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.

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...

In Dusseldorf...day three

Whenever I travel I tend to lock in to whatever my situation happens to be and then stick with it; by that I mean I arrived in Dusseldorf without any reading matter – and getting hold of anything decent, other than the Financial Times, is difficult. I'd end up with a James Patterson or Wilbur Smith novel or a book by Kate Garraway. I met her once (she won't remember) on an East Coast train that was stuck for hours and hours due to the overhead power lines going down and she was really nice, but her book, The Joy of Big Knickers, is probably not for me. The title alone would mean I couldn't read it in public.

A shot taken on my walk towards the Alt Stadt earlier today...

So I can't really enjoy the 'Starbucks in a foreign country' experience as it always goes hand-in-hand with having something decent to read and I have nothing. Likewise, as I've mentioned in previous posts, breakfast isn't the same without an English language newspaper or a decent book. So I cut my cloth accordingly, I steer clear of coffee shops, where I would be reduced to staring out of the window or, worse still, poring over my iphone like I did earlier over dinner and in the hotel bar. There's nothing worse than dining alone.

Statue in a pleasant park en route to the Alt Stadt

Work finished around 1700hrs so I decided to stroll to the Alt Stadt (or old town) and chill. Or rather that's what I thought I'd do, but in the end I didn't bother because I lacked reading matter; I took a look at the river instead, peeked through a few shop windows and then steadily retraced my footsteps back to where I'm staying at the top of Karlstrasse. It was a great walk. I found a small but peaceful park and then the Alt Stadt, which is fine, but some of the roads leading off from the area down by the river are a bit run-down. There are bars and restaurants that have closed down and I was reminded of London's Soho or Amsterdam, minus, of course, anything sleazy.

Well, I hadn't really mentioned cycling so I thought a photo might do...

It was approaching 1900hrs and I considered dining earlier than scheduled, but then I found the hotel bar and decided that a couple of small (and I mean small) dark ales would go down a treat. I sat at the bar giggling to myself about Viz magazine's Profanisaurus and then, as the time approached 2000hrs I moseyed on down to Da Bruno, my favourite all-time Italian restaurant, for dinner. I'd booked the table on Monday and soon I found myself sitting there perusing the menu. Da Bruno, especially after a hard day 'at the office', is the perfect place to be and I was looking forward to an hour or so of simply chilling and eating good food.

Very close to the Alt Stadt I found this rather impressive piece of work...

Mushroom consomme, seabass with spinach, sautéed potatoes and brocolli, a glass of red wine and a chocolate mousse, not forgetting a cappuccino – and all for just 37 Euros. This really is the best restaurant in town and I defy anybody to find a similarly priced trattoria that offers the same quality of food and the same vibe. I can't think of one and by that I mean anywhere in the world, not just in Dusseldorf.

"Down by the river..."

Towards the end of my meal I was approached by the waitress. Would I mind if somebody else shared my table? No, of course I wouldn't mind, so she directed a German guy towards the vacant seat opposite. I was settling my bill but we managed to pass the time of day and both agreed that Da Bruno was the best restaurant in town, and I suggested probably in the world too. He, like me, has eaten at Da Bruno before and tends to come back for more, just like I do. We parted company and I walked back along Karlstrasse towards the Mercure. Earlier I had considered a return to the hotel bar for one more tiny dark ale, but as I passed it, I noticed it was a little rowdier than earlier on (a football match possibly) so I took the stairs and headed for my room and here I am now, writing what is likely to be my last post from Dusseldorf before I fly home tomorrow.

The Alt Stadt...

My post yesterday was probably a little too critical of the Mercure City Center. Breakfast this morning was, for some reason, better than on Tuesday and has led to me reconsider my remarks; it was alright. The main problem was that I didn't have anything to read. I didn't have anything today either, but let's just say it was better, even if it was exactly the same.

In the park and going back towards Karlstrasse...

While making my way to the Alt Stadt earlier, I found an Apple store and went inside to mess around with the tablets and the lap tops, but in all honesty Apple has lost its appeal – it has, if you like, become the norm. Yes, I am an Apple computer user, always have been, but I think Apple has got a little too smug and a little too mainstream these days and that is epitomised by its stores, which have a certain shrine-like arrogance I can live without. Apple is far too big for its boots in my opinion. The iphone is ubiquitous  (dare I say a 'bestseller') rather than cult (like Apple computers used to be back in the days of Mulder and Scully). Mind you, there are so many examples of 'cult stuff' becoming mainstream. There was a time, for instance, when those who listened to Pink Floyd were considered 'out there', but now they're pretty mainstream too, or when Philip K Dick was a real 'underground' author. Now, of course, there are movies of his books starring Tom Cruise and Arnie. Shit happens.

I left the Apple store empty-handed – not that I had any intention of buying anything. In the past I might have been content to play on the laptops and secretly wish I had the money to buy a new MacBook, but not today. I don't see the point in tablets or the Apple watch and I already have an iphone, albeit an iphone 4S that's four years old and out of contract. It's great being out of contract as all 02 have to do is piss me off and they can sling their hook! Get in! There's nothing worse than being beholden to a phone company. It's bad enough having a loan or a mortgage.

So I'm back in my room, I fly home tomorrow and I can lie in for longer too, although not too long as I've got to pack all my stuff and check out prior to heading for the central station and a brief train ride to the airport. That's what's great about Dusseldorf, everything is close-by, including the flughafen.

It is now 0445hrs and I've woken up, probably because I had a cappuccino for dinner last night or because of that rich chocolate mousse. I could have done without that. I'm finding that eating out is often a kind of culinary Russian roulette, last night being a case in point. Generally speaking I've been pretty 'good' on the food and drink front. My alcohol intake has been very low – last night just those very small beers and a glass of wine with my meal – but when I weaken and opt for dessert it's like crossing a mine field. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those people who has to watch what he eats, but when the dessert menu was offered (my fault for requesting it) I was presented with a kind of loaded gun, albeit a 'gun' I'm familiar with.

Some of the dessert items had form and I knew to steer clear. Tiramisu, once my all-time favourite dessert, will now always be avoided, not because it gives me a stomach ache or anything like that, but purely because it's so rich and full of things that ain't good for me. Grand Padano, a nice cheese, yes, but the last time I ordered it here the portion size was huge, even if I did, eventually, work my way through it with the assistance of an additional glass of wine; and then there's the dessert that is basically some kind of dessert wine or liqueur accompanied by biscotti; for a start the biscotti is so hard and the drink so thick and syrupy. There are other desserts I know to avoid: the Creme Caramel, the Zabaglione, the pannacotta and so on, but the chocolate mousse, I thought, that can't be too bad. I imagined an elegant wine glass with a light chocolate inside, possibly a fresh raspberry as garnish on top. But no, it was three large 'quenelles' – 'dollops' would be more appropriate – of the stuff, three dog turd shapes in a large white dish, the sort of shit you're proud of before you flush. One dollop would have been enough, but I ploughed through it in between sips of the cappuccino, wishing I'd simply ordered the coffee like I did on Monday night.

And now I'm wide awake as the time creeps towards 0500hrs. There's a bottle of Evian next to me and I'm considering opening it, like I did yesterday in the early hours, thanks, perhaps, to that rich Indian meal, who knows? It might well be that it's 'the hotel life' and unfamiliar surroundings. It takes a while for me to get acclimatised to sleeping in a hotel room and just when I think I've cracked it, it's time to fly home.

My next dilemma is whether or not to go back to bed or simply stay up; but there's little to do at 0512hrs and having not switched on the television since I arrived Monday night, I'm not going to break the habit now.

I write a lot of hotel and restaurant reviews on Trip Advisor, which can be read by clicking here.

In Dusseldorf... day one

I'd like to call myself a 'biscuiteer', but having mistaken a small, wrapped block of hard foam designed to clean shoes for some kind of free snack, possibly even a biscuit, I think I seriously failed the entrance examination.

I'm safely ensconced in my room at the Mercure Hotel and I thought I'd scout around for any freebies and that's when I encountered what I thought was a biscuit. Life can be infuriating. There's not much for free: a sachet of premium peppermint tea, two elongated sachets of instant coffee, some 'Zabielacz de kawy creamer' – that's powdered milk to you and me – and a couple of sachets of sugar. Oh, there's a bottle of Evian mineral water.

Hoteliers can get a little angry when I suggest that a locked minibar means they don't trust their guests, but I hate that unmistakable feeling of exclusion. There's a couple of locked doors, one being a small safe that has been rendered unusable, and the other some kind of fridge, which I'm guessing is either empty or jam-packed with beers and wines and wasabi nuts, but just not for me for some reason. I wonder if they thought, 'hold on, we've got Moggridge staying with us, lock the minibar and don't give him access to the mini safe either'. There must be some kind of policy decision that says 'lock the fridge and the safe and don't leave any keys floating around'. Annoying, but so far I have very little to complain about, well, apart from trying to find the elevator. One of them was out of order so I was directed along a corridor to where I would find another, but I got lost and had to ask for directions. It turned out the lift was up some stairs, on the first floor no less, so I figured what was the point? I walked instead and soon found my room, which was absolutely fine. There was a carpeted floor, a single bed, a flatscreen television, power points, a telephone (that worked!) and various leaflets. The bathroom was small but perfectly formed, there was space for my suitcase and suits and I was pretty pleased for another reason: I was under four minutes' walk from my all-time favourite Italian restaurant, Da Bruno, where I had booked my usual lonely table for one.

The flight over from Heathrow T5 was fine: some initial cloud, but fairly smooth and now that BA has decided, a la easyJet, to charge for its food I decided not to bother, opting instead for lunch at Huxley's (butterfly chicken and a glass of Pinot Noir followed by a single espresso and the bill). I'd arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare and once lunch was out of the way I moseyed around getting angry about the assumption, made by airport operators the world over, that once people find themselves 'beyond passport control and through security' they're somehow able to afford Prada handbags and Rolex watches, not forgetting Burberry coats and sich like. I found a WH Smith's but couldn't find a book decent enough to warrant my attention and left for gate A18 empty-handed.

Bang on time, the train from the airport to Dusseldorf HBF...

Once I had landed in Dusseldorf, German efficiency kicked in: passport control was a breeze, jumping on board the Skytrain was simplicity itself and when I reached Dusseldorf HBF I walked for five minutes until I reached the hotel, from where I write this.

Time is moving fast and it's almost time for dinner so I'm skipping off to my favourite restaurant of all time, Da Bruno on Karlstrasse, which is under a four-minute walk away from the hotel's front desk. I couldn't ask for more if I tried. The reason I'm in the Mercure is because once, when I bowled nonchalantly into Da Bruno expecting a table and not getting one, I wandered around and eventually decided to have dinner in the Mercure's restaurant. Alright, it was a last resort and wasn't a brilliant meal but at least I knew there was a hotel close-by that was even nearer than the Burns Art Hotel a few doors along. The only reason I knew of Da Bruno's existence was because the receptionist at the Friends Hotel, which is located at the other end of Karlstrasse, recommended it to me about a year to 18 months ago. Now, whenever I'm in Dusseldorf, I book a table, like I did tonight.

After dinner (Parma ham with melon, pappardelle with mushrooms, two glasses of red wine and a cappuccino) I took a stroll in the direction of the Friends hotel, but turned left and found myself in a kind of Japanese area of town. I milled around for all of two minutes and then turned back, whistling that guitar riff from the Rolling Stone's Last Time single. "This will be the last time, maybe the last time I don't know..." and I can't remember the rest, or whether what I've just written is even correct, but I do remember the whining guitar riff.

Fortnum & Mason, where we all shop!!!

I'm back in the room. To be honest I now know when to stop; in the past I didn't have a clue and would happily prop up the bar drinking beer into the early hours – oh how foolish I was! It's not yet 10 o'clock and I'm already thinking about switching on the television, possibly drinking that bottle of Evian and then hitting the sack. While I drank the bottle of water I refrained from watching the television, but then, lying in bed, lights off, deep in thought about this and that, I felt restless enough to get up and start sub-editing this blog post and, as you can see, write something extra too, but now, as I look at the clock in the top right hand corner of my laptop's screen, I see that it's now ten past midnight and this time I really am shutting things down and hitting the sack.

I write a lot of hotel and restaurant reviews on Trip Advisor, which can be read by clicking here.

A long walk followed by a decent meal in my favourite restaurant...

If you're on Facebook and are not one of my pals, but just happened to have stumbled on this blog, then I've just been raving (on Facebook) about a restaurant here is Dusseldorf called Da Bruno. In fact, a few months back I wrote a glowing review of the place here on NoVisibleLycra – click here to read it.

You know what? It's odd because I like this restaurant so much that I've started to plan my trips around it. I pick a hotel nearby so I don't have to walk for miles and the one I've been staying in is under five minutes' walk away, less than when I was staying in the Friends Hotel at the other end of Karlstrasse, which is close to Dusseldorf's central railway station. In fact, credit to the people at Friends Hotel for recommending Da Bruno to me, I've never looked back.

From the top of Dusseldorf's 'Space Tower'.

The only reason I'm not staying in the Friends Hotel this time around is that I was never keen on the breakfast offering – it's not substantial enough, in my opinion, and they've sort of run out of space on which to put things. It's all a bit precarious in that sense and I never felt totally fulfilled when breakfast was over and it was time to face the day.

Where I am now is much better. The breakfasts are more inviting, the space in which they are served is cosy and, well, that's it. The food quality is better too. It's an all-round good experience. And as I've probably said already – possibly in the last post I wrote – the rooms here are better too.

So since I've been here – I arrived Tuesday – I've been obsessed with Da Bruno. So obsessed that on my first night, despite the fact that I got to the hotel around 10pm, I still walked there and managed to get a table. Last night they were fully booked when I turned up around 8pm – so I booked for tonight and then left, ending up in a Mercure Hotel restaurant and wishing I hadn't bothered. Although hats off to the waitress – Nicole – for top notch service.

I was one of two guests in the Mercure. I ordered goulash soup to start (which I suspect wasn't homemade – it was too much like dehydrated soup for my liking) and then followed up with grilled salmon (or fried, I can't remember) but either way it was under-cooked. I even considered mentioning this, but didn't want the chef gobbing on my food. I'm fine, by the way, no food poisoning, not like this time last year in Rio de Janiero when I went down with a dose of the squits. Not that I'm suggesting it was the food; it could have been anything, possibly even the fact that I went for a swim in Copacabana Bay – the famous Copacabana Beach no less. I remember reading about the quality of the seawater being piss poor, so it might have been that or the change of climate, who knows? Either way, the end result wasn't pleasant, I can tell you. Click here for more.

Goulash soup at the Mercure Hotel restaurant

When I find a good restaurant like Da Bruno, everything else pales into insignificance and I start to see the join in other establishments. At the Mercure, for example, there was the dehydrated soup and the under-cooked salmon (the wine, incidentally – Cabernet Sauvignon – was fine) but I can't help comparing. The Mercure bill was twice as much as I pay in Da Bruno and the food quality was nowhere near as good. A decent restaurant brings so many aspects of life into perspective as well as highlighting how crap most other restaurants are.

Last night, I walked into a place, sat down, perused the menu and realised immediately that it was a shit establishment. So what did I do? I picked up my mobile phone, started a mock conversation with nobody – I can act quite well – and then, getting up while still 'on the phone' I put my coat on, signalled in a feigned state of harassment that I had to go, and then continued my search for somewhere decent to eat. I walked around the block half a dozen times, turning down Korean, Japanese, Indian and Chinese restaurants before reaching the Mercure Hotel.

As I say, Nicole the waitress was the only redeeming feature so, after the soup and salmon, I declined dessert, made my excuses and left.

Salmon on a pile of spinach with rice at the Mercure – not the best

Today, once the business element of my day was over, I walked for over an hour across the city and back to my hotel in the early evening sunshine, and then to Da Bruno for the last time, although I'm still figuring out whether there's time to squeeze in one last visit before flying home. The problem is that Da Bruno is so good it's always packed.

The walk was wonderful as the weather's been fine: nice and sunny, but a little bit cold. I stopped off here and there in different shops – a couple of clothes stores, one or two supermarkets – I'm looking for Ronnefeldt teas but can't find them anywhere, and I'm also thinking about getting some German food products, like white drinking chocolate and a box of cereal. Wine is cheap here too so there's a few things on the agenda for tomorrow to kill time between 3pm and when my flight heads for home.

I walked for over an hour this evening...

Something that does piss me off about hotels is when they give their guests the impression that they're offering them something complimentary, but the reality is it will go on the bill like everything else. So there's the minibar, well, we all know that's not free, but what about that half bottle of wine on the desk, that inviting bottle of Pinot Noir? I was going to ask the woman on the front desk whether it was 'on the house', but I knew what her answer would be, so I'm leaving it well alone. Besides, I've had my glass of house red at Da Bruno and I'm feeling great so why go and ruin everything?

Last but not least, I've discovered a new chocolate bar, not that I'm making a regular habit of such things. It's just that they've got a big plate full of mini snacks like Twix and Kit Kat, opposite the front desk, but also among them is Balisto, a small 18.5g bar that I've never, ever seen in the UK. Anyway, just to say that they're fantastic and I'm glad they're not available in the UK as they could become habit forming.

In fact, while it sounds like I've been pigging out, I haven't been. I have a light breakfast, no tea even, and then there was the conference self-service lunch and lastly, Da Bruno. I've had just one glass of wine and now, hopefully, I'll get a decent night's sleep.

A Balisto bar – very tasty indeed!

Da Bruno, Karlstrasse 16, 40210 Düsseldorf, Germany

Da Bruno, Karlstrasse 16, Düsseldorf, Germany

There's a first time for everything and for me visiting one restaurant every night for the last four nights is a first. The eaterie in question was roughly a 15-minute walk from my hotel – so no taxis were involved – and in terms of value for money it scored highly, costing around 21 to 25 Euros (excluding tip) for one person. What's more the quality was there and so was the service and the ambience.

After a tough day – and all the last four days have been tough – I looked forward to visiting Da Bruno a small Italian trattoria located at Karlstrasse 16, 40210 Düsseldorf – telephone (0211) 38 23 00 and prefix that number with 0049 if you're calling from outside of Germany (and exclude that zero before the 2).

I dined alone every night and took with me a copy of The Economist on one day and Thursday's Times today. For the other two days I had my iphone to fiddle with, which was fine, but as all of my colleagues were staying in different hotels, some a considerable distance away, I dined alone every night.

Today was to be my last night at Da Bruno and, as always, it was busy. In fact, thinking about it, I should have reserved a table, but despite not doing so, they still managed to find me a table. What did I like about this great little restaurant? For a start it was Italian and I love Italian food. Then there was the fact that it was a small, cosy restaurant – they're rare these days – and then, of course, there was the service, which was perfect, and we can't forget the food as it was amazing. I made a point of not overdoing it as I wanted to be relaxed and chilled and happy to walk the 15 minutes along Karlstrasse without feeling tired and bloated. With this in mind, I had pasta dishes every day: pasta with mushrooms, penne arrabiatta, linguine with pesto and tonight pasta with lamb chops. On two occasions I had a small mixed salad, there was always bread and I also tried the minestrone soup (yesterday) and the tomato soup this evening. And I couldn't resist the proscuittio with melon. Fortunately I managed to avoid dessert as I knew that had I weakened I would have opted for the tiramisu (my all-time favourite dessert).

Despite being small and intimate there was plenty of hubbub, which I like; there's nothing better than feeling cosy in a restaurant, listening in to the banter of the other diners and taking in everything else like the smell of the food being cooked and the conversation between the waiting staff.

Every day has been different in Da Bruno. On day one there was only a group of men plus myself in the restaurant, but then it was fairly late. I remember being pleasantly surprised at the size of my glass of house red – it was huge – and then being taken aback by the waiting staff who were quite happy during one of my visits to put a bottle of red wine on my table and charge me only for what I consumed. No rigid portion control policy! But it was a policy never abused by yours truly. I never overdid anything and left the restaurant every night feeling at peace with the world and ready (hopefully) for a decent night's sleep.

There really is no praise high enough for Da Bruno and whoever runs the place. It's definitely a community restaurant with a strong local following and I'm pleased to say that while the restaurant was once on the other side of the road, it's not anymore as the building in which it resided was recently sold. One of the waiting staff told me they were lucky to find their current premises and I found myself thinking 'too right!" I would imagine that locals would mourn the loss of Da Bruno for many years and may never have gotten over it. I know I wouldn't.

So tonight, as I paid up the bill, gathered my stuff together and bade farewell to the waiting staff, there was a tinge of sadness as I walked into the evening air and headed back to my hotel. But I know that one day I'll be back as Düsseldorf has become a regular haunt of mine.

I've got roughly a half day of work ahead of me tomorrow and then I must head to the airport for a flight to London City Airport – a 70-minute hop as opposed to hours of driving on autobahns and motorways.

Here's to the team at Da Bruno for running an excellent restaurant and charging a reasonable price for above average food and impeccable service.

Da Bruno
Karlstrasse 16
40210 Düsseldorf
Telephone: (0211) 38 23 00
Fax (0211) 384 0147
www.dabruno.de

Ah! I get it! The theme is sixties fashion icons!

Twiggy in Room 207's bathroom

Not being either a fashion icon or in anyway fashionable myself, it's taken me a day to work out that the theme of my 'boutique' hotel is fashion and, in particular, fashion icons - Twiggy in my bathroom, framed photos of Karl Lagerfeld and Yves Saint Laurent on the breakfast room walls and others whom I am sure my 'fashionista' fellow guests recognised immediately. Except that, looking around me I see businessmen, not fashion victims, so, clearly, if you're a 'fashionista' - don't you hate that word? - there are other places to stay in Dusseldorf.

Breakfast here is not brilliant, although it's not bad either; everything is arranged as if it was thought about at the last minute and is crammed on to a shelf on the bar and a window sill. I miss the big bowls of fruit and the dishes of raspberry or strawberry yogurts found in the bigger branded hotels, but in all honesty there is little to complain about here and I really am clutching at straws. Even the brightly-coloured room has grown on me and now that I've found the perfect Italian restaurant - Da Bruno - about 10 minutes from the hotel I'm made up if I'm honest. More importantly, it was the hotel that recommended the restaurant so top marks to them.

As I write this it's Wednesday night, 1130hrs, and despite having attended a function in the old town of Dusseldorf at a venue on the banks of the Rhine, I still managed to catch a tram in the general direction of Da Bruno and eat dinner there – minestrone soup followed by linguine with pesto, a glass of red wine and some still mineral water. I never thought I'd get there tonight, but I did and I'm so pleased. I'm planning on going there tomorrow too.

Da Bruno is a local Italian trattoria located at Karistrasse 16, 40210 Düsseldorf (tel: 0049 (0) 211-382300). It offers everything you might expect from an Italian restaurant – including quality food and incredibly good value for money. It's homely, the service is good and, most importantly, it's friendly and I feel right at home, even if I do have to dine alone – an occupational hazard for me, I'm afraid,  but one I've gotten used to; I bought a copy of the Economist in Folkestone, Kent, on the journey out here and this morning, sitting alone in the breakfast room (like a few others) I read about Atlanta's growing problem with Asian gang culture. Last night (Tuesday) in the restaurant I read about the need for the national governments of rich countries the world over to let the dust settle on the recession before making any rash decisions about putting up interest rates and thereby setting the whole recessionary nightmare into fall swing again. Last night (Wednesday) I had nothing to read so I messed around with my iphone's Notes facility, writing down how much I'd been eating and generally faffing around like somebody with absolutely no friends. There had been a huge party of Japanese in the restaurant – they kept bowing at one another for some reason – but when they left only seven of us remained – two couples and then two men at diagonally opposed corners of the floor, with me completing a kind of triangle (if you joined the dots so to speak).

After a while I got chatting with one of the restaurant staff. I told her that I'd come from London and that I was flying back there on Friday and that I would be returning to Da Bruno tomorrow for my final meal in Dusseldorf – I've never visited the same restaurant on four consecutive nights. Soon it was time to settle the bill and walk back to my hotel in the dark.

Thursday morning...
This morning (Thursday) I was awake around 0630hrs and when I peered out of the window I noticed that the Buddha statue on the rooftop below the room had, for some reason, been moved closer to my window – I reckon it's all part of a plan to freak me out, a bit like the Weeping Angels in Doctor Who. I'm guessing that in a few days' time the statue will move to the left and eventually make a complete circuit of the small rooftop area that I can see from my hotel window.

I've got a haircut booked for this morning at 0930hrs as I noticed, on leaving the room yesterday evening, that I'm starting to look a mess. After a while – between six and eight weeks after having it cut – my hair becomes a little uncontrollable, like a Brillo pad, and there's no alternative other than to have it cut short, but then, of course, I resemble a criminal, a bank robber on the run or some other kind of miscreant, so in many ways I can't win.