I can't say I'm that impressed with the hotel – yet. It's, basically, a trucker's hotel and there are a few rigs parked up in the lot. I'm staying here because I booked late and there's not much left in downtown. Also I'm saving the points in the hope that one day soon I'll be able to take the family away somewhere for a much-needed break. My problem with the place is whether or not it's close to downtown (like they say it is). I've got to be downtown at the Indiana Convention Centre for the rest of the week, although there are other problems with the hotel: no restaurant and no international calls, plus an empty fridge in the room that hums noisily throughout the night (and day) and an unispiring view of a parking lot outside my hotel window, not forgetting the trailer park on the other side of it. I'm beginning to wonder how safe it is out there and I keep thinking that I might be in that movie, No Country for Old Men. I just hope the lock don't come flying off my door.

Catching a cold, but feeling fine...
Add to my misery a streaming cold that I probably picked up on the plane. It's constant, like a tap, and it's made for a broken night, although I don't feel unwell. Now, at 0620hrs I'm sitting here because I can't sleep. I've had something like two stints of a couple hours sleep since I hit the sack around 2200hrs US time, although it might have been 2100hrs as the clock on my iphone is wrong for some reason. I think it's got a lot to do with me installing new OS software while having breakfast at Heathrow yesterday. Note to self: don't upgrade the phone's software again.

So I need to get my bearings, work out where I am in relation to downtown and, most importantly take a shower and get some breakfast as I'm starving. Then, at noon, I'm heading downtown to the convention centre to check things out for tomorrow. I also need to check out the program for the conference and then get to work. Yes, while those in the UK enjoy their Bank Holiday Monday, I've got to work because in the USA, they don't have Bank Holiday Mondays.

Caution has been advised...
I've been advised not to walk around as there's a real risk of being mugged (or worse). I was thinking about a walk into downtown, but apparently it's about five miles and there's a dodgy neighbourhood. The guy on reception has told me to take the bus (which goes through the dodgy area) or take a taxi (approximately $20 to $22. So it's going to cost me a minimum of $40 per day to get to and from the convention centre and I've got to wear a suit, making me stand out from the crowd. It looks as if taking a cab is the best way to get about, although I fancy a bus ride.

Apparently the area surrounding the hotel is fine, but I'm about a mile and a half from Dodgeville by foot and the dodgy part of town starts near a Gold's Gym where the hotel has some kind of deal in place.

Yesterday while transferring to Terminal 3 at O'Hare I overheard two people discussing gun crime and how, invariably, if somebody's driving a pick-up truck there's a likelihood they're packing a piece. Well, there's a few pick-up trucks outside. I might go and take a look around, suss out the bus and stuff, but I won't be wandering anywhere dangerous.

In Cleveland, Ohio

Probably one of the best flights from London to Chicago (eight hours) was the BA flight out of Heathrow at 1150hrs yesterday (Wednesday). After we broke through the cloud it was plain-sailing all the way across and I had a decent seat, by the window, with plenty of leg room.

Eggs Benedict at Heathrow Airport – not brilliant.

During the flight I watched Toy Story (Toy Story 1) my favourite movie, but what was really worth watching was Karl Pilkington and Warwick Davis in An Idiot Abroad. What a fantastic programme.

The food was good too: a choice of seared fillet of British beef with barbecue sauce, spicy potato wedges and Mediterranean vegetables or roasted corn-fed chicken with summer truffle and wild mushroom sauce, herb mashed potatoes, baby fennel and carrots. For dessert there was vanilla strawberry checsecake, although I don't think that was on the menu as I recall a kind of chocolatey mousse thing, which was good. Tea followed and they were generous with the wine. All in all a perfect flight.

Daniel Day-Lewis at Chicago airport

I had to hang around Chicago airport for a few hours so I went to Romano's Macaroni Grill for Pollo Caprese, a glass of cabernet and half of a rather large cheese cake. Oh, and soup to start with bread. Very nice, but now I know why it's called the Windy City.

Flew out of Chicago for Cleveland at 1840hrs last night and, by the time I got to my hotel room, Room 2318, I was tired out. For me it was something like 0300hrs. Still, I've had around seven hours sleep give or take and I've just had an amazing breakfast, courtesy of the Marriott Downtown here in Cleveland. Tea (in a pot without a lid) but we'll let them off as the main course was excellent. Only the Americans can eat skin-on potatoes for breakfast. I enjoyed them with scrambled egg, some cheesy potatoes and a couple of sausages and this was all prefaced by a bunch of fresh fruit: melon, mandarins, that sort of stuff, not forgetting a large glass of orange (well, two large glasses of orange juice).

Feeling suitably refreshed, I organised a late check-out for 2pm and now I'm ready for work.

Cleveland, by the way is where Superman was invented (or, I guess, created). At least that was what it said at the decidedly deserted 'sorry for our dust' Cleveland airport last night. It's also home to the rock 'n' roll hall of fame museum, so I'm told, but I doubt I'll have the time as I've got to fly to Pittsburgh this evening.

Better call it a day there. Will report again later, probably from Pittsburgh.

Marriott Downtown Cleveland