Coming home...

On my last night in Linz I took a stroll through the city in search of a decent restaurant. I walked up side roads in my quest and eventually stumbled upon Gottfried. It looked good, had an upmarket vibe to it and when I got inside and was handed the menu my suspicions were upheld. It was an upmarket establishment  with oddly depressing lighting that grated a little. It was also full but a table was found and I sat there looking at my fellow diners, some young, some old as I perused the menu. I wasn't going to pay 42 Euros for risotto and I didn't fancy a steak for 36 Euros so I settled for lemon chicken at 26 Euros. As I don't drink (it's been eight years now) I ordered a large bottle of mineral water and then awaited the arrival of the chicken. It was, in my opinion, awful. A small and thin piece of breast meat burnt around the edges and accompanied by mushy vegetables, mainly peppers, and, oddly, a sprinking of nuts. I noticed that somebody next to me had the same dish and I was tempted to lean over and say something disparaging about the meal, but decided not to. I declined dessert and left and then slowly walked back to my hotel. It was Halloween and there were plenty of people out and about dressed as witches or ghouls.

Breaking through the clouds heading for Vienna on Tuesday.

When I reached the hotel I couldn't be bothered to pack and eventually hit the sack. I didn't have to be up at the crack of dawn the next day, but I'm very much aware of how time simply runs away. I still had an early breakfast but this time, in addition to my healthy muesli, I ordered scrambled egg and a few sausages, two cups of tea and two small custard pastries (I love custard). And then the big debate, do I head for Vienna and the airport or hang around Linz for a while? In short, the latter, but I didn't really do a great deal of hanging around, no coffee shop for me; I packed up my stuff and then decided to walk to the station and not take a cab, it took around 20 minutes. 

Vienna railway station on the outward journey...nobody around.

It was a bank holiday and everything, even the coffee shops on the station concourse, were closed. I jumped on a train around 1000hrs, or just gone, and sat there looking out of the window in a state of preoccupation. On arrival in Vienna I took a train to the airport and after a little bit of faffing around doing the job of the airline staff (printing out a ticket for my suitcase, loading my suitcase on the conveyor) I headed for security, which was straightforward. Soon I was through and again time had run away. I had enough time to eat a snack lunch and then headed for the gate where I tried to charge my phone but none of the power points in one coffee shop worked so I had to move to the adjacent gate and use its power points. This meant that every five minutes I had to get up to make sure that my gate wasn't boarding. I was told that boarding wouldn't begin until half an hour before departure time and managed to charge my phone to 64% before I eventually did board. A woman sitting at the other gate agreed to watch my phone while I checked the situation at my gate, she was Dutch and on her way to Sarajevo but wouldn't be leaving until gone 10pm as she had missed her flight.We chatted briefly and then I unplugged my charged phone and queued up at my gate.

Lunch at Vienna airport on Tuesday

The flight was smooth, just like the outward journey, but it was dark so there was nothing to see. I started reading the National Geographic, which I'd purchased in one of the shops at the airport. The whole issue was dedicated to stress, something I have a lot of at this present time. I didn't order anything to eat or drink as I had a bottle of mineral water and that sufficed. The flight took around two hours and while we circled over Heathrow for some time, we eventually landed. I had the same seat as I had on the way out, seat 12F, an exit seat, and there was only one other person on my row  and he sat in the aisle, so we had an empty seat separating us. There was no turbulence, which was good, and towards the end of the flight we were all given a free chocolate, like on the way out a few days earlier. The difference was that the return journey's chocolate, wrapped like the one on the outward journey, was nutty. The chocolate on the outward journey was circular and didn't include nuts, I much preferred it, although the crew on the return journey were more generous and gave us two chocolates, not just the one. To be honest, when it comes to chocolates on planes you're better off flying Finnair as they offer Fazer chocolate, which is the very best in quality.

Everything was smooth running, passport control, baggage reclaim and then the Heathrow Express (I had bought a return ticket). I took the tube to Victoria and a short taxi ride from East Croydon. When I reached home I watched, yes, A Curious Life. It was much needed. I went to bed late and awoke this morning around 0700hrs, back to my normal breakfast and, thank God, no sausages.

The trip had been good and I'm glad I decided to go as I think I did myself a lot of favours, professionally speaking. I was in Linz to moderate a panel discussion and after a lot of preparation I think I managed to pull it off. I'm also glad to be home.

From Linz to Vienna...

I went back to Bäckerei Danecker for an English Breakfast tea and this time ordered an almond croissant. I sat at the same table as yesterday and simply relaxed after what you could describe as a 'hard day at the office'. In the process I finished Climbers by M John Harrison, arguably (in fact there's no argument about it) the best book I've read in a long time. After I finished reading I people-watched. 

Bäckerei Danecker to finish Climbers by M John Harrison

I awoke early that morning and kept pressing the snooze button to prolong being in bed and then, around 0700hrs, I had breakfast downstairs.  

"Is it worth changing trains?" No, it wasn't...

My 'day at the office' began around 0830hrs and finished around 1530hrs and that's when I took a stroll to the centre of town (or what I regarded as the centre of town, although I think it was). 

There's a first time for everything – waiting on Linz station

While I wasn't too keen on Bäckerei Danecker's high chairs yesterday, I grew to like them and the idea of going anywhere else seemed churlish. What was foolish, however, was the almond croissant. I could have done without it, and the chocolate heart I purchased later, it wasn't that nice. I've simply got to stop eating rubbish, but then I've been saying that for a very long time. I'm hoping to get a walk in at some stage, but who knows? I've got the trim wheel with me, a cumbersome device that resembles the petrol tank of a motorcycle with two handles protruding from each side. I intend to use it daily (as I have been at home). I can't say I've noticed much difference, but that might have something to do with my cake fetish, although generally I haven't been doing too badly. Yesterday, for example, I had very little to eat all day. For breakfast I had granola with yoghurt and berries, then lunch was a ham sandwich on Vienna Central Station followed by dinner here in Linz (stroganoff, salad and beer) without dessert, so if I transferred one of my indulgent treats of today to yesterday things would even out a little bit. Rob Peter to pay Paul. That said, I'm always too willing to start making up little scenarios that let me off the hook, like 'half a dozen Miniature Heroes equals one chocolate bar' and stuff like that designed to make me feel better about my over-indulgence. In truth though, it really must stop. Either way, I'll be on the trim wheel later tonight.

On Viennese streets after dark...

For some bizarre reason, my hotel closes at 2000hrs, but I have a key to get in so it shouldn't be a problem except that the keys have been an issue. Locking or unlocking the hotel room door has been a real hassle, requiring glasses to be worn and my own sanity to be questioned. Part of it is remembering which of the three keys open the door, although that problem can be narrowed down to two keys as one of them is for the minibar and it's very distinctive. If you so happened to be passing by while I was outside of my room trying to get in, you would see me, glasses on, trying to fit the key in the lock and having many problems in the process. You might think I was trying to break in to somebody else's room.

I enjoyed a burger with a colleague in a restaurant called Glorious Bastards and then I went back to my hotel and straight to bed. The following day, more work, but the day wasn't as hard as the previous one and soon I was back at my hotel, collecting my luggage and taking a taxi to Linz station. I wanted to ensure that I reserved a seat as I didn't want to be roaming up and down train carriages looking for a vacant seat or sitting waiting for somebody to turf me out of where I was sitting. I was offered the 1617 train to Budapest, but it was delayed until 1706 which meant I had to find somewhere decent to sit and wait. I chose a bakery and ordered just a cup of green tea. I spent the time messing around with my phone and then moved on to, of all places, a McCafé, which was a first for me; there I met a hairdressing student waiting for her boyfriend. She was from Northern Italy but was now living close to Linz. We passed the time of day and then I went to platform 7 to wait for my train, which rolled in slowly around 1710. I was in coach 22, seat 91 and soon settled in to a journey punctuated by bouts of sleep until the train reached Wein Miedling (the stop before the central station). I jumped in a cab to the Intercontinental Hotel, checked in and then went in search of my colleagues. We worked until late and then headed off by cab to a restaurant close to the fairground.We tanked up on food (much needed) and then took a cab back to the Intercontinental and hit the sack. Or rather I worked and in the process had plenty of office equipment hassles down in the hotel's business centre. I eventually went to bed around 0200hrs and then woke up at 0600hrs, pressing the snooze button until 0630 and then having the most rushed and uncomfortable breakfast ever (a bowl of muesli and a cup of tea in double quick time).

Stepping out...

Work beckoned and continued all day until around 2100hrs when I found myself back in the room contemplating hitting the sack. It's now Wednesday evening on 20 September. After using the trim wheel I reconsidered hitting the sack.

After work a walk along Johannesgasse to an Italian restaurant, IL Cavalluccio on Göttweihergasse. It was very pleasant and I rounded things off with a cappuccino, but not the huge fuck-off variety you get in Costa Coffee, a far more polite cup with a tenth of what you might find in a UK coffee retailer's 'bowl' where even a medium sized beverage is large enough to bathe in. That's one of many things wrong with the UK. It's now 2317hrs and time to hit the sack again. I've spent most of the day in the Hilton Vienna Park Hotel and only managed to get out briefly with a walk through the Stadt Park. The weather here is good, very good, 28 degrees good. Bright sunshine, people sunbathing on the grass – and it's late September, let's not forget that. 

Hotels invariably mean a lack of sleep. I don't know why. Unfamiliar surroundings probably. The worst occasions follow transatlantic travel and possibly the fact that I often sleep with a light on, but not a glaring light, just a jagged, arrow-like shape of it that barely intrudes on the night scape of the room. Sometimes, like in Linz, the need for light is scuppered by a glass-walled bathroom or, like in Brazil a few years ago, Rio to be precise, a toilet observation window (as I called it). A bit like a hide in a wetlands centre except that those doing the looking wouldn't need binoculars. Sometimes, too many thoughts keep me awake, looking at my surroundings in the dim light of the early morning. Because it's always the early morning, something unfathomable like 0354hrs when I think it's too early to get up and end up just lying there looking at the blank screen of the television on the wall or the tiny slit I'd left in the curtains that was beginning to let in light, even if there was a long way to go before I could call it daylight. "I find myself in that position now, Jim, and I'm asking you to report for a medical examination."

Enjoying the delights of the city...

I've often (of late) been thinking about the way we all lead our lives, like rats in a man-made maze of brand names running around aimlessly from one piece of concrete to another and never seeing much of grass or big skies. Life is characterized by shopping malls, the interior of supermarkets and multi-storey car parks, open-plan offices and auditoriums, not to mention eery hotel corridors and hotel rooms, trestles on which our suitcases rest; glass tables, desks, ironing boards and mirrors, all impassive and, unlike us, clinging to the side of the bank as we, motionless, are nonetheless swept away by the tides of time. We could sit in that hotel for years in front of a mirror and watch ourselves wither away into nothing only to be replaced by somebody else, someone we don't know. The hotel is a very transient environment. "Radio, live transmission. Radio, live transmission...". Sometimes I have to listen to Joy Division, and fortunately I have them on my iphone.

I often wish I could open the front door of my house and be greeted by nothing but wilderness, mountains and the sea and weather drifting past indifferently instead of seeing the house across the road, the parked cars, solitary commuters on their way to the station, leaves caught in the wind scuttling past, chatting amongst themselves. Not that there are many brand names where I live, although I suppose there are many of them hunkered down in the gutters, their doors closed, their windscreens iced over – perhaps no ice, not for at least another month. Cars. Vans. Motorcycles. Reminders of our subservience to capitalism.

Oftentimes I don't think I'm achieving a great deal. Other times I feel that I am but to what gain? And then I wonder whether there needs to be a gain, why should one thing lead to another? Perhaps recognition is the best gain. We all want to be loved and we probably all think we're not loved enough. 

You're supposed to do this!

I can see daylight out of the window and that means I can legitimately head down for breakfast in this corporate of corporate hotels. It's a strange place. From the outside, the Intercontinental Wein looks like the sort of building you might find on an inner London housing estate. In short, it's ugly, but once you travel through the large revolving door and into the lobby, its grandiosity will take you aback. There are uniformed men and women behind the front desk, rich looking carpets and rugs, a large tapestry on the wall, the dim but unmistakable sound of lounge lizard piano, making everybody feel a little bit James Bond – shaken but not stirred as they make their way towards the elevators that ping as they arrive on the ground floor. The hotel offers 12 floors of fairly luxurious rooms with big lampshades and gleaming bathrooms, huge beds and massive desks. Behind most doors is somebody living the transient life, the hotel life of suitcases and razors, shaving foam and toothbrushes, unpressed shirts, receipts and upturned glasses guarded by bottles of mineral water. An angle-poise lamp.

It's 0703hrs, time to get ready for breakfast. This is the only hotel where I haven't almost flooded the bathroom floor. The shower, in other words, has been good and not out of control like most of them. I've stepped on to the little mat on the bathroom floor and found it dry for the first time in living memory. Why that is I don't know, probably because it's not a fixed shower head and, for some reason, it's easier to hold the 'telephone' in my hand rather than simply stand there under it. Anyway, I'm showered and dressed and ready to have breakfast at 0800hrs.

"A great bloke, he's Intercont!"

Catherine and I took a wander around the city, through a botanical gardens where we spotted a red and a black squirrel and a little kid feeding them, and then to Gerstener for a coffee and a slice of cake in true Viennese fashion. My two colleagues leave today, I'm leaving tomorrow. Later I went for a mooch around town alone and found myself on the other side of the river bank with nothing much to do. There was little to look at so I made an about turn and walked back to the hotel, joining throngs of tourists as they made their way through the thick treacle of consumers who were window shopping or holding bags containing their purchases or taking photographs on their iphones or queuing (unbelievably) presumably to buy the latest iphone from the Apple Store, I'm not sure. I found it all rather sad and depressing as I peered inside and saw the regulation light wood tables displaying the Apple watches, the iphones, iPads and lap tops. There was absolutely nothing I wanted, nothing whatsoever. I had no interest. No watches, no clothes, nothing. In truth a good sleep would be good. I never sleep well in hotels and it leads to feelings of tiredness later in the day. I won't lie down in case I fall asleep and miss my meeting planned with a colleague later on. I wish the minibar was full. It's really just a mini fridge, but there's nothing in it. A bar of chocolate would probably do the trick. I skipped lunch and I'm holding out until dinner time, but a bar of chocolate would go down a treat and might liven me up a little bit.

Crossing the Danube...

Tomorrow I depart for London Heathrow in the early evening around 1715hrs and arrive home some two hours later. I'm already thinking about the Elizabeth Line rather than a taxi, but let's see how things go. I wish it could be Gatwick, but it isn't. I need some time off and I think I'll take Monday. Right now, while tired, I might do the trim wheel exercise, but then again I might leave it until later. I might go in search of a chocolate bar.

Except that I didn't bother. Instead I went to the opera and listened to Mozart and Strauss performed live by the Vienna Mozart Orchestra, which was founded by musicians from the most prestigious and famous Viennese orchestras and from various chamber music ensembles. In short, it was absolutely amazing and an uplifting experience. Many thanks to my pal Illka Hiirsalmi.

It's nearly midnight so I'd better get some sleep. "Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer. Count the headlights on the highway." Another great song I've found on my iPhone!

As is customary, I awoke early, sometime around 0500hrs or shortly after. Rain had been promised and sure enough when I peered out of the window the roads and rooftops seemed mirror-like and damp. Typical, I thought, just when I have to fly home, bad weather, I just don't need it. There's nothing to do except have breakfast and then mooch around although I need to check all the flight details. I won't be doing any mooching if it's raining.

The Intercontinental, Vienna: it looks better on the inside...

I left my room and headed down to the breakfast. I was unshaven and wearing an unpressed shirt because, quite simply, I was now a conference refugee, the last man standing, no more clothes to wear. I walked to the elevator, pressed the button and when the lift arrived I jumped in and as the doors closed I listened to the musak being played. It was the same old lounge lizard piano music that had been with me all week and I started to feel as if I was alone in the hotel. Nobody had joined me in the lift and when I arrived at the ground floor, for a moment it seemed as if I was right. Everybody had gone home. And then I heard American voices. There were lots of tourists here from around the world and there were two women who had clearly just finished breakfast and were heading back to their rooms.

I made my way to the breakfast room and gave the waiting attendant my room number, 810, and then I found a table and went to the self-service buffet where I loaded up with my usual muesli, yoghurt and fresh fruit. I ordered a green tea and later fetched myself two fried eggs, mushrooms and potato wedges and I ordered another green tea. I sat there for a while, messed around on the phone and then realised my time was up. The last man standing was going to head to back his room, take a shower and then check out, leaving his bags with the concierge and then stepping out for one last time on to the cultured streets of Vienna. Perhaps a coffee, possibly just a wander around. Either way I'll be bored and preoccupied with the thought of getting home or rather getting to the airport. I have a return ticket for the CAT, the airport train, and then I'll be back with security and passport control, the Society of the Spectacle and, ultimately, the flight home. Soon I will be at Heathrow airport, waiting at baggage reclaim and then heading home, another trip over.

In Linz – and it's really hot here...

The Danube, Wednesday 8th August, 7pm...

Wednesday 8th August: I always wake up too early and this morning it was 0300hrs. I knew this because I heard the church clock chime three times. As always, the temptation was to get up, but I resisted and simply stayed put, I stood my ground against insomnia, and eventually won through and fell asleep. I woke at 0600hrs to the sound of birds chirping and tweeting, it was as if I was in the Amazon rain forest, but in reality I was in my hotel room in Linz, listening to the sound coming out of my iphone. The sound of exotic birds is a far more pleasant way of waking up than a storming alarm one has to get up and switch off. Eventually, however, when suitably accustomed to 'being awake' – which doesn't take me long – I got up and switched it off. I then spent an hour typing up my notes from yesterday (see yesterday's post for said notes) and then I headed downstairs to the hotel's restaurant for breakfast.

I can't say I was impressed by breakfast. I had a peppermint tea, Ronnefeldt, in a good-sized mug with a colourful handle (which I later noticed was the hotel's motif and could be found on all the hotel room doors). I bring up the subject of mugs and cups because in a lot of hotels the mug (or cup) is always too small to really enjoy and I find myself stuffing the teabag into the mug or cup and not really enjoying the end result. Well, not at the Park Inn by Radisson. I had a proper mug with a coloured handle and believe me, it made a big difference to my day. But the rest of the breakfast was disappointing and it cost me 18 Euros (12 Euros if I go and book for tomorrow morning at reception when I finish breakfast today).

The main square, Wednesday 8th August

The breakfast room is a narrow space with a long bar on the right hand side and seating (some of it high) on the left. The food on offer stretches the length of the bar and beyond and consists of the usual suspects: there's the cooked breakfast of fried egg, sausage and beans, and there's the cereals, there's a few cheeses and pastries, fruit juices and fresh fruit as well as tinned, but it all looks a little tired and not very inviting. As a result, I've only had a bowl of muesli with added seeds plus a fried egg and two smallish sausages. It's not as relaxing as I had expected, put it that way, and the shape of the room means there's a bit of walking involved too and we all know the effort involved in that first thing in the morning: get a bowl of cereal, walk back to the table, go back to the food display, choose something else and walk back again – there's a lot of tooing and fro-ing and I've definitely picked the wrong seat, the farthest away from the action, so to speak. The other alternative, of course, is to see how much you can stack up in both hands, but that often ends in disaster, with the whole lot hitting the floor with a crash, other guests being splashed by falling orange juice and having their trousers ruined by a helping of baked beans or some raspberry yoghurt. On this occasion, of course, I had clearly selected the wrong seat – but any exercise is good, so do I care? No, of course not.

Note the lack of traffic. Nice isn't it?

However, I'll take back what I said about the fresh fruit as they've replenished it and the new batch looks bright and colourful and worth eating. There's also some broken up cookies so I've taken a few chunks, poured myself a second mint tea and now I'm relatively happy, although perhaps the cookie was a bridge too far. I wish I knew where I could buy Ronnefeldt teas. Peppermint in German is 'pfefferminze'.

It's another fine day outside. There's a hazy early morning sun and I feel the need for a walk after that cookie and 'the full Austrian' even if I did have no more than a fried egg and two small sausages. A walk will sort it out.

Or will a walk sort anything out? It appears to me that I have a big problem with eating at the moment and the biggest offender is cakes. I can't help myself, especially here in Linz. I weakened at lunch time and then, just now, I weakened again. A mint tea simply wouldn't do, would it? I had to have a little cake with a couple of strawberries on top, I couldn't leave it alone. It can only mean one thing: another walk – but can I walk far enough to burn off the calories? I doubt it, but let's at least try.

Dinner at the Park Inn by Radisson, Linz...

I walked to the river, the Danube, crossed the bridge and kept on walking until the city ran out, past Lentia City (a small shopping mall with more restaurants than shops) and I found myself getting dangerously close to suburbia and normal lives. I turned and walked back, clocking a sign that told me it was hot – 34 degrees C, now that's hot when you consider it was gone 1900hrs.

I crossed back over the bridge and made my way past countless shops before I started to think of dinner. I considered an Italian, but in the end decided to eat in the hotel restaurant: tomato soup, tuna steak with risotto, a small side salad and a couple of alcohol-free wheat beers. All seemed fine with the world – until I got back to my room. Suddenly, I felt hot around the back of my neck, my pulse was up and my head was throbbing and I notice that my entire body was now red and blotchy: my arms, legs, torso, my face, the lot. My stomach was sticking out too, making me appear malnourished like those kids in Africa you see on documentaries or the television news. Heatstroke, or heat exhaustion (I checked online for symptoms). All that walking in 34 deg C heat, what a fool. I went downstairs and bought two large bottles of still mineral water and when I returned to my room I switched the air con on full blast while I guzzled the water. After a short while I started to feel better, my pulse dropped and, miraculously, the red and blotchy skin disappeared completely, although my head ached, which is rare for me as I never get headaches.

This is how I felt the following morning...

I went to bed, having switched the air con back to automatic. While I did wake up at 0300hrs, I remained in bed and fell asleep, waking at 0600hrs. I showered and shaved and brushed my teeth and headed for breakfast: muesli, seeds, mint tea and a small pastry. It's Thursday morning and I feel fine now and I'm beginning to wonder whether it was a heat-related ailment or something else. Perhaps I'd had an allergic reaction to the tuna steak, I don't know, but I feel fine and inclined to have one more mint tea.

I can't say I'm happy with the breakfasts here at the Park Inn by Radisson, but being English, I won't complain, there's no need to because there's nothing wrong, it's just in my head, merely something I see – or think I see – that others wouldn't necessarily bother about: the shape of the space, the vibe, I don't know, but I have an issue with it. I'll probably go on Trip Advisor and try to express my feelings there. Don't get me wrong, it's fine overall, I won't be complaining, but there's something about the way things are set out, something about the space in which the whole experience resides. I'm here early today so the food offering is certainly less tired-looking than it was yesterday, which is a plus point for early risers.

Today I check out and later I'll be heading back to Vienna by train and then to my favourite hotel, Motel One, Messe Prater, which is right next door to this great city's famous fairground with it's Third Man Ferris wheel.

It's another sweltering hot day and I plan to keep out of the sun as I don't want a repeat of last night's nightmare.

Right! Time for another mint tea.

Heading for Linz, Austria...

Tuesday 7th August: I left Heathrow Terminal 3 at 1135hrs, or thereabouts, on a British Airways flight bound for Vienna, a city I love ever since I visited last June (2017) and spent a lot of time riding a bicycle. They're better than taking cabs everywhere and if the weather's good, which it was in June 2017, then there's nothing better.

Awaiting breakfast at Heathrow T3...

I am now on my third visit to this great city, although I must point out that I am currently on a train to Linz, the 1533 to Salzburg and there's a woman across the aisle wearing 'a little black number' who keeps laughing at messages somebody is sending her on a mobile phone.

Outside, the heat of the past few two or three months appears to have eluded Vienna, although I know this not to be true as the whole of Europe has been experiencing the same heatwave as the British. Perhaps it's just that we make more fuss of decent weather. But it's grey out there and the scenery is pretty uninspiring. Outside of the window right now is a huge marshalling yard full of goods wagons, some of them garnished with graffiti.

"You'll ruin your dinner..."
Boredom is behind a great deal of my eating and right now I am considering a snack from the buffet car, which is a couple of coaches behind me, but I don't want to spoil my dinner tonight and I've already fallen foul of that old 'two breakfasts' problem I've been having these past two days. I blame the hot weather and the early sun, which wakes me up at some ungodly hour, forcing me to rise early and eat my usual breakfast – that of multi-seed porridge, blueberries, sliced strawberries, raspberries and grapes. This morning I was eating at 0500hrs and sipping a decaffeinated tea in a Cath Kidson mug and then later I enjoyed a cheese and ham omelette and a mint tea in The Curator, a restaurant beyond passport control at Heathrow's Terminal 3. It was, I have to say, very pleasant, especially the cubed potatoes, fried to perfection. I suppose most people would call them hash browns.

Breakfast at The Curator, Heathrow T3...

The woman across the aisle has gone and she's been replaced by a girl in denim shorts who is also playing with her mobile phone. We've arrived at Vienna Central, otherwise known as Wien Hauptbahnhof and the coach is slowly filling up, much to my dismay as I wanted to travel in peace, just me and this notepad, but now the murmur of conversation, the sound of babies whining and I find myself longing for a family holiday I might not get until the end of the year. We'll see how things develop on the money front.

There's a man in a black tee-shirt sitting opposite me and he's talking to somebody on his mobile phone in a foreign language. I mean, what do I expect, I'm in a foreign country so why would he speak English and who wants to hear somebody speaking English when they're abroad, not me. He's wearing shorts and spreading himself out as there's nobody sitting directly opposite him. We are sitting diagonally opposite one another, which suits me fine.

The train is on the move again, passing graffiti-covered concrete structures and old tenement buildings with yellow balconies and white satellite dishes on the rooftops. The grey skies are a little depressing because the weather experts are saying today is the last day of the heatwave we've all been enjoying these past three months or more.

Awaiting take-off to Vienna...

Stranger in a strange land
We're now at Wien Meidling and there is somebody sitting  next to me. The man in the black tee-shirt is sitting directly opposite and next to him is a man with a high forehead and glasses wearing a check pattern shirt. Next to me is his friend, or colleague, or casual acquaintance, I don't know and I'm not going to ask. He has strange, curly red hair, not tomato red, but 'red' in the sense of ginger (ish). They too are both talking in a foreign language and I can't understand a word they're saying; that's because I went to a shit school and wasn't taught a foreign language. Not for me French lessons, I was deemed too thick by the authorities. We won't get into my schooling, but let's just say my school was pretty rough. It didn't have a playground, it had an exercise yard. That's my little joke, I've been making it for years and I still find it funny. More to the point is that there was a few pupils who did go on to spend time in prison, although perhaps I'm just making mistakes for my own shortcomings, who knows?

The train is in a tunnel and I can see the reflection of my fellow passengers when I look out of the window. It's just past 1600hrs and I'm longing for my hotel room at Linz. The man in the black tee-shirt – who, incidentally, dropped his phone with noisy clatter while playing with it – has now picked it up and answered it. The two men are chatting and looking at something amusing (or interesting) on the man with the high forehead's mobile phone. Everybody, basically, is playing with a mobile phone or talking into one. The high foreheaded man has just handed the phone to the man with the strange-coloured 'ginger' hair. They have shared a joke and now the man in the checked shirt with the high forehead has taken back the phone and is staring at its screen. There is silence except for the man in the black tee-shirt, who is having a conversation on his phone, and a crying baby a few seats away. We're in another tunnel – or the same one – I don't know.

Leaving the country...

The two men have gone and we've arrived at Tullnerfeld, but soon a man arrives with what I think is a tuba, a large one in a huge cylindrical case, which he plonks down in the seat next to me, having first asked if it was alright to do so. I said yes, of course, being the friendly, co-operative sort of person I am and then spent the next part of the journey sitting next to this huge, black thing that towered above me and was obviously far too big to place in the racks above the seats. It was a bit cramped, but fortunately he noticed two vacant seats on the other side of the aisle and moved.

I fell asleep – or rather I kept drifting in and out of sleep – as the train progressed towards Linz. The scenery has changed for the better. Industrial landscapes have been replaced by fields and forests and now, as I write this, the next stop is Linz, my destination. The man in the black tee-shirt has gone and I am the only person left on the table seats.

Arriving in Linz
The weather has changed too; the grey clouds have given way to largely blue skies with a few cotton wool clouds and I guess we're about to arrive at Linz. The baby continues to cry and is now being cuddled by its mother.

What a fantastic pastry at Linz station...

I disembarked and immediately the heat of the sun hit me. I was angry for a reason temporarily obscured until I remembered some of the news items I'd been reading on my mobile phone in between looking out of the window and dozing off. One reason for my anger was my home cuntry, the UK, and the fact that it's just a load of rubbish and made so by its shoddy political classes and their cost-cutting activities across all spheres, especially police cuts, which have led to an escalation in crime. The country is really showing its true colours, thanks to Brexit, and it's true colours are basically a bunch of arrogant racists and bigots led by absolute nobs like Boris Johnson and all the rest of them. I was, however, heartened to hear that another complete and utter fool (in my opinion – and we're all entitled to our opinions) has returned from holiday to find his Somerset home covered in offensive graffiti. Jacob Rees-Mogg wants to take the country back to the 1950s, and probably believes in bringing back hanging too – and the birch. A complete t- -t in other words and I think that word – 't- -t' – was used by those who vandalised his house. There is a God, I remember thinking, as my train approached Linz, from where I am now writing. Not everybody agrees with the far right.

The view from room 416, Park Inn, Linz

And let's not forget that other politician who's being called a racist, the President of the United States of America, Donald Trump. What an absolute burk of the highest order – him, Boris Johnson and Geert Wilders, all of whom project far right, racist views and, oddly, all sport the same stupid-looking 'master race' haircuts. Why is that? Another politician with a stupid haircut is Michael Fabricant, another Tory, so 'of the right' but whether he's far right like the rest of those mentioned, I don't know. Trump's been having a go at Le Bron James, an American professional basketball player, and the word on the street is that Trump calling him stupid is purely because he's black, he's said the same of a CNN anchor, who is also black, prompting the latter to speak his mind and call out Trump for the racist he might well be.

Boring, yes, but it's room 416 – very pleasant

If I could leave the UK I would. It's a truly awful country – aud it's getting worse. But I can't leave, unfortunately, for all the usual reasons. Right now, however, I'm in Austria where everything is lovely and the trains run on time. I've stopped at Resch & Frisch on Linz railway station for a rare cappuccino and one of the best pastries I've ever tasted. When it comes to pastries, you can't beat the Austrians and the Germans, or any European nation for that matter. And to think there's only 22 miles of the English Channel separating mainland Europe from the UK.

No-alcohol beer as I await a Thai red curry

Walking to the hotel
The reason I stopped for a coffee and a pastry is simple: if I can avoid taking a taxi to my hotel I will, so I need to key the hotel's address into my iphone's SatNav to see if the distance is walkable. Then, armed with whatever knowledge the phone throws out, I'll head off to the Park Inn by Radisson where I'm booked for the next two nights. It's a 19-minute walk, so I'd better get moving.

And this is the name of the place where I ate the Thai Red Curry

I had a rough idea of where I was going having stayed in Linz twice before, but the iphone's SatNav provided me with reassurance. It's about a 20-minute walk to the hotel from where I write this and I must say that I'm already very impressed with the Park Inn by Radisson. For a start, there is a restaurant  on the ground floor, so if I don't fancy wandering around town later on I can avoid playing culinary roulette and simply eat something in the hotel restaurant. The bright and breezy receptionist informed me that breakfast was 18 Euros per day, a little pricey, but I like a decent breakfast in the morning (I tend not to eat breakfast at any other time of the day) and, as you know, I have been known to eat two breakfasts, thanks to waking up early in the hot weather.

The check-in was a breeze and I was directed to Room 416, which is on the fourth floor and perfect in every way. The key card is needed to operate the lift, a good security measure, I thought. It's also needed to power the room and has to be placed in a small socket on the wall by the door. The room has two single beds side-by-side, blue and white walls, a safe, a wall-mounted TV, telephone, desk, free WiFi that doesn't require a password, red and blue coat hangers, some unruly, some not, but no wardrobe. There is the obligatory 'modern art' on the wall in the shape of three small squares of coloured canvas about a foot square, a bright red box-style armchair, a small table on which a bottle of mineral water rested (it's gone now and they're going to charge me 3.50 Euros for drinking it). There's a hairdryer, but my hair has just been treated to a number three crop so there's little need for one. There isn't, however, an ironing board, which I do need fairly urgently. I'll have to ask for one at reception.

Karunanidhi dies and wild fires
I've just put BBC World on. They're talking about the death of a veteran Indian politician going by the name of Karunanidhi, a social campaigner who worked towards an egalitarian society in Tamil Nadu. He fought for the underdogs, but faced a few corruption charges in his time, but let's just say he's not the bad guy. Perhaps a bit of nepotism here and there, but little else. Karunanidhi died aged 94 and the security forces in Chennai are expecting social unrest. I remember being in India when a leading politician passed away and we were told to remain in the hotel.

Now climate change is being discussed. There's coverage of wild fires in Europe and talk of record temperatures as far north as Finland. And there's a huge wildfire in California too. Scientists are warning of a 'hothouse earth', which, apparently, is irreversible. Trump, of course, doesn't believe in climate change – basically out of greed. He doesn't want anything coming between him and his money-making potential. As long as a businessman can profit, fuck the environment.

One thing I haven't mentioned is the view from the hotel window. It's good. Four floors up, I'm overlooking a small square surrounded on all sides by buildings (apartments, this hotel, even a church). When I arrived and peered out of the window there were a few people sunning themselves and, as I look out now, there are still a few people out there, sitting on wooden benches, chilling out. It's all good.

Going out to eat – should have stayed in!
It was so hot I decided to take a shower before dinner. The shower was easy to use and I could have stayed in there for hours, it was that nice. After drying and dressing I went out and made my first mistake of the day, which was not eating an evening meal in the hotel. Normally I moan about my choice of hotels not having restaurants, forcing me out on the streets to seek sanctuary somewhere nearby. This time round I could have stayed in, but chose to wander. I opted for a kind of Chinese and Thai restaurant and ordered a Thai Red Curry with rice, finishing off with fried banana in a kind of batter. Why do people take something healthy and make it unhealthy? Who needs a deep-fried banana? Well, I suppose I did because I ordered it, ate it and then wished I hadn't bothered. The meal was acceptable, but not in any way award-winning material. You live and learn, I guess, or, as a work colleague once said, "Every day is a school day." They were right.

I'm now back in my room. It's been a long day and I'm going to hit the sack.

Two great places to eat...in Linz, Austria

Today was characterised by eating. It started, naturally enough, with breakfast here in the hotel. I was awake early, up and about writing for this blog, or at least checking over (and rewriting) bits of it and soon it was time to hit the shower and then make my way to the breakfast room.

I had peppermint tea, fresh fruit salad, a bowl of muesli and a raspberry yoghurt, plus a couple of tiny croissants and while I debated with myself whether to have the scrambled egg, I decided not to bother and instead hit the streets in search of a pharmacy (I'd run out of shaving foam and needed a new razor).

Night time in Linz. I walk home in between bouts of window shopping...

Jobs done I went on my merry way, conducted a bit of business and then found it was lunchtime so I started to search around for something to eat. You can read the full story about Das Bruckner Kaffeehaus by clicking here, but suffice it to say that I had found an excellent place to have lunch and left the establishment with a skip in my step. I might even go back there tomorrow if I get the time, but I've got to catch a train to Vienna so things might get a little tight.

Later I went in search of somewhere to have dinner and I stumbled across Bigoli Bar and Restaurant, a small, cosy establishment with a relaxed vibe and a great waitress – and by that I mean friendly, helpful and pleasant, a bit like the waitress at lunch time. The menu was in German, but she took the time and the trouble to translate and eventually I settled for cauliflower soup followed by the most tender duck I'd ever eaten, which was accompanied by cubed and sauteéd potatoes. The meal was made all the better by a non-alcohol beer and I sat there, reading chunks of Rory Stewart's new book, The Marches in between courses. It was the most relaxed evening ever, made all the better not only by the excellent food, but by the laid back vibe and the knowledge that the waitress was always at hand to answer any queries I might have. I enjoyed it so much I ordered dessert, which was something very similar to Tiramisu and just as enjoyable. In all truthfulness, I didn't want to leave. I could have sat there all evening drinking non-alcohol beer. Over here in Europe they're a million times better than in the UK and, dare I say it, far more accessible. In the UK it's touch and go whether the bar or restaurant you visit serves a non-alcohol beer, invariably they don't, or if they do, it's Becks Blue, not a bad beer, but over here in Austria there's much more choice and a superior quality product.

The most amazing thing about Bigoli – apart from the food, the service and the ambience – was the bill. It was only EUR30.40 (that's roughly £30). A similar meal in the UK would have set me back at least £50, possibly £60.

For the second time in a day I found myself walking with a skip in my step. It was dark and the Christmas lights and shop fronts lit up the streets. I stopped and did a bit of window shopping here and there, admiring watches and boots, coats and shirts in shops that were now closed until tomorrow morning.

In Linz, Austria...

While it seems like only yesterday since I was last in Linz, it is, in fact, just over a year. It's amazing how familiar it all seems when I consider that I've only been here once before, in October 2016, and yet everything, from the moment I arrived was instantly memorable. I was in Vienna, of course, in June this year and had a lovely time riding around the city in the sunshine on a bike I hired from the hotel, Motel One.

Travel is fraught with problems and very often I find that one minor thing will trigger loads of unnecessary hassle, although perhaps that's exaggerating slightly. Last night at around 11pm I ordered a taxi to pick me up around 0600hrs this morning and they always ask about the terminal. Whenever I order a taxi, certainly early in the morning, it's always to the airport. "Terminal Five," I said over the telephone, having retrieved my travel documents.

The following morning I was rudely awakened by the sound of my iphone alarm and jumped swiftly out of bed to deactivate it, momentarily switching it to 'snooze' before realising and turning the damned thing off. I then went about a few bits of last-minute packing (unpressed shirts, so I'll need to search my hotel room for an iron later on).

Breakfast consisted of 11 grapes and eight raspberries in a bowl, a glass of orange juice, a croissant and a cup of decaffeinated tea. In addition to not drinking (which I'm starting to enjoy) I'm also avoiding caffeine. Neither the non-drinking or the refusal to allow much caffeine past my lips are the result of being told to lay off anything (if I wanted to I could simply order a beer or a glass of wine and I do occasionally accept caffeinated tea, but my preference, at present, is to avoid caffeine and alcohol and, as I just said, I'm rather enjoying it). Why? Well, mainly it's good to be in the real world, meaning that I'm not worried all the time about whether I'm 'over the limit' to drive or whether drinking a cup of tea late at night will mean no sleep until the early hours. I can drink a cup of decaff at any time of the day. As for the alcohol, I'm really not missing it, but I must stress that I haven't given up drinking because of some embarrassing incident that has forced me to reappraise my general attitude towards life. No, the reason I stopped, as I've said before, is that I had an inner ear infection or some kind of vertigo issue, probably brought about by overdoing it in the USA (I flew, as you know, to Memphis via Chicago, then drove a car to Arkansas and back and then flew first to Dallas and then to London, all in four days – not a good idea. Anyway, apparently, dizziness and alcohol don't really mix so I stopped the latter and turned to peppermint tea, which I love. I just don't need it and plan to remind 'dry' (as people with drink problems say) into the New Year. I might even attempt to go 12 months without drinking and in all honesty I don't see such a feat as problematic so I might as well have a go.

Lunch, Café Ritazza, Terminal 3, Vienna

Fortunately, there's a new wave of non-alcoholic beers on the market. I'd rather drink non-alcohol beer than fizzy drinks because I know that fizzy drinks are pretty bad news all round, full of sugar and God knows what else, and likewise fruit juices, which are packed with sugar. Mineral water? Well, alright, I don't mind the stuff, but on a night out (not that I have any nights out) water seems a bit frugal. Anyway, enough of all this not drinking chat, it's boring and nobody really cares so I'll shut up. Suffice it to say that, for the moment, I've stopped and I haven't made my mind up when I intend to start again, if at all.

When I reached Terminal Five the check-in machine alerted me to a problem, like perhaps I was in the wrong terminal. It turned out my travel documents were wrong and that I should have been in Terminal 3 – very annoying as I had to take the Heathrow Express one stop and then the hassles began. For a start I was randomly chosen for the 'hands above the head' scanner and then they searched my bag (I'd left toothpaste in there). Irritating as it meant there was no time for breakfast.

I had enough time to check out a couple of bookstores and thumb through a few books before I headed to Gate 9 for my 1hr, 55 minutes flight to Vienna.

When I reached Vienna after a reasonably good flight in, of all places, 'business class' – or Club Europe as British Airways call it – I found that the next direct train to Linz departed Flughafen Wien at 1433hrs from Platform 2, giving me plenty of time to enjoy lunch in a Café Ritazza in Terminal 3 of Wien Airport. I ordered a non-alcohol Paulaner and a Chicken Club Sandwich, which arrived with a portion of chips and two sachets, one containing tomato ketchup, the other mayonnaise. As only the Europeans like mayo on their chips, I opened up the ketchup and spread it liberally over the chips. This really was a decent meal and it cost a reasonable EUR17.80. Actually, going back to 'not drinking' for a second (I know, it's boring) but it's worth pointing out that not drinking seems to suppress the old appetite too. Not in a big way (I still can't wait for dinner when I get home of an evening) but for me, the high point of drinking, certainly while I'm travelling, is that moment when I'm in a restaurant, meal ordered and wine on the way, normally a 250ml glass of Merlot (and very often two). It's the thought of that glass of wine that prompts me to get out and find a restaurant early. But now that I'm not going to indulge, I'm sitting here in my hotel room, writing and won't go out for a while as all I'm doing now is refuelling rather than enjoying the experience. Perhaps that's not a good thing. Perhaps all I'm doing is shutting things down that I find pleasurable and one day I will be left with nothing worth living for; in fact I do feel a bit like I'm shutting down, as if I'm a robot, like HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey and that somebody's switching off various circuits and cutting off any enjoyment in the process. Not that this has anything to do with anybody else – or 'enjoyment' for that matter – it's all my own doing, my own decision-making processes.

I love the Café Ritazza brand – and this one was excellent

I ought to mention something about Club Europe, especially after my recent rant about the BA flight back to London from Dallas at the end of October (click here for more). For a start, on short-haul flights it's hardly worth it: there are no beds in which to fully recline, all you get is a vacant space between you and the other passenger in the row, as if the middle seat isn't occupied. Then there's the full English breakfast served on a proper plate and with stainless steel cutlery, not to mention a proper mug for tea, not a paper cup, it's a bit like being in a poncy restaurant with waiters fussing around me. Now I know why they draw that curtain across, cutting off Club Europe from the proles behind, it's because there's so much care and attention and polite manners going on up front, it's embarrassing and the 'lower orders' out back might get restless, a little green with envy. BA doesn't want those in the cheap seats seeing how the other half lives, there might be a revolution. I've always hated the notion that money buys respect.

After lunch I took the train to Linz, arriving around 1630hrs. I jumped into a taxi for a ride to the hotel, checked in and then tried to make my way to the room 307, except that nobody told me the lift only worked if I used my key card to activate it. I spent a long time in that lift, just standing there looking like an idiot and wondering what the hell was going on until somebody told me about the room card.

Leaving Flughafen Wien and heading for Linz – two hours up the track

The journey from Vienna to Linz was pleasant enough. I dozed off at one stage and at other times I read the paper or gazed out of the window. There's something magical about a winter's afternoon between the hour of 4pm and 5pm and I don't know why. Perhaps it's the fading light, the unfamiliar, darkened suburban houses, memories of carefree days. Everything looks welcoming, even the bleakest of landscapes, Christmas lights in trees and the prospect of time at home, chilling and watching festive television late into the night.

It was time for me to head out into the night and find somewhere to eat. I asked at reception and was told to turn left outside of the hotel, then right, then left, which I did and found myself on some kind of main street lined with brightly decorated shop fronts and festive decorations draped across the street. Shops but not restaurants bar a few pubby-looking places that didn't appeal. After a 10-minute walk I found Pizzeria Ristorante Da Vinci Linz. I found a table, tucked away, perfect for the solitary diner, and ordered Tomatensuppe (tomato soup) followed by Risotto Milanese and washed down with a glass of non-alcohol beer. In all honesty the meal wasn't that brilliant. I liked the soup, but the risotto was, well, it looked a bit like something the cat might have brought up, a pale, colourless mush that sat on the plate without any aplomb. If it had more colour it would have been best described as a 'pavement pizza' and talking of pizza, that would have been the best option, I'm sure of it. The non-alcohol beer was fine, but the combination of the risotto and the 'lifeless' beer made for a depressing evening alone. I mean, it's depressing enough without food that fails to ignite the soul. Fortunately it only set me back EUR14.70 and because I was of sound mind I didn't feel the urge to seek out an Austrian bar and later wake up with a furry tongue in need of a litre of mineral water in the dead of night.

I walked back along damp, puddle-littered streets, past the glowing shop fronts and into my hotel. I'm pretty tired and looking forward to an early night. Remember, I was up at 0500hrs this morning. Goodnight.

A Viennese whirl...

Tea and a Bakewell tart, Costa Coffee, South Terminal...

The first problem was getting confirmation. I needed confirmation before I could open up the lap top and book my flight and hotel. A week prior to the trip – and only one day after returning from Vienna – I sat at home and I knew that in seven days I would be back in Austria. Or would I be? Biting the bullet and booking the trip would have been a mistake. What if the meeting was cancelled? So I left it and the lack of any real confirmation continued. As the uncertainty mounted, the flights got more expensive.

I wanted to fly BA, like last time, but as time moved on, the likelihood of those Island Bakery Lemon Melts and a small bottle of red wine – for no extra money – and not forgetting the dulcet tones of the Biggles-like BA pilot, were fading fast. There was, I knew, just one option: easyJet.

I nipped in here to buy a Skipper's Tablecloth

And sure enough, when the meeting was finally fixed and set in stone, the BA flight was far too expensive. so I was left with no other choice than easyJet. Look, I'm not anti-easyJet, it's just that they're not as good as BA. Full stop. But I found myself online, booking my flight and my hotel and quietly regretting the whole thing.

On the train towards Vienna Hbf from Vienna Airport...

It was going to be a rushed trip. Flying out on Sunday evening at 1735hrs, getting into Vienna at 2050 and then jumping on a train to a place called Linz. Last week, somebody in my hotel (the Austria Trend Europa in Vienna) said it was an hour, but the reality was one hour and 52 minutes and that wasn't including the train from the airport to Wien Hbf. But hey, if the flight had been on time, there might not have been a problem. But the flight wasn't on time. It was late. I arrived in Vienna later than scheduled and it had a knock-on effect. I took the train to Wien Hbf, that was fine, but the train to Linz wasn't until 2255hrs. Time for an ice-cold fish burger! I was starving and you might be wondering why. I'll tell you. Once airborne, the easyJet cabin crew calmly announced that they would not be accepting credit or debit cards and were unable to provide receipts. Well, sod that, I thought. I was starving – and while I had a tenner in my wallet, I wanted to use my credit card, because that's what I use when I'm on business and the ten pound note was for my own private use. Furthermore, I didn't want to give those capitalist scum my money, not after being so inconvenienced. So I sat there. I couldn't even stare out of the window because, by the time we'd reached 'our cruising altitude', it was dark. I didn't even read as there was no in-flight magazine for my seat, and even if there had been, I wouldn't have read it. It wouldn't have been anywhere near as good as BA's High Life and yes, I was yearning for John Simpson's monthly column.

Crap wine and the remains of a cold fishburger

When the plane eventually landed, I found a Spar store – another brand, like Lipton's, that you no longer see in the UK (another sign of our decline as a nation) – and bought a cheese and ham sandwich for the train ride to Vienna Hbf, but I was still hungry when I got there, and now I was tired too and the thought of two hours on a train to Linz made me seek solace in a Nordsee fish burger. It looked great in the photograph over the counter so I bought one and a bottle of cheap 'rot' wine (plus a plastic mug). I took the food and drink to a table and it was there, having taken a large bite out of the burger, that I discovered the awful truth: it was stone cold. With an unpleasant expression on my face as if I'd been sucking a Seven Seas Cod Liver Oil lolly, I approached the counter. "This is stone cold, can you heat it up?" The woman looked at me as if I'd stolen her last Rolo. "No, sorry, we don't have any ovens," she said. No ovens? You mean everything is sold stone cold? Well, I didn't ask that question, I simply skulked back to my table and finished the burger, having realised that the Austrians DO eat their fish burgers cold. How do I know? Because as I sat there, pulling a face with every bite, I watched as other people bought the same fish burger, although I did wonder whether they were planning on taking their burgers home to a microwave oven.

And then there was the train journey to Linz. Not one hour, but two, in a train that might well have been in the movie The Great Escape. It was mainly a sleeper train and oh how I would have loved a cabin to myself and a ticket all the way to Bregenz on the border with Switzerland, the train's ultimate destination. But I was alighting at Linz, the first big stop, and sitting in one of the two compartment carriages, like something out of a Harry Potter movie. I shared a compartment with two elderly people, a man and a woman, who got off a couple of stops along the line. Then there was a beefy-looking bloke in a tight tee-shirt, and a fat guy with smelly feet who later stretched out, taken off his shoes and tried to get some shut-eye. He, like me, was travelling to Linz and eventually it was just the two of us in the compartment: him snoring and me sitting there playing with my watch, unable to take in the view outside because it was so dark.

A cold fish burger? No ovens to heat it up? Get out of here!

So let's have a recap. First, no food on the delayed easyJet flight. Then a cold fish burger, courtesy of Nordsee – I won't be going back there in a hurry – and now something else to add to the party. I found my way to the taxi rank, told the driver my destination – the Austria Trend Schillerpark – and what did he say? "That's just five minutes away, you can walk!" So off I went, my suitcase rolling noisily behind me. It was almost 0100hrs when I reached the hotel and the fact that I found the hotel was only thanks to the fat guy from the train who I caught up with while walking. He pointed me in the right direction and soon I was in a lift, heading towards room 306 and a few hours of sleep.

Room 306 of the Austria Trend Schillerpark

The following day I had a hearty breakfast of cereal, a croissant, scrambled egg with two sausages, fresh fruit and a small pot of tea. Later on, after my meeting was over, I made the same journey but in reverse. I took a train from Linz to Vienna Hbf and then a train to the airport where I checked in and then sat in the restaurant next to the gate awaiting my flight. I had around two hours to kill and fortunately time flew by as I'd met Mark – on holiday alone in Vienna – and we passed the time of day (or night in this case) chatting about motorcycles and travelling before it was time for me to stand in the queue, go through security at the gate and then wait to board the plane. It was delayed again, this time for longer than before due to a mechanical issue with the landing gear, and while we were scheduled to depart at 2130hrs, it was nearer 2230hrs when we were finally airborne.

The flight was pleasant enough. The cabin crew accepted credit cards so I enjoyed tea, cookies and some fizzy lemon drink in a can, although somehow I managed to get chocolate over my suit trousers – odd when you consider that the cookies were on the tray and my lap was underneath tray. We landed at Gatwick at past 2300hrs and after queuing for the electronic passport control, my taxi driver failed to show. He eventually arrived having gone to the wrong terminal and soon I was on the last leg of my awful journey. By the time I got to bed it was 0130hrs. Needless to say I went in to work later the following day.