In Stockholm, part two...

It was too cold to go out last night so a walk around the block was out of the question. I finished off writing yesterday's blogpost and then I hit the sack and read a couple of chapters of Eat, Sleep, Cycle by Anna Hughes. Then it was time to turn out the lights and sleep, which I did, but I awoke around 0400hrs and simply lay there hoping I would get back to sleep. Sadly, I didn't, so around 0450hrs I got up and checked out what needed to be done: there was plenty of stuff to be getting on with in the shape of a meeting at 0900hrs followed by a press conference at a furniture exhibition around 1130hrs and then, after lunch, another meeting and then another meeting. I tried not to rely upon cabs, but this meant relying upon the SatNav on my phone, which can be a little confusing. I never know whether to follow the voice instructions or to look at my screen and follow the small blue circle. I opted for the former and miraculously I arrived at my destination, having given myself plenty of time in case I messed up. Fortunately I didn't and soon I was engaged in a convivial meeting in the centre of Sweden and virtually opposite Stockholm Central Station from where my train would depart for Alvsjo, a short 10-minute journey and then a little walk to the exhibition centre. Once that meeting was over I found an Espresso House and ordered a cappuccino, a foccacia bread filled with ham and cheese and a bun. I could have done without the bun if I'm honest, but I ate it nonetheless and then made my way to my next appointment. I decided to take a cab and get there early, which was a smart move and then, when that meeting was over I headed over to my last of the day, which started to get a little fraught as my cellphone was rapidly losing power and I was having trouble trying to find where I was going. Fortunately, the person I was meeting read my email and called me and as I was fairly near we met and had an early dinner meeting. All well and good, but with the phone on around 3% power I knew it was about to cut out so I jumped in a cab for the journey back to the hotel and here I am now, not exhausted, but glad my busy and somewhat hectic day was over and I could simply chill out.

The full Swedish?

But I've been jumping the gun. I haven't told you about the hotel breakfast. As I said earlier, I got out of bed around 0450hrs and started organising the day, but then, after showering and shaving, I went downstairs to the breakfast room (it was basically the restaurant I found myself in last night so no surprises other than an extremely good breakfast offering. I started with a cooked breakfast: scrambled egg, mushrooms, sausages and cherry tomatoes and then moved on to other stuff: a few mini biscuits, a mini croissant, some toast and marmalade, a bowl of cereal with various healthy-looking seeds and some yoghurt and I think that was it apart from a couple of mugs of green tea and a small bowl of fruit (grapes, oranges, melon and so forth). I had plenty of time too, which meant I could chill out and read a couple more chapters of Eat, Sleep, Cycle by Anna Hughes. Soon, however, it was time to get on with my busy day, as outlined above.

And now here I am, back in the hotel. I do have a gripe: there's no desk. All hotel rooms have desks! But not this one. Right now, for example, I am sitting at the end of the bed, my lap top on a white piece of furniture with two doors and that's it. Oh for a nice desk and a decent seat on which to sit, but no, they've decided to be 'quirky' and, as all hotel designers should know, 'function before form!' it's just the basics and they failed to deliver. I thought for a moment that there wasn't a mirror, but there is: it's in the wardrobe, not that I'll use it; I try to avoid mirrors as I hate to see myself in them looking tired, perhaps, or overweight and in need of exercise although, to be honest, I don't think I am overweight and I tend to get enough exercise. The truth is I just don't like seeing myself, I never have, it's like hearing the sound of my voice, I hate that too and in a way I kind of hate the way I sound too and can simply hope that others don't find me as grating as I do. Perhaps they don't and I'm just a shivering pile of paranoia, like that character from Catch the Pigeon, if anybody remembers it.

The view from room 709...

The weather here is cold, but it's just about bearable. Today, in the press room at the furniture show, I briefly discussed the weather with the two women behind the counter and they said it felt colder than minus 4, which is what I guessed it would be. Actually, I wasn't guessing, the woman on the reception desk of my hotel last night said it was minus 4, much to my disappointment as I wanted to later brag about being out in minus 13, but that was scuppered until the press room women said they thought it was around minus 10. Who knows? Not me – or them by the sounds of it. Let's just say it was brass monkey weather out there, but surprisingly (not in the city at any rate) there hasn't been any snow and the paths are as dry as anything, you won't be slipping over on black ice here! Or any other kind of ice for that matter.

A brief mention of the lift, or hiss as they call it in Sweden. It has two doors: the main and conventional sliding doors that all lifts have and then, as you stand there looking out, there's also a door, ie a proper door that opens outwards (as all doors do in Scandinavia, I think!) that only serves my floor, the 7th. When the lift stops I push the door, which is to my left, and get out. People aren't allowed to stand around the edges of the lift and if they do, apparently, the lift simply gets stuck (or so they say).

Yes it is a boring shot of an exhibition centre...

Right, I'll probably skim through a few television channels, see if anything good is on (there won't be) and then I'm going to bed, getting an early night and then another early start tomorrow morning. I've got to check out and there's nothing worse than checking out of a hotel, I just hate having to leave my bag with the concierge or, worst still, taking it with me to an appointment, which I might have to do. Still, the upside to all of it will be the night boat to Helsinki...I can't wait!

Heading back to Blighty...

I never set my alarm, but was up by 0600hrs anyway and looking forward to what the hotel offered for breakfast, although I had a pretty good idea: cake, of course, and plenty of it. I was right... and I was happy!

A cream-filled croissant, a custard-filled slice of cake, some small round pastries full of custard, it was all happening on my table. The friendly waitress offered me a cappuccino and I accepted. Later she offered me another and again, I accepted. There was fruit, fresh fruit and a fruit salad which, I think, I ordered and then didn't eat, at least I can't remember eating it, such was the excitement of the cake and the frothy coffee. I had time and so indulged myself. A yoghurt followed and an apple, which I munched away as other guests arrived, well, two – make that three – other guests: a mother and daughter combo, actually five other guests, there was a couple of slightly rotund ladies and an edgy-looking woman with a roughish face who sat alone, like I did, and looked pre-occupied. 

Through the gate and waiting for the bus to the plane...

Breakfast over I went to my room and packed, not that I hadn't done most of it already, it was just the electric toothbrush and toothpaste to put away and then I waltzed downstairs to the rather baronial hall lobby where I checked out, told them how much I loved the hotel and then ordered a cab to the airport. It arrived in minutes and soon I was on my way. The journey took all of 15 minutes and then I was faced with the chaos of the airport which seemed to be unnaturally busy. There were school kids and holidaymakers queuing up for something or other, probably a flight, one queue wound its way out of the building (I saw it when my taxi pulled up). There were soldiers with guns and sunglasses and I was asked where I was going. I said "London" and all was well, I could continue into the terminal building. What the hell was going on? I would never find out. Perhaps it was because it was Saturday, who knows? Once inside I found the BA check-in and waited for it to open, then it was a case of handing over (ahem) my case, getting my boarding pass (seat 35F, a window seat) and then heading for another queue (for security). It all went pretty smoothly and I found myself standing with a lot of red-faced people, clearly skiers and those who follow other outdoor pursuits, like climbing. I wasn't bothered. There are so many things I won't do and climbing and skiing are just two of them. I won't jump out of an aeroplane either or go diving looking for sharks.

On the plane...

Once through I sprayed myself with a Polo aftershave tester (it was free so why not?) and then ordered a ham and mozzarella roll as I knew that BA would only offer a bag of shitty pretzels and a small bottle of mineral water. Once microwaved, the roll melted and became a spludgy mess on a white plate...but that didn't stop me.

The flight was alright. Most of it was clear, but as we approached the UK the cloud thickened and I found myself thinking of the Tory party, Dominic fucking Raab in particular, and all the shite the UK liked to pile upon its people who, like cockroaches, scuttle around under the cover of cloud, moaning about their lot. I, of course, was one of them too and now I was heading home to be as much of a cockroach as everybody else. Soon, little gaps appeared in the cloud, revealing England's green and unpleasant land. The plane shuddered as it penetrated the big chunks of cumulus dotted around the skies and I started wondering why the pilot doesn't aim for the clear bits and avoid the cloud? But of course, he never does, instead he heads straight for a fucking great lump of the stuff and we all suffer as a result... or I do, nobody else seems to be bothered. Soon we were down on the ground and from then onwards, everything was fairly easy.

I found a sign saying "last toilet before passport control" and thought: that's where I'm headed! There was something intriguing about the last toilet before passport control and the walk there was interesting too because there was nobody around. I started to wonder whether, when I left the toilet, I'd be 500 years in the future or something whacky of that nature. But no, I was still in the 21st Century and I was back on track. 

Looking down on Italy...

There was nobody at passport control, my bag was on the reclaim when I got there (reclaim conveyor 8) and soon I was swanning through customs without a care in the world. I headed straight for Costa Coffee, from where I write this blogpost, as there's a train strike so I thought I'd get my bearings, have something to eat (prawn and mayo sarnie, a Millionaire's Shortbread and an English Breakfast tea) and then head for home either in a taxi or by train. 

It was a good trip overall and while I had been inwardly moaning about air travel from the minute I reached the airport, as we approached Gatwick today I asked myself whether there had really been any major hassles. The answer, of course, was no, there was nothing from the outward flight to the inward one that was really bad... apart from BA cancelling my return flight, but even that meant a few free hours in Verona, a wander around the city, a really nice dinner in Caffe Dante and, of course, a night in a decent hotel.

On Wednesday afternoon when I flew out to Italy I had the choice of queuing for a human being to check me in or use the machines; I opted eventually for the latter and it was alright. The flight out was ok, there was no turbulence, and when I reached Verona there was Maria waiting to pick me up and take me to Storo and the Polentera hotel. 

Approaching Gatwick airport.

On the return trip it was roughly the same: the taxi arrived within two minutes of being ordered, I checked in fairly successfully and yes, I queued for security but there's no way around that. It didn't take long and soon I was through and chilling (if that's the word) before the flight and, as outlined above, that was fine too. That said, however, I'm annoyed that flying is so cheap. Certainly, when I can, I'll take the train (like to Dusseldorf in June). I can't get the train to Detroit sadly and I'm guessing that a cabin on a cargo ship will be beyond my company's means and will add around 10 days to the trip. So I'll have to put up and shut up and make the most of what is thrown at me.

I'm not a great fan of flying, but I do a fair bit of it one way or the other. I don't mind it on a good day when there's no weather to deal with, but if it's cloudy and rainy (or worse) then I invariably get a little anxious. I'm  not overly keen on long flights because there's bound to be turbulence somewhere along the line and I hate it. Also, long haul flights leave me knackered and incapable and in need of recovery, so yes, more rail travel, certainly in Europe is on the cards, but when it comes to the US or the Middle East of the Far East I'll have to put up with flying.

England's green and unpleasant land, well, it's not that bad...

In search of the last toilets before passport control at Gatwick airport.

"Last toilets before Passport control!"