Lockdown, Part 36: No cycling all week - the shame, the shame!

It's Sunday morning, 0952, I've just got back from a ride to the Tatsfield Churchyard, the Churchyard Chuffer no less, not a Chuffer Bastard Womble, just a plain old Chuffer, a direct ride from here, my home in Sanderstead, to the Tatsfield Churchyard. It's a straight 16 miles, well, if we're going to be pedantic about it, 16.03 miles, and my moving time was 1 hour and 24 minutes, plus 48 seconds, not far off one hour and 25 minutes, with an elevation gain of 957 feet and an average speed of 11.3 mph. Not bad. I managed a maximum speed of 29.8 miles an hour, probably on that stretch of Clarks Lane from Botley Hill to the Churchyard, so I'm generally happy.

The Rockhopper resting at Tatsfield Churchyard, Sunday 16 August 2020

What I'm not happy about is not cycling at all last week; it was just too damn hot! Until Thursday when we had monsoon rains and thunder and ever since then it's been cooler. On one ride, either last week or the week before, but possibly last Monday or Tuesday (although I think I've written about it so it might be a little further back) I got to the top of Church Way and thought, 'sod this, it's too hot' and then turned back, I just couldn't face it. So, a week of slobbing, doing nothing, not even walking and when you're working from home that means virtually no movement whatsoever. It can't be good for you, doing absolutely no exercise. But let's move on: today a healthy 16-miler got me started on this week's cycling and I'm just hoping I can keep myself motivated enough to put in, say three 20-milers during the week and then, perhaps, the churchyard on Saturday to round it all off or, of course, another ride to Redhill with a trip to the Pop Inn at the other end. It takes me an hour to reach Redhill from here, but around 90 minutes to get back, thanks to punishing hills all the way. The best thing about the ride to Redhill is the lack of cars. It's probably the most 'car-less' route I take and I'm amazed I haven't riden it more often.

There was a lot of mist at Botley Hill this morning. I had to stop halfway along the 269 to switch on my front and rear lights, and later Andy informed me that my rear light wasn't that strong. He had been riding behind me coming down Clarks Lane and we met by the stairs leading up to the churchyard. I think I'm going to invest in a decent rear light.

At the churchyard we sat and chatted about the bikes and the riding and generally chilled, drinking tea and munching a snack. One topic was my old Kona, which is currently resting in my garage, but for the sake of £300 could be up and running again. In many ways I should have fixed the Kona and not bought the Specialized, but I do like the Rockhopper with it's 29in wheels, even if I've spotted what I consider to be a design fault: the brake levers are quite sharp on the inside and recently I noticed one of my fingers was cut because I'd been placing it on the inside of the lever and not gripping it in the conventional manner on the outside. But this is a very minor problem and in many ways shouldn't even be mentioned, the bike's fine. It would, however, be nice to have a spare bike in the garage and don't forget, that Kona is a top-of-the-range mountain bike with expensive forks, even if it only has 16 gears to the Rockhopper's 27.

Our bikes, Tatsfield Churchyard, Sunday 16 August 2020. Pic: Andy Smith

Andy was on his road bike this morning, a Giant, and he still has his old road bike AND his Kona Blast. We reminisced about old times riding to Hunger's End in Merstham and Jon's old Kona Fire Mountain with its broken pedal. Both are now gone, Bon's bike and the caff. I reminded Andy that it was 10 years ago when we visited Hunger's End on a regular basis (remember Shaving Man?) and added how frightening it was to look back at old blog posts and see how young we both looked. "It was 10 years ago," said Andy. Yes, I thought, a whole decade, and we're still riding, which is good.

I can't work out whether the lockdown is over or not. We're all still queuing and now wearing masks to visit shops, I'm still working from home and they're now saying that if you're coming back from France, the Netherlands or Malta you've got to remain in quarantine at home for 14 days. So there was a big rush to get home before the 0400hrs deadline yesterday morning. I don't think I'd have bothered rushing home, what's wrong with 14 days remaining at home, the time soon passes. I wonder how many of those in quarantine actually go down with the virus? Probably none, but it's going to piss off the French who, no doubt, will retaliate in some way or other. The French, of course, are coming up for criticism for allowing so many migrants to make the short hop across the English Channel to the UK. Thousands have been coming in and it's annoying people like Nigel Farage and other right-leaning numpties, although I kind of get their argument. These people have already reached a safe country (France) so why risk their necks crossing the busy English Channel in a flimsy dinghy, I don't think I'd bother, although, apparently, the benefits system in the UK is too generous, according to some, and that makes the journey worthwhile. I don't think I'd do it, I'd rather stay in France and be part of the European Union. In fact, I might buy an inflatable and go the other way.

I must say a bit more about the storm on Thursday afternoon because it was fantastic. I'll be totally honest and say that I have never experienced weather like it, ever! There! I said it: EVER! Everything went dark and then the rains came, full on, full pelt, driving stair rods into the lawn like six-inch nails from a nail gun, and it went on for a long, long time and was accompanied by continuous rumbles of thunder from the grey skies above. There was something deliciously cosy and wintry about it. I was working, sitting at my computer, and all week I'd been sweltering hot, sweat soaking my tee-shirt, my forearms coated with a glistening sheen of wetness as if somebody had been sitting close-by spraying me with one of those bottles used to water delicate plants. But then there was the storm, everything cooled down and I remember feeling good about life as I stared out at the falling rain and yes, I was even thinking it'll do my lawn the world of good too. Avid readers will recall that I covered my lawn with 'weed and feed' and it's gone black, but I know that black lawns matter and that sooner or later I'll have to go out there and rake it and then put down some more grass seed, possibly in September. The garden is looking good, there are new plants in the beds, the lawn's been sorted out and the canopy over the kitchen window has been painted. We've even bought a new parasol.

But it's now mid-August and while the summer has yet to leave the building and we still have the August bank holiday to go, I'm kind of sad that we (and everybody else) haven't been able to take full advantage of the summer weather, which this year has been tremendous. In so many ways, it's wasteful. All those hotels and pubs that could have been coining it, all those live events that were cancelled because of the fucking corona virus. I hate hearing the words, either 'corona virus' or, worse still, 'covid-19', but also 'lockdown' and 'self-isolate' and 'quarantine' and I'm still wondering what the world is going to do to stop the Chinese from inflicting such misery on the rest of the world. What's wrong with them? Why did they initially cover it up? Why were they lying? People are now saying the virus escaped from a lab in Wuhan and had nothing to do with the wet market. But what was the virus doing in the lab, why were the Chinese messing around with it? I personally wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw them, I wouldn't put it past them to be working on a virus, like COVID-19, that basically disables the world and allows them to benefit in some way. But what are we going to do about it? I bet that's the question on most people's lips because we've already heard experts warn of 'worse to come' and I can well believe it. Being in lockdown once is bad enough, but I wonder what people will be thinking if it happens again? I just get that sneaking feeling that it will happen again and that wearing masks and social distancing and all that comes with it will be internalised by all of us in future. It's not a nice thought and I just hope there's somebody out there with the balls to confront the Chinese and sort the whole mess out. Somehow I don't think there is anybody out there, we have shit leaders the world over: Trump, Johnson, Bolsanaro, you name it, they're all tossers. In fact the three people mentioned have royally messed up in their respective countries. The UK is the sick man of Europe, the US has many many cases and no real sign of leadership and it's the same in Brazil and Mexico and I'm sure elsewhere too. I also get the feeling that Trump's going to win a second term. I hope not, but I just get that nagging feeling about it. Is Biden any good? Every time I see him walk on to a stage he looks as if he's about to pass out or is walking tall, but very carefully as if the slightest move will see him keel over and not get up. His running mate is a controversial choice too by all accounts and I feel that people are going to vote for Trump again. I'd rather they didn't, but I see him getting a second term, unless the Republicans unseat him and put up somebody else, that could happen. Sadly, here in the UK we're stuck with BoJo, a right buffoon and as dishonest a politician as you could get. We've got over four years of his government to run and Keir Starmer waiting in the wings.

I do my best to try and avoid watching and listening to too much news. Oddly, since lockdown, I've switched from BBC Radio Four to LBC, although I can't bear that awful Nick Ferrari and tend to switch off at 0700hrs. Steve Allen in the morning is fine (brilliant, actually) and Nick Abbot on a Friday and Saturday night can be very funny.

I'm still in to box sets. Last night I watched The X Files, the night before a great movie, Back Country, both on Prime and it's good to avoid shit like The One Show with its severely overpaid presenters, specifically that terrible Alex Jones. Since when has she been worth £450,000 a year (or was that the equally awful Claudia Winkleman?). They're all bad and not worth the money. I prefer people like Dr. Alice Roberts (she presented a tremendous programme on wild swimming, which I know is fairly old, but still worth watching, they put it on the other day so I watched it again. Perfect.) On ITV I've been watching Julia Bradbury's series of programmes on the Greek islands. Not a great fan of Bradbury, but she's alright. In fact I'd say she's growing on me, but that's about it where television is concerned.

I'm warbling on so I'd better stop. I'm hoping to be able to motivate myself this week and try to exceed my 88 miles of the week before last. I've riden 16 miles today and now I need around three 20-milers under my belt and a trip to the lakes to put me on track for a good week of cycling. Here's hoping!

Back home, but great memories of Monterrey...

The American Airlines flight from Dallas to London, while long, seemed to pass very quickly (and smoothly). I was sitting in seat 26L, an exit seat with a window, although the window was slightly behind me, which was annoying. The plane - a Boeing 777 - wasn't full. There were, in fact, 100 seats unsold, according to the female member of cabin staff who looked a little like Rudy Guiliani, former mayor of New York and now, I think, something to do with Donald Trump. I had the whole row to myself, which was fantastic.

I sat by the pool and took this image as I wrote up my conference coverage

After 'dinner' - it's always a choice between chicken or pasta and I always choose the former - I read a bit of my Laurie Lee book and then decided to watch Toy Story 4. It was good, yes, but somehow not as good as the others and the emotional ending described as such by many people, wasn't as emotionally troubling as I was expecting it to be. When Toy Story 3 hit the cinemas I remember going with my daughter and feeling, well, a little emotional at the end. Put it this way: I was glad that it was dark in the cinema and that nobody could see me. With Toy Story 4 it was a case of Woody choosing between a life on the road with a now racy Bo Peep or going back with Buzz and the crew to continue his life as a toy serving a child. He chose to, in a sense, ride off into the sunlight with Bo, leaving the toys we all know and love to head back home and do their thing with Molly. And everybody's saying it'll definitely be the final Toy Story movie, which is just as well as they'll start ruining it if they continue any further. That said, with Woody and Bo Peep 'out on the streets' so to speak, there's probably a story line there that could be expanded upon. Perhaps they find Buzz down on his luck after having decided to follow Woody on to the streets to freedom, but losing his way. How it would continue, who knows? There could be a wedding at the end between Bo and Woody and Buzz could be the best man, with the other toys as guests. I don't know. Or there could be another movie back at Molly's house where the toys realise they can't cope without Woody and go in search of a better life themselves and encounter Bo and Woody on their travels. There are many possibilities for a Toy Story 5. I mean, what if Bo and Woody have kids? What would they be? Bo Peeps or Woody dolls, but smaller, and would they be toys? Would they grow up? What would a cross between Bo Peep and Woody look like? It all starts to get a little complicated.

I also watched Pet Sematary, which was typical of its genre and a bit ridiculous in places.

Then time seemed to fly. There was little in the way of turbulence and soon we were flying over the Bristol Channel, along the M4 and straight into Heathrow (after following a holding pattern for a short while).

Room 2319, Real Inn, Monterrey

When I got home I went straight to bed for around five hours' sleep and then I headed off to a family wedding in Nonsuch Park. I eventually hit the sack around 0030hrs and slept for 13 hours. I got up, made some Weetabix with fruit (bananas, blueberries, grapes) and now I'm sitting here in the living room at 1852hrs, Miss Marple is on ITV3, it's dark outside (and cold) and next week the clocks go back.

View from room 2319, Real Inn, Monterrey

I keep counting back six hours and remembering Mexico. For example, right now it's almost 1300hrs, the sun is probably shining brightly and the hotel pool is flat calm. There's likely to be a mild breeze blowing the drapes hanging from posts surrounding some of the sun loungers and I doubt if there's anybody there, possibly one person on a laptop or simply sitting at the bar. The mountains in the background make for a picturesque backdrop while the skyscrapers close by remind guests that they're in the middle of the city. The music is good too: 60s, 70s and 80s original artists and I remember how it all took me back to the European pool holidays of days past where there was nothing to do but sit around in the sunshine, listening to music, reading Graham Greene novels while awaiting dinner. Next year, perhaps.

Another view from room 2319

I didn't wander too far from the hotel. Next door there was a huge shopping mall, which, I discovered, linked up with another equally large mall - it was weird when I realised they were one and the same. I'm not a great shopper at the best of times, but I walked for miles through the malls, occasionally stopping to check out the goods, but not often. I bought a razor from a supermarket in the depths of the mall along with other stuff (deodorant, shaving foam, shower gel and, of course, a toothbrush).

The Quinta Real, Monterrey, Mexico

Across the street from the Quinta Real hotel, where I spent most of Monday and Tuesday last week, was a Starbucks with outdoor seating. I remember sitting there with a mint tea and a chocolate coin reading, yes, you've guessed it, my Laurie Lee book, it's not a novel, it's a memoir, and I love it and there's nothing better than reading it in the hot sunshine, watching traffic and people while enjoying the heat and a refreshing drink.

Chicken, roast potatoes and greens - for breakfast!!!

Room 2319 is probably occupied by somebody else now, but for the past seven days it's been my home and in a way I'll kind of miss it, but life moves on and its good to be home. I'll certainly miss the Sunday roasts for breakfast, but equally, I'm glad to get back to eating porridge and fresh fruit every morning, as long as I keep off the sugary biscuits and buns.

London from an American Airlines Boeing 777

We landed at Heathrow at 0825hrs on Saturday 19 October.

In praise of the Real Inn, Monterrey, Mexico...

I could say that it didn't start well. When I arrived, tired after 15 hours of travelling, 12 of which had been flying, I needed sleep like never before. I was given room 2612 on the top floor of the hotel and then discovered that I had left my toothbrush and toothpaste in England. Silly me, and all credit to the hotel. Within five minutes a man arrived at my door with a toothbrush. Minutes later I decided to take the lift down to the front desk in order to buy some toothpaste. After cleaning my teeth I clambered into bed only to realise that a deep, pulsating sound of machinery was going to prevent me from sleeping. How anybody on the 26th floor can sleep, I don't know. I called reception again and within five minutes another man arrived and took me down three floors to a junior suite with automatic curtains. The sound of machinery had disappeared and I fell asleep. So, hats off to the Real Inn for their quick responses.

Roast spuds and chicken for breakfast!

The rooms are of good quality. The bathrooms are amazing, equipped as they are with rain showers and everything you might need for a decent wash in the morning. The bed, incidentally, was huge and certainly wider than it was long, but I slept well even if jet lag woke me up at an ungodly hour. On my first night I awoke around 0355hrs; on my second I managed 0444hrs and as soon as I've written this review I'll hit the sack and we'll see what time I wake up tomorrow. Last night I had a full eight hours sleep as I went to bed early, around 2100hrs.

The Stock Cafe for breakfast, lunch and dinner

And then, of course, there's breakfast. The great leveller, the chief benchmark, in my opinion, of whether a hotel is good or bad. The Real Inn passed with flying colours. There was such a variety of hot food. For the first two mornings I opted for scrambled egg with diced potatoes followed by a yoghurt and some cereal and a couple of small pastries, not forgetting the vanilla tea. This morning - and yes I'm still in the hotel as I write this review - I thought I'd go the whole hog and have a Sunday roast. Yes, it's possible! I had roasted potatoes and chicken and there were vegetables blended in with the potatoes, so it was authentic enough. I won't lie, I'll probably do the same tomorrow.

I had lunch in the restaurant yesterday (arrabiatta) and just now I had dinner (salmon fillet with vegetables). Both meals were perfect and what made them great was the music and the environment. First, the music: sixties, seventies and eighties, stuff like So Lonely by The Police, the Rolling Stones, Pop Music by M, Abba, the Doors, everything and all the original artists too. Yesterday, as I ate the pasta in the heat of the afternoon I was taken right back to lazy holidays in European resorts and just a second ago, when I was tucking in to the salmon I just felt good being there, by the poolside, alone with my own thoughts, looking at the city at night and the houses on the hillsides twinkling in the early evening darkness.

The pool and dining area if you wish to eat alfresco - perfect in every way

There's a pool and I enjoyed a swim yesterday afternoon, being careful to keep head above water (I don't want to go deaf for the remaining days I'm here). There's a gym, but I didn't use it.

So the rooms are great, the restaurant is fantastic, the breakfasts are to die for, the hotel staff respond very quickly to any problems or otherwise experienced by its guests, there are great bathrooms, pleasant staff and a great location. All-in-all, I would return to this great establishment. There are other hotels here in Monterrey, most of the big brands are here and then across from the Real Inn there is the SAFI hotel and, of course, the Quinta Real, which colleagues of mine have described as a bit dated, a little jaded, its time of greatness passed. I don't know, but I think the Real Inn probably knocks them all into a cocked hat, if that's the right expression.

First and foremost, however, this is a friendly hotel and it has a lively buzz to it without being pretentious in any way. In a nutshell, I can't really fault it and with that I'm going to bed.

In Monterrey, Mexico...

Once off the flight from Miami and through passport control, I found my suitcase on the baggage carousel and took a taxi to the hotel. The taxi driver didn't speak a word of English and because I don't speak Spanish we sat in silence for the drive from the airport. After going round in circles for a short while, we found the hotel and all was fine. I checked in at the front desk and I was having trouble staying awake, but soon I was given my key card (room 2612 on the top floor) and off I went. The lift required me to use my room card, which I did, and soon I arrived. All I wanted to do was sleep, but I couldn't. Or rather I could, but, well, there were problems. First, toothpaste. Oh, and a toothbrush. I'd forgotten to pack them. Within five minutes a man appeared at the door with a toothbrush, but no toothpaste so I walked to front desk, 26 floors below, and bought a small tube for 40 pesos. Finally, it was time for bed. Or was it? There was a throbbing, pulsating noise that I initially thought was the air-con, but no, it was the machinery used to power the elevators. The room shook and I soon realised that I was not going to sleep, not ever. I called reception. Five minutes elapsed and another man arrived. "Can't you hear it?" I said. He thought it was the air-con so I took him outside, into the corridor. "It's out here too," said I. They decided to re-house me, three floors down, in a junior suite with automatic curtains and a television that emerged from behind the desk. I wasn't impressed, but the room was quiet.

Room 2619 - nice but noisy, very noisy...

Room 2319 - nice and quiet...

I slept for about five hours and then found myself awake and calling home. All was well. I stayed up, started writing the last post, which was already written in longhand, and then took a shower. There's a rain shower and it was great and much needed. Breakfast was good too: scrambled egg, diced potatoes, yoghurt, cereal and three small pastries, not forgetting a vanilla tea. Afterwards I took a look at the pool and the gym - they have a stationary bike, two in fact, but I can only use one at a time. I then took a walk in the early morning sunshine on a quest to find a razor, shaving foam, everything. I bought a razor in a 7-Eleven, the only shop open in a huge mall, and then found a huge supermarket that sold massive flat-screen televisions, barbecue equipment, absolutely everything, even bananas. I bought a bunch of eight and moseyed on back to the room. I was still tired, but I went out again, the plan being to visit the restaurant recommended by Mike the flight attendant, but I couldn't get the ATM to work so instead I went to a pretentious restaurant where I ordered a chicken broth followed by artichoke risotto. I wasn't that keen if I'm honest. When the soup arrived I thought they'd messed up. A bowl of diced chicken and vegetables was put before me, but it wasn't soup. I thought it was a chicken salad. Ah! I get it, the guy had a jug of hot broth in his hands and proceeded to pour it over the vegetables making it a kind of vegetable soup. Yeah, right. In my book if you need a fork to eat it, it's not soup. I needed a fork. The risotto was equally unappealing. A kind of beige mush like something a cat brought up, with crunchy bits. I was glad when it was over as I also had to fend off a gang of flies intent on eating my food. I ordered sparkling mineral water on ice and then remembered that perhaps I shouldn't be having ice, not here, not in Mexico. I felt like booking ahead for an appointment with my toilet. "Shall we say three in the morning, sir?" That'll do nicely. Not! My arse is in the lap of the gods. Let's hope it's not a problem.

View from room 2319...

More views from room 2319...

I returned to the hotel and decided to lie down for an hour. I set the alarm and 60 minutes later was awakened by David Bowie. "Don't let me hear you say life's taking you nowhere...". I need to register for a conference I'm attending tomorrow so what do I do? I sit here, like I am right now, writing this blog. Well, I've got to get dressed and go.

Did I mention the view from my room? No? It's amazing: the city, the mountains, wonderful (see photos above). Transmission by Joy Division is blasting out of my iPhone. "Radio, live transmission...". After this track I'm heading on out, it's 1644hrs here, the sun is out, it's hot and I need to register, then I can relax.

It's now 2137hrs, I've attended a cocktail reception and now I'm back in my room. The air-con is on and it's got to go off soon because there's a cold breeze and it's not good.

Notes from American Airlines Flight 4494 Miami to Monterrey (Mexico)

Earlier, before I boarded the flight, a man checking passports ahead of security told me I looked like James Bond and I hadn't even opened my mouth to reveal my English accent. Really? James Bond? Who's he kidding? Either way, for a while I walked a little taller until I caught sight of myself in a mirror. I look more like Russ Abbot's Basildon Bond, I thought, remembering that I look nothing like Daniel Craig either and that the man checking the passports was either being a cheeky chappy - entertaining the weary passengers and keeping their spirits high - or he was simply a fool. Probably a mixture of the two.

I'm now sitting in seat 8a of a small and nippy little plane, an Embraer 170. There's two rows of two seats and an aisle in between and we're heading for the runway. The plane is not full and I have nobody sitting next to me in seat 8b.

Miami airport from seat 8A of the plane...

Monterrey in Mexico is a two-hour, 50-minute flight, almost three hours. Basically we're heading - or will be heading when we take off - across the Gulf of Mexico. Outside of the window I can see tarmac, grass and palm trees. There's cloud, but blue skies above them. And now we are airborne having raced along the runway at breakneck speed. We're climbing steeply away from Miami. Below I can see the freeway and the downtown and the sea and motorboats as we bank left. The engines slow and we level out and disappear into the cloud before breaking through soon after and find blue skies and sunshine. A blinding sun and a bed of cotton wool below us. The cloud could be snow.

I could do with a cup of tea. There's two cabin crew on board: one male, one female and I'm guessing the guy is in charge of the first class because he's just unravelled a kind of mosquito net, a grey net curtain, that now separates first class from the rest of us, although the truth is that first class on this tiny plane isn't worth the paper it's written on; it's basically no different from what is on offer beyond row seven.

My ears are popping. Perhaps it's something to do with being in a smaller plane (the flight from London was a 747-400). Either way the ear popping is of no consequence.

The female member of cabin crew has handed me some forms that I need to fill out as the plane embarks upon its flight across the Gulf of Mexico. The cloud below has gone and there is nothing but blue below us. I've been handed a cookie, although it's really a Lotus Biscoff. It's fairly light and I have another eating rule I need to explain. All rules are off when I'm flying. It's okay to have a biscuit or a cake or some pretzels because it's all part of the allotted meal being offered. Also, you're on a plane so who's to say it's not going to be your last meal? "In the unlikely event that the food being handed out by our cabin crew is to be your last meal, we suggest that you scoff the lot."

Not long after take-off from Miami...

The biscuit was free and so, I'm guessing, there will be a free cup of tea too, although it's yet to arrive. I could do with another Biscoff, but somehow I don't think I'll get one. Oh! Hold the bus! They've just announced that the hot beverage service will begin shortly. Well, when they turn up with a trolley I order a lime-infused mineral water with ice and have a chat with the male member of the cabin crew, a nice guy and just how all cabin crew should be: friendly, helpful, you name it. Mike (because that's his name) gets top marks for being probably the best example of how cabin crew should behave towards the passengers. He told me that Monterrey was one of the safest Mexican cities, which was reassuring, as all the bad press Mexico seems to be getting at the moment was playing on my mind. Here's hoping I don't meet any 'bad hombres'.

I ask you: is there much better than flying over the Gulf of Mexico on a clear day with a chilled glass of lime-infused mineral water on ice? Yes, I'm sure there is, but right now it suits me fine.

The seat belt sign has been switched off, always a good moment in my opinion. This is proving to be a good flight and I'm enjoying every minute of it so far. When flights are like this I want to stay up here, flying around for hours, it's very relaxing, and writing notes like I am now relaxes me. What's more, there's plenty of leg room, its a lot more comfortable than BA 207 from London Heathrow to London.

Below us the cloud has re-appeared, but we are still over the sea. They've just come round to collect rubbish, which I reckon means that's the end of the drinks service. At least it was free.

For some reason - and this is going to sound a little pretentious - I can hear Rossini's Thieving Magpie as clear as day playing inside my head; I think it's my mind or my brain playing tricks on me because I should be in bed asleep, buyt I'm sitting here at 35,000 feet writing in broad daylight when my body clock is saying it's well past my bedtime. Lack of sleep and jet lag is strange, but there you have it. I 'm really looking forward to reaching my hotel. I need a good night's sleep.

For a while I snoozed, not properly, just five minutes here and there, but I have no idea of what time it is. Outside there is a slight haze and an occasional, mild shake from the plane as I realise just how tired I am. Random thoughts go in and out of my head, like long would it take to drive from Miami to Monterrey?

Later on in the flight...

There is not a lot of haze - or higher cloud  - and I keep having random and senseless thoughts that I hear in a split second and the immediately forget.

The light is fading slightly. I can't work out if we've started our descent.

"I'm going all out for an inflatable dinghy," I hear myself think (or say) to myself. Why? Tiredness is at play. And then I try to sleep, this time resting my head against the window while rather fancying myself as Doctor Heywood Floyd from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Any minute now the female member of the cabin crew will walk slowly towards me in a stilted fashion as if she's in a zero-gravity situation in order to retrieve a biro pen that has floated off. Or perhaps not.

The captain announces that there's 25 minutes until we land. The weather in Monterrey is 68 degrees and blue skies with light cloud. For me, it's 1225am and I need to hit the sack. The 'fasten seatbelts' sign is on and we've definitely started our descent so I'll have to stop writing soon. The curtain separating us from first class has been drawn back.

I reckon it'll be around 0230hrs by my body clock (if not later) before I reach my hotel room.

Outside I can see the twinkling lights of the city below. The cabin lights have been switched on, the cabin crew are wandering around collecting the trash in a black plastic bag and suddenly it's dark outside and then, in a split second, the city lights close-up, cars, street lights, the usual stuff. The undercarriage comes down and for some reason I think of my mum. Mum has never flown in a plane and has no intention of doing so.

The flight attendant has given me the name of a restaurant - Fonda El Limoncito - and has told me to ask for Juan Pablo and mention that Mike the Flight Attendant has recommended his fine establishment.  Perhaps I will. The address is Calle Guillermo Prieto, Ote 938, Monterrey.

And then we land and I spot a full moon in the night sky.