Notes from the 1735hrs train from Milano Centrale to Udine, 28 October 2025

I was going to walk to the station around 0545 trundling my suitcase behind me. Imagine the noise: those tiny plastic wheels on concrete pathways. So I took the cab instead and it arrived quietly around 0620. I had to be at Gatwick for 0705, which was easy and not walking to the station bought me time and meant that I could have breakfast. I made up a couple of crumpets (slice of bread-sized) and brewed a cup of tea and relaxed for a few minutes watching early morning television. My alarm went off at 0500hrs. One minute I was asleep, the next I was wide awake and wishing I was still asleep. I wasn’t.

Udine train right at the bottom!

I was dropped off at the North Terminal and went to check in, except that the days of checking in with a human being were over, now the customer is expected to do everything, including putting the suitcase on the conveyor having attached the sticky label. Then it was off to security where I was told to make off my shoes. Once again, I cursed Richard Reeve, the shoe bomber, who languishes in an English jail where long may he rot. That man has caused many travellers many problems and will continue to do so. In short, I hate him and I’m sure I’m not alone.

I found a restaurant, Sonoma, and ordered a full English breakfast and a mug of tea. Oddly there were less calories than the healthier option. I smiled to myself. Once finished, I wanted to pay up and leave but there was nobody around. Earlier I had been asked if I wanted to scan a QR code using my phone and then order the entire meal without using a waitress. I didn’t fancy the idea as I felt that, sooner or later, somebody was going to be out of a job. Still, when I wanted to pay there was no waitress in sight so I wandered around in search of one whilst considering just wandering off and not paying. I always figure that the best way to get somebody to take payment is to act as if you're not going to pay, but I’m far too honest to go through with it. The waitress eventually arrived, I paid, but couldn’t tip them as, I was told, the tip wouldn’t appear on the receipt, meaning I wouldn’t be able to claim it on expenses.

The board said the gate would close at 0855 and it was getting on so I hoofed it to gate 46 where a queue had formed, giving me a chance to answer the call of nature. The flight was fine, very smooth all the way. I landed around noon, there was a mild delay at passport control and a longer than expected train journey from Malpensa airport. After that I spent most of the day at Milan Centrale station. The non-stop train to Udine (I say non-stop but I mean no change of train) didn’t leave until 1735 so I mooched around and I can’t say I enjoyed it. Unfortunately for me, I had left my Eric Ambler novel in the office and so had nothing to read, not even a newspaper. Not having anything to distract me, I was left dealing with the mildly irritating banal scenarios the world threw at me, all absolutely nothing in the general scheme of things, but annoying all the same. So minor I won’t bother you with them but suffice it to say it’s been a long day and I was glad to eventually board the 1735 Milan to Udine train, although I discovered that two perfectly normal travel adaptors simply didn’t work in the sockets provided underneath the seat and this means problems later as my phone only has 23% battery left and I’m sure I’m going to need it when I reach Udine and need to get a cab to the hotel. It’s unbelievable, two perfectly good adaptors and neither one fits the sockets under the seats. I brought two with me in the hope that if one didn’t work, the other one would, but neither work. I have switched the phone off and because I rely on my phone for everything I now have no idea what time it is although I do know that the train arrives in Udine at 2140, so not at all early. Once again, I feel the world starting to conspire against me. If the chargers don’t work in the hotel I’ll be uncontactable for the entire week.

Leaving Milano Centrale and heading for Udine

I don’t know what time it is, it’s dark outside so I can’t see anything and without going on a trek I have no idea if there’s a buffet car on the train. I’m also travelling alone so there's nobody around to help me out. I’m baffled as to why the chargers don’t fit the power sockets, there is no rhyme nor reason for it.

Travelling by train at night is both boring and depressing. While I bought myself a copy of the Economist, it’s a little too heavy for an evening read after a day of travelling so I’ve resorted to writing in a notebook. I’ll transfer the contents to my blog when I reach the hotel. Next stop Vicenza, says a notice hanging from the roof of the carriage. The notice is basically a small television screen on the ceiling of the carriage, high up so everybody can see it. Actually there is a clock on the screen too, it’s 1915 – a small victory, I can tell the time so all is not lost.

Outside nothing but blackness. Inside, the sound of somebody blowing their nose while others murmur in quiet conversation with their companions. It is now 1917 and I am in train number 8993, the 1735 Milano to Udine train. Virtually everyone is playing with their phone.

I don’t know where my hotel is in relation to the railway station, that's why I’ve turned off my phone in case I need to use the GPS which, of course, uses up a lot of power. I’m hoping there will be a lot of cabs when we arrive at Udine, but I have experience of the rank outside the station and I know it to be, well, rank. Let’s see.

I bought myself two large bottles of Pellegrino in Milan and have finished one of them. We have arrived at Vicenza and I can’t see a thing outside the window. Next stop: Padova. It’s 1925hrs and there’s over two hours to go.

I keep thinking about checking out the existence of a buffet car, but I have a sneaky suspicion there isn’t one and if there was one, what would I buy? Am I even hungry? I could probably do without, but a walk would do me good. I can’t see anybody clasping paper cups of coffee so I’m guessing there isn’t one. The train is on time, says the television screen hanging from the ceiling. It’s 1929. Both my mum and dad were born in 1929.

It's 1935 and we’re arriving in Padova. I tried those two travel adaptors again, hoping somebody would tell me why they don’t fit or perhaps even offer me one that does work, but no, nobody’s going to be of assistance, it’s often the way of the world.

It’s 1949 and I’m guessing that if there was a buffet car an announcement would have been made or, at the very least, a note on the television screen. We’re about to arrive at Venezia Mestre. The worse thing is that I’m going to have another train journey like this one on Friday when I head home and it’s all because of one of my silly travel rules, this one my aversion to and avoidance of Ryanair who fly direct to Trieste from the UK. I just don’t like them and I never will. But because of that rule I am sitting here now looking out at the darkness and wishing I was already tucked up in bed. I suppose you could call this train the ‘red eye’. There are still people out there waiting for trains, holding cases or bicycles but certainly on their way home and this is when I feel homesick even if I haven’t yet spent one night away from home. The people outside are silhouettes, but there are more illuminated platforms that reveal the colours of their clothes and the plastic bags they carry. In fact, there’s one illuminated platform, the rest are fairly dark and, therefore, those awaiting trains are dark, colourless figures. The train is remaining in the station for longer than normal.

The train is travelling back in the direction from whence it came and yes, I know that was really bad phrasing, but it’s going back the way it came. Treviso is the next stop and I’m guessing that if we hadn’t gone into Venezia Mestre, the journey might have been a little quicker. I just heard ‘toilet out of order’. That’s all I need. Better keep hold of that remaining bottle of Pellegrino.

I’m in Coach 7, seat 32, a window seat, and while coach 7 was the lead carriage, the fact that it has now changed direction means that coach 7 is now the very last coach of the train, meaning that when we reach Udine, I’ll be one of the last passengers off the train and that could mean no cabs left at the rank and with my phone on its last legs and two, not one, but two faulty chargers, I could be up a gum tree, up shit creek without a paddle, in dire straits and I really don’t need it. It’s amazing how things conspire against me. ‘We are now approaching Treviso. Thank you for travelling with Italo. Goodbye!’

It's 2021 and the temperature has gone down from 16 degrees in Milano to just 7 degrees in Treviso.

Outside, ghostly and empty trains in sidings as the train finally arrives in Treviso and slows to a halt, it’s nearly half past eight. In one hour from now there will be just 10 minutes to go and hopefully I’ll be skipping to the taxi rank, a spring in my step and the sound of plastic casters on concrete annoying all and sundry. Next stop: Conegliano. We’re getting close to Udine! Once again, we are reminded that the train is on time.

In under half an hour there will be just 40 minutes left to run (or ride) and that’s a heartening thought. I was under the impression that the man opposite me, or rather across the aisle from me, was English, but he’s not. I can now hear him speaking with a strong Italian accent in Italian so there goes my earlier hope that he might have helped me with my travel adaptor problem. It was never on the cards! Nobody can help and nobody will, in the same way that if you’re driving and need to get into another lane, nobody is going to let you in, you’re on your own, just remember to be equally as unhelpful when you’re in charge of the situation. Not that he was in charge of any situation, he didn’t even know what I was thinking to be fair.

The Italian has stood up and has put his jacket on. He’s overweight and in desperate need of regular exercise. I hope he gets his act together, but I sense he won’t. He looks a bit like the actor Michael Sheen and has a grey and bushy beard. It’s 2041 – exactly one hour before we reach Udine. The next stop is Conegliano and this is where Michael Sheen lives. It’s dark out there and everything is very poorly lit. I only spotted one person on the platform waiting for a train. The next and penultimate stop is Pordenone, then it’s Udine.

The train is still on time and I’m thinking about my last bottle of Pellegrino. I had two but drank one and now I’m thinking what a great decision it was to buy them. Drinking water staves off hunger and I’m now doubting that I’ll eat anymore until breakfast time. It’s a shame the train is on time and not early. How great to be, say 20 minutes early. It won’t happen, I know that much. It’s 2055.

Milestone times are being racked up! It’s 2100 and that means a straight 41 minutes to go. I can’t make out what’s happening, oh, sorry, yes I can, the train slowed and I thought we had arrived at Pordenone – we have give or take a few yards. ‘We invite travellers to prepare and collect their luggage. Thank you, and goodbye!’ It’s warmed up outside, it’s now 8 degrees. The train is approaching Pordenone, which is deserted, just one person on the platform. ‘Do not cross the railway lines’ advises a sign. Or ‘Vietato attravesone i binare’. I wonder if anybody boarded the train. Perhaps one solitary kid in a dressing gown like in the Polar Express.

The train very slowly departs Pordonone and everything out there is in darkness as we pick up speed and head for our last stop: Udine. Milan to Udine is quite a haul, especially late at night, but for me anything is better than flying Ryanair.

The train must have banked left as my full bottle of Pellegrino slid towards the edge of the seat-back tray. I just caught it and placed it on the seat to my left. It’s 2112, roughly 30 minutes to go. I’m amazed at the darkness. I haven’t seen any roads, no street lights, nothing.

There’s still a smattering of passengers left in Coach 7 as the train races though another deserted station and into the deeper blackness on the other side. It’s pure blackness out there, no signs of life, no street lights or high streets or tower blocks. I can see distant street lighting but it really is pitch black in the foreground and no sign of life at all. It begs the question: where is everybody? Do the Italians go to bed early? Is there nothing to do in these parts? 2019 and roughly 20 minutes to go and it’s all over. Apart from Ryanair, which will never be an option, I can’t think of how I could make this journey simpler. I could have taken three trains, but that might have been fraught with potential pitfalls, like missing a connection and not making it to Udine, who knows? I opted for the direct service but I’m beginning to wonder about the return trip. If there’s nothing until 1735 from Udine I might (in fact I will miss my flight). And yes, I know, I should have looked into this a little better, but I think I might well find myself on numerous local trains on Friday so I need to be up with the lark on the 31^st and on the ball. It’s 2025, roughly 15 minutes to go.

The train is slowing, there’s 10 minutes left to go but still nothing but blackness outside. Udine is a city, albeit a small one, and yet there is nothing out there.

People are readying themselves to leave and so must I!

Footnote: There was a cab outside and I reached my hotel in around five minutes. You can read all about the Quo Vadis Hotel in my next post.

At Venice airport...

31 May: I arrived miles too early and began to wonder whether getting the free transfer from my hotel to Marco Polo airport in Venice had been a good idea. I could have taken the train from Udine to Venice and made my way to the airport from there. Still, mustn't grumble, although, to be fair, I have been moaning quietly to myself as I arrived too early and couldn't get rid of my suitcase. In other words, I've been dragging it around with me. 

Out of the clouds heading for Venice

Nothing has really gone wrong (so far). While I had to establish when my airport transfer would arrive at my hotel (the Allegria in Udine) – and was given two conflicting scenarios (one picking me up from the hotel at 1100hrs, the other at 1020hrs at a specified pick-up point outside of the hotel – everything, considering, has been smooth. There was a small amount of confusion before myself and around four or five people from Turkey, one of whom was staying in my hotel, were in the car and on the way to the airport. I say 'car', it was more like a minibus, but after around 70 or so minutes (probably a little longer) of driving along the autostrada under cloudy skies we reached Marco Polo airport from where I write this note.

I am slowly but surely developing the persona of a pissed off and mildly stroppy business traveller, something that I must stop. I can't figure out why I'm that way, I've just become 'that guy' when the slightest thing goes wrong or when I'm the one who has been silly by overlooking a pretty obvious sign that disputes the reality I thought to be true. After discovering, for example, that I couldn't check my bag in until 1425hrs (this was at around 1230hrs) I moseyed off in search of food and when I found it ordered a pizza, a small custard tartlet (very tasty) and a cup of English Breakfast tea. Then, I found a table and sat down to eat my food. But no, I was asked to sit elsewhere. "This is the restaurant," a man said, snootily, and I was directed to some more communal-looking seating to eat what amounted to a takeaway meal. This, of course, was annoying as I could have ordered a sit-down lunch in the restaurant but I didn't see the aforementioned (and quite obvious) sign requesting people to 'queue here' for a seat. 

The main square in Trieste faces out to sea...

Mildly miffed I sat and ate my food in what was basically a more 'downmarket' seating area, which was fine, and when finished I bought myself a fridge magnet from the shop opposite and then wandered towards the bag drop area at the other end of the terminal building, finding when I got there that there was still over 30 minutes to wait. I joked with the woman on duty, the one who informed me and others earlier that the current check-in was for passengers to Paris Orly only and that I'd have to wait until 1425hrs before I could 'drop' my bags off. There's now under 10 minutes to go until I can check in so I might have to leave this post for a second while I get rid of my suitcase and, of course, hope and pray they don't lose it.

Tasty treats before a plant tour in Trieste

I'm heading back to London after a trip to a place called Udine in Northern Italy. I flew out on Monday 27 May (a bank holiday) and have been here all week. It's been a very hectic but enjoyable week with little time to do anything other that what appeared on the event's itinerary. A gala dinner, a classical music concert, a rigorous day time programme of presentations and plenty of sweet things to eat in between, like biscuits, pastries and so on, all designed to make a nonsense of the so-called 'Mediterranean diet' and the notion that, if you're an Italian or eat loads of olives, you'll lead a long and healthy life. I can imagine people now as they prematurely arrive in Heaven and are given a form to fill out, claiming in the 'extra information' box, "they never said anything about biscuits and filled croissants and fancy desserts" being part of the aforementioned 'Mediterranean diet' as they consider their chances in the "I shouldn't really be here" queue.

Amazing biscuits and pastries in Trieste

The check-in was simple and straightforward, just like it had been on the journey out from London Gatwick a few days earlier and within seconds my bag was on the conveyor and on its way to the plane and I was left to go through security, which was also very easy and took minutes to get from the start to the finish. Then it was time for the Society of the Spectacle. I always keep my eyes fixed straight ahead until I reach the male perfumery section where I always give the sales assistant the false impression that I'm going to spend almost £100 on some fragrance or other, only to disappoint them at the last minute with "I think I'll leave it this time". At least I smell good for the flight home, I thought.

One course of a wonderful lunch at a Trieste restaurant

The journey out from Gatwick to Venice on 27 May was a little more fraught and totally my fault because I had led myself to believe that I'd be flying out around 1600hrs and, therefore, didn't have to be at the airport until around 1400hrs. I could take things easy in other words. How wrong! I only needed to look at my travel details and I would have known that I was flying at around noon and that the gate would be closing at 1150hrs. When I did realise the dire situation I had put myself in – time was getting on – I chucked the remaining few things in my suitcase and decided not to bother washing, there was simply no time and I could do it all at the other end. I booked a cab – "come as soon as you can"– and within 20 minutes I was en route to the airport, sitting in the back of a white Prius in silence, hoping and praying that I'd make it on time. When I reached the airport the flight had been delayed and there was plenty of time so I sailed through security and found my way to a Starbucks where I "enjoyed" an English breakfast tea and an almond croissant. I put the word "enjoyed" in inverted commas because I was stressed and needed to calm down, which I did, and then made my way to the gate and on to the plane. I had a window seat (19a) on the way out and on the return journey (6f) and the flight going out was relatively okay, although, as avid readers of this blog will already know, I've always been a little apprehensive of flying if there's a lot of cloud about or the weather is in anyway unsettled.

Waiting at Marco Polo airport for my flight to Gatwick

The pilot on the outward flight, Rachel, said the flight would be relatively smooth 'once we were through the cloud' and she was right. It was a smooth flight and I jumped off the plane with a strong sense of relief, along the lines of one flight done, one more to go.

As I was attending a massive event, when I cleared security I headed straight for an information desk and was told to wait until they found a driver who would ferry me to my hotel, which they did, and soon I was on my way to Udine (about an hour's drive on the autostrada). I checked in to my hotel, the Allegria, and then headed for the shower and after that a shave. I was ready to take a stroll with my fellow journalists to a local restaurant for dinner and our host Paolo. The Italians know how to cook, put it that way.

After waking up the following morning, it was a roller coaster schedule from then on. I was up every morning at 0600hrs, eating a fairly sub-standard breakfast at 0700hrs and then waiting for a bus to take me and my fellow journalists to a place called Buttrio where the conference would take place. There was a gala dinner inside Udine Castle (although it wasn't IN the castle as it was when I attended another event a couple of years ago, but instead in a huge but tasteful temporary structure just outside of the castle itself. It was fine but tiring as it's fairly hard to keep up conversation with strangers when all I really wanted to do was relax alone after a long day, possibly eat alone and then hit the sack. I probably got to bed around 1230hrs. It was a short walk from the castle to the Allegria.

A tasty treat at the Trieste restaurant

The conference was full-on for two days and was followed by a plant trip to Trieste, which was 'up the road' from Udine – probably around an hour's drive. In fact, where the plant trips were concerned, some brave souls had signed up for tours in far flung places like Beijing and Louisiana and Egypt and other locations which increased the intensity of the schedule and made me feel tired just thinking about it. Not that I had booked myself on any of the plant tours and the one I did take (to Trieste) was organised for me. And what a trip it was! Well, the plant trip was so-so but the food on either side of it was something else: first a wide selection of pastries and mini desserts, which I greedily scoffed as if there was no tomorrow, and then, after the tour, a short walk to a restaurant in Trieste down by the water's edge where we were given an excellent four-course meal.

The great thing about the Italians is they love their food and they won't let anything get in the way of it. We sat there watching a storm roll in and listened to the thunder, which was preceded by flashes of distant forked lightening and in between the poor weather and the relentless rain we all ate well: there was plenty of sea food and I lived to tell the tale – and by that I mean no upset stomach, no sitting on the throne all night, nothing at all, but then this was a very good restaurant.

A coach eventually took us back to Udine and it turned into a late night. Dinner with a colleague was planned for 1900hrs and while my initial plan had been to go all the way to Udine, change and then return to Buttrio by cab, I eventually decided to get off in Buttrio due to mounting traffic and then went out for a pleasant meal.

And now I'm back where I started. It's the day after that dinner with my colleague in Buttrio. I took the minibus to Marco Polo airport and all the rest you know, other than I'm sitting here in the airport listening to a French man talk about something or other. Unfortunately, I don't speak French so I can't understand a word he's saying, not that it matters, it's probably something inane.

Outside there are blue skies and scattered cloud and its roughly an hour before I take off, that's assuming the flight leaves on time (it's around 10 minutes late as I write this). In all honesty, I just want to get home. It's been a good but long week and I've met some interesting people. 

I think they've announced my gate, Gate 56, so I'd better get moving, but now that I'm through passport control and at the gate, a few words about the hotel, the Allegra. It was small but it was fine. The room was clean and perfectly adequate although I couldn't see out of my window, or rather I couldn't see without a lot of hassle trying to prise open the shuttered windows, and I couldn't be bothered. Besides, the trip was so rushed I didn't really get much time to look out of windows or read or do anything (like blogging) that I do on most trips. While I don't mind other people fixing my trip for me, I know that if they do, I end up with the itinerary from hell, but this was fine. Busy but good. Both flights, for example, were perfectly fine in terms of departure times, but the conference schedule meant extreme weariness in the mornings especially if there had been a late night, ie the gala dinner on Tuesday and the classical music concert on the Wednesday night. This morning I had a brief lie in and a later breakfast and then I packed my suitcase and was ready to leave the hotel, but we've spoken about that part of the day already.

I wasn't keen on the breakfast as there were elements of the experience that required the help of somebody else. Tea, for example, had to be ordered, but invariably there was nobody there to order it from. A hot water urn would have helped and it would have been good if milk had been available too, but again we only got milk if we asked for it and we could only ask for it if there was somebody there to ask. Every morning I enjoyed a filled croissant and a bowl of chopped fruit plus an English Breakfast tea.

The flight home was good, very smooth all the way, and we arrived at Gatwick earlier than scheduled. Passport control and baggage reclaim were also very smooth and soon I was on the other side wondering whether to get a taxi or a train home. I opted for the latter because it was cheaper and, let's be honest, quicker too. I alighted at East Croydon and jumped into a black cab (£20) and now I'm at home, the fridge magnet I purchased in Venice is on the fridge door and I'm considering some pasta for dinner. My wife and daughter are returning from Paris tonight and I'll be picking them up from the station around 2230hrs. Time to sign off and make some food.

More tales from the Villa Dragoni...

I'm beginning to wonder whether I'm being assessed. For me, the big question is this: why was breakfast served in my room on day one and thereafter downstairs with, presumably, the other guests? Except there are no guests, it's just me; I know this because I asked. I am the only guest. I think the reason they got me to fill out a breakfast form was to assess my level of piggery ahead of inviting me down to mingle with the others residents, but of course there are none. When I reached 'the breakfast room', which was a dark and lonely space close to the front desk, I spied a table full of goodies. It was as if a buffet had been laid out, but little did I know at the time, it was all for me. There were four rolls, a solitary boiled egg, three croissants, two yoghurts, three offerings of cereal in plastic containers, the bowl of fruit from yesterday containing apricots, a pear and kiwi fruit and, foolishly perhaps, I assumed that because there were the four rolls there might be four other guests, although, apart from the table where I was sitting there was only one other laid out for use; and when I say 'laid out for use' I mean there was some cutlery on the table. Needless to say I helped myself. I ordered a cappuccino and enjoyed a fairly pleasant breakfast, washed down with a couple of glasses of fruit juice. The woman offered me another cappuccino and while I should have declined it, I didn't, figuring it would keep me awake later on.

En route to breakfast...

I had everything timed. I knew it took around 30 minutes to get to my location because I'd walked it twice yesterday. There was no rain so a stroll was just what the doctor ordered, although I had been prudent enough to buy an umbrella in Udine on Tuesday night ahead of dining alone in a small and fairly intimate restaurant. I had ordered pasta with gamberoni and tomato and later had tiramisu, it's one of those desserts that I love but always regret having once I've finished it. Outside it was dark and I had around a 15-minute walk to the railway station where I was hoping to catch a train to Buttrio and then walk the last 15 minutes to the Villa Dragoni, but it was not to be: a woman sitting in a kiosk at the station told me the next train was in 90 minutes and there was no way I was going to try and amuse myself in Udine for such a long period of time. There was only one thing for it, a taxi, so I waited at the rank and, like the night before, one eventually turned up. Once through the gates of the Villa Dragoni I trudged across the noisy gravel to the villa and of course there was nobody around. I went straight to my room and hit the sack.

My day went as planned and at lunch time, after cheese, ham and then risotto, I decided to walk back to the hotel to fetch my business cards. In total yesterday I walked roughly 8km and now it's another day and the bells of the nearby church are tolling 0700hrs. Last night I went out late in search of a restaurant. To be honest, I didn't want to go out, but all I had eaten was small amounts of food and the odd snack during the conference tea breaks. I found a place called the Parc, I think it was a hotel restaurant as I saw a colleague of mine, but fortunately he didn't see me. I was directed to a table and ordered bruschetta followed by roasted chicken breasts with cauliflower and roasted potatoes – a little bland it has to be said and while tiramisu was on the menu I wanted to get back to my hotel. The stroll down to the Parc  – which was a fairly nice place even if the service was a little slow – was blessed with rain so that umbrella came in handy, but on the return walk it only spitting so I didn't bother opening it out. Bored and with nobody to converse with I hit the sack and fell asleep, waking around 0400hrs for no particular reason and then drifting off until the alarm on my iphone sounded at 0600hrs. It's now just gone 0700. I'm showered and ready for the day and, more importantly, ready for breakfast.

Those two windows on the first floor look out from my room

I almost forgot: there are now more guests. I'm not sure how many, but I think three rooms have been taken up by the people I've seen. There were two women checking in last night as I headed to the Parc restaurant, and earlier in the day (I think at lunch time when I returned for my business cards) I saw two men. It might have been that one man was dropping the other off at the Villa Dragoni but short of asking I don't know.

Postscript...

I now know for a fact that there are four men and two women staying in the Villa Dragoni. This morning over breakfast I saw the men. That means there are seven people staying and only five of the 12 rooms still vacant. Oddly, I was rather enjoying being the only guest. There's also a new member of staff serving breakfasts – or rather tending to the needs of those having breakfast, which mainly means offering them a hot drink as everything else is laid out for them. My breakfast this morning consisted of a bowl of Coco Pops (my hotel treat, I never have them at home), two slices of cake (one apple, the other chocolate), some ham and cheese, two rolls, fruit juice and, of course, a cappuccino.

In Buttrio, Italy...

I have been in Florence attending a wedding and have experienced major problems with cars. I hired one at the airport, a rather nice Toyota Corolla hybrid, and for a short while it was fine. I drove from the airport out into the sticks and then, for a couple of days, drove to places like Siena and Greve and made a couple of small trips to a local supermarket. It took a couple of days to get used to my different surroundings, although I took naturally to driving on the right hand side of the road and didn't have any problems with roundabouts. But then I got a puncture and things turned to shit. First, the car hire company wouldn't replace the car with another one, leaving me (and those with me) stranded. It was lucky that the flat tyre was discovered close to the villa where we were staying as I managed to drive us back 'home'. It was then a case of calling the hire company who were anything but helpful. We spoke to their breakdown business who sent somebody round to retrieve the Corolla and that, effectively was that. No replacement car, we would have to rely upon unreliable taxis. Not only unreliable but very expensive. We had to pay 120 Euros to travel around 10 miles tops and later, when I asked for a receipt from Guido, our first taxi driver, he wanted me to part with a further 15 Euros. I told him I would write my own receipt. Virtually every journey cost us around 100 Euros and the costs soon mounted up. Eventually, of course, I lost it completely with the rental company, not that doing so achieved anything. In fact, on 'losing it' I appear to be doing it on a regular basis and put it down to needing a rest, a holiday, for example. That said, I've also considered anger management. For those of you thinking 'he's out in Tuscany, surely he's on holiday'. Well, no he isn't. While I wanted to de-stress and had the perfect place to do so – there was beautiful scenery (olive trees, rolling hills, the occasional low mist, blue skies and so forth) – I was not allowed to enjoy it. For a start I was really a cab driver waiting outside clothes shops and then, once the car was towed away to be repaired, I had the stress of Italian cabs, notably that they were few and far between and also that they were extortionate. My 'holiday' was one huge ball of stress as, indeed, is any 'holiday' I take. I'm never allowed to relax, there's always something to fret about (mainly money) and then I find myself back at work and in no way prepared for it having not really had a break. Note to self: always use a reliable car rental company, ie Hertz, Europ Car, Enterprise. 

Breakfast – in the end it wasn't ridiculously large

I write to you from the Villa Dragoni in Buttrio, Northern Italy. Yesterday I took the train from Florence to Venice and then changed to a local train for the penultimate leg of the journey (Udine – pronounced 'Oooh-der-nay'). From Udine I encountered more taxi problems, notably that there were no cabs to be found on the rank. I stood outside the railway station in the dark waiting and waiting and waiting. Fortunately for me a woman from Vancouver was in Udine visiting relations and her husband and cousin (both Italians) were the most helpful strangers I've ever encountered. They called a cab company and two of them miraculously appeared. Myself and a lady from Verona (as opposed to a gentleman) were saved from standing around waiting in the dark and watching buses that were 'not in service' as they pulled around and into the front of the station never to be seen again. I'll admit that I had considered a bus, but I'm glad I didn't follow up on the idea as Buttrio, my final destination, is small and sleepy and dark and I'm guessing there's no way I'd have found the Villa Dragoni. My taxi driver knew of it and after a little messing around on a smart phone we set off in the rain. A storm was brewing. With increasing frequency, the skies were lit up with lightening which later developed into a full-blown thunder-clapping storm. Getting into the Villa Dragoni proved a little problematic as it was, to all intents and purposes, closed and dark. Access was possible via a huge gate, but the gate was closed and my driver had to press an intercom button to talk to somebody inside the villa who eventually opened the gates and we were inside. At last, I thought, I can rest easy. Once inside there was nobody but me and a Villa Dragoni employee who handed over a small square piece of card, it was the wifi log in details and a code for access should I leave the building, which I fully intend to do. Then, she handed me a small rectangular piece of card on which I found a list of breakfast items. The idea was that I circled what I wanted and then, in the morning, at a specified time, my breakfast would arrive at my room. I started to wonder whether I was the only guest. I was led through the villa towards room 3, from where I write this note as I await breakfast, which is due to arrive in just under one hour (49 minute to be precise). I wondered whether I had ordered too much. I mean, I like a big breakfast and normally, with the usual self-service affair in conventional hotels, I could help myself, but here at the Villa Dragoni I found myself circling almost every item available: cappuccino (check); muesli (check); yoghurt (check); bread (check); boiled egg (check); fruit juice (check) the list went on and as I lay in bed awake at 0500hrs I wondered what it was all going to look like. Perhaps it will take two people to bring it all to me, perhaps there will be two trays, who knows? And what will they be thinking? That there's two mouths to feed? Probably. But there's only me. And then I started to wonder if there was room on the table. All very humiliating. I'd better make sure I eat it all so they can't say I wasted anything. And if you want any kind of justification for my piggery, perhaps missing dinner last night is good enough. The last thing I ate was a pineapple croissant at a café in Florence and that was around 2pm yesterday afternoon. Alright, I had a peanut bar and a cup of black tea on the train to Venice, but that was it.

View from Room 3, Villa Dragoni 

After last night's storm everything outside is now relatively still. It's light and cloudy and I'm surrounded by trees. In the distance I can see a train, presumably approaching Buttrio railway station. Originally, I had planned to train it all the way here, but it was a flawed plan. I was advised (wrongly) to take the 1920 train from Florence to Buttrio, changing at Venice, but this proved to be wrong. When I reached Florence station I was told to take a fast train to Venice and then to Udine and from there jump a cab. Buttrio station was tiny and there wouldn't be any cabs and the thought of arriving at gone 11pm and walking to the Villa Dragoni, dragging a heavy suitcase along the street, was not in the slightest bit appealing. Even though I had to wait a good 20 minutes for a cab at Udine railway station, the journey wasn't that long and I arrived long before my original arrival time of gone 11pm.

I am here all week. I fly back on Saturday afternoon. In all honesty, I could wish the whole thing further. It would have been better taking the week off and chilling at home, although I know now that I wouldn't be chilling, I'd be fretting about money and working out how much I didn't have and the spectre of work would always be looming in the background. But that doesn't mean I'm better off where I am as I'm working. In fact, I can't even remember if I'm working today or whether I have the day off. I'll need to check that. Oh, did I mention fruit? I also ordered fruit for breakfast and I'm not sure what I'll get. Hopefully not a huge bowl as there's no way I'll finish that along with everything else I've ordered. Sorry, I digressed, but there you go, I'm fretting about breakfast now.

A word about Italian trains: they're fantastic. The train from Florence to Venice was fast. A screen in the carriage told passengers that the train was travelling at something like 220km/hr. It departed Florence on time (1639hrs), there were free snacks, a man vacuumed the floor, it was perfect: clean, fast and on time, what more could one ask from a train? I arrived in Venice, on time, at 1842hrs, in plenty of time to catch the 1914hrs local train to Udine.

Local train to Udine...

The weather here in Italy was fine up until Saturday (the day of the wedding) when it started to rain around 1400hrs and now I guess the Italians, like the English, are settling in for the winter months. I know that in the UK right now bad weather is expected. I'm hoping it all dissipates before my flight home next week. I'm on an easyJet flight from Venice to Gatwick and I'm sitting in seat 1a, right at the front of the plane. Let's hope it'll be smooth.

Breakfast arrived on just one tray; there were four small rolls, a tumbler of fruit juice, two pots of yoghurt, cereal – but no milk – a small bowl of fruit (apricots and kiwi fruit), a boiled egg – no fingers – a cappuccino and a small plate of biscuits, tiny ones. I did well: I ate two of the rolls, used the natural yoghurt as a milk substitute for the cereal, ate all the biscuits, the other yoghurt was strawberry-flavoured so that was alright and I'm confident they won't be thinking anything bad of me, ie I didn't 'leave' anything untouched, I'm not a greedy bastard in other words, I ate what I ordered.

One note of criticism about the Villa Dragoni: all the hangers in the wardrobe are for jackets and coats, nothing to hang trousers on. A small detail, perhaps, but it's a problem nonetheless.