Another rear wheel puncture, so off to the shop I went!

What to start with this week? It's got to be Prince Andrew's so-called 'car crash' interview with Newsnight's Emily Maitlis. There's two things I simply don't get. First, when he was asked whether he'd shagged what's her name, Virginia something or other, he said he couldn't recollect doing anything, even meeting her. Now, let's be honest here: if you're asked a straightforward question like that, you give a straightforward answer and it's either yes or no. To say you can't recollect it implies that you might well have done the dirty deed, you just can't remember because you were pissed, although, I can't believe that anybody can have sex with somebody and forget it happened, unless they deliberately want to forget it ever happened. That's one thing. Another is that photograph. He was adamant that the shot had been taken upstairs at Epstein's gaff, but said he'd never been upstairs, making me wonder how he knew it was taken upstairs. Where there's smoke...

Warlingham Green - all the fun of the fair

What else? Oh, yes, the photographer Terry O'Neill has died. I bring this up because I have worked with him, directly, and he was a nice bloke. In a nutshell, I had interviewed the film star Terence Stamp and he insisted that O'Neill took the photograph.

Not much else to say on the news front to be honest. I'm a Celebrity is on the box so I'm kind of watching it out of the corner of my eye while typing this blog post. They've gone to the first break and there's loads of Christmas ads. How boring! It's only 17 November. I suppose they've got to start at some stage.

Ant and Dec are such wankers. There! I said it.

Anyway, moving on. Yesterday, Saturday, was a great ride. I left home around 0710hrs, met Andy at the green and off we went to the Tatsfield Bus Stop, the slow way, chatting about Brexit all the way and then drinking tea and heading home. Great weather, but cold, so I wore the balaclava, which made all the difference.

But guess what? When I woke up on Sunday morning, after making the tea, I headed out to the garage to find yet another rear wheel puncture, so I aborted the ride and later pumped up the deflated tyre and rode to the bike shop. Then I walked into central Croydon, weird and desolate on a Sunday morning, and then walked straight back to the shop, picked up the bike and rode home. Effectively that was my day. When I got back I slobbed around for a while, messed around on the computer, the usual stuff, and then I drove over to mum's for some fruit cake. I sat there watching Escape to the Country with Aled Jones while sipping tea and munching cake and then I had a KitKat before driving home, messing around on the computer again and then eating a jacket potato and beans followed by a Tazo orange tea.

The Tatsfield Bus Stop, Saturday 16th November 2019...

Right now there's another ad break on I'm a Celebrity and another sickly festive advertisement, this time courtesy of Tesco - 'delivering Christmas for 100 years'. Really. Who cares?

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Great ride Saturday, no ride Sunday, another puncture and a new watch!

I won't say I'm not very pissed off, because I am. Very pissed off. Over the last week I've had THREE rear wheel punctures. I got back after my ride yesterday and noticed that the rear tyre was, well, let's say softer than it was when I embarked upon Saturday's cycle to the Tatsfield Bus Stop with Andy. It's annoying for one reason, well, for more than one, but the main one being we were planning a ride to Westerham today and breakfast in the caff, but now it's not to be, and that's not only because of the puncture, which is bad enough, but also the fact that I simply couldn't face going out into the garage at 0630hrs to fix it. Look, getting up early is fine (just about fine) but year in and year out we do it and we love it, not so much the getting up, but riding the bikes; but fixing punctures BEFORE a ride? No. So I aborted.

Yesterday we rode the slow way to the bus stop and it was fantastic, a great work-out. But when I reached home the tyre was soft and I know that if (when) I head out to the garage in a few moments - right now I'm drinking me tea, my second cup of tea, but it's decaff so its alright, but as soon as I've finished it, I'm out there, I've got to take the rear wheel off, then do all the usual things that need to be done to fix it. I'm not going to moan anymore, in fact, I'm going to talk about something completely different: I bought a watch last week in Carnaby Street. Yes, a watch. Avid readers might recall that many years ago I was the proud owner of a Rolex watch. I'd bought it with some spare cash at the time and, well, there were issues when I look back. It never really kept the right time, probably because it was one of those perpetual motion watches and somebody in Brussels told me recently that they're not as accurate as quartz watches. That somebody worked in the Swatch shop in Brussels, not far from the Grand Place. I walked in off the street - I can't think of any other way of walking in, to be honest, it's not as if I could have parachuted in. Anyway, I bowled in, because that's what I do, I bowl in to places, I rock up, and was told that perpetual motion watches simply don't keep good time. Well, the Rolex people told me my watch needed a service, but guess what? It costs £400 to service a Rolex watch and it was starting to get a little ridiculous. To be honest, in the end I stopped wearing it. What was the point? And add to that the fact that it looked a little ostentatious, the sort of thing people rob you for, so it skulked around in a box upstairs, never seeing the light of day, until, that is, I found myself in debt. Time, perhaps, to sell the Rolex, which I did and I got double what I paid for it. Result, you might say, but it left me watchless. Not that people wear watches any more; instead they rely upon the clock on their iphones, I know I do. And then I bought a little Timex watch with a glowing face, but it was cheap and nasty and part of the brand's Expedition series. Yes, I fancied myself as Indiana Jones and whenever I travel abroad I take it with me and keep it on UK time. But it lacks finesse and, if I may say so, so do I. I lack finesse in so many different areas, one of them being sartorial elegance. I wear Jeremy Corbyn shoes and V-necked jumpers and cheap shirts and ties. I am man at Millets or Primani, and quite frankly I'm getting fed up with it.

Sekonda's Midnight Blue

I was watching Dave for some reason, I think it was Dave Gorman's Terms and Conditions Apply, and I noticed that the Sekonda Midnight Blue (it's a watch) sponsors comedy on Dave. What I great watch! Or so I thought. I started to obsess about it, like I do whenever I want something. I get like a little kid and start wanting it immediately. I found myself staring at it in shop windows, even getting the jeweller to let me take a look at it in the flesh; it was a nice watch and it only cost £70. Now, compared to the Rolex, that's cheap, right? Of course it is, but then a trip to Brussels changed things. I walked into that Swatch shop off the Grand Place and spotted the Casual Blue. It was a little more expensive (£135) but now I had a new obsession and it had to be put to rest so I bought it, not there and then in Brussels, but a week later in London. I should have bought it in Brussels because then there would have been a story attached to it. "I bought it in Brussels, you know". But no, I bought it from the Swatch UK shop in Carnaby Street and ever since I've bought it (it's now three days old at the time of writing) I can't stop looking at it. It's a got a blue face and it looks like the sort of watch spies or explorers wear in the movies, the sort of watch the camera cuts to whenever the time is brought up. It's stainless steel with a leather stitched strap, its perfect in every way. And it's heavy too. The last thing I want is light watch. In fact, before buying any Swatch watch make sure you see it in the flesh. When I arrived at the Swatch shop in London there were watches there that I'd considered buying (while browsing on-line) that were far flimsier than I suspected. The Casual Blue, however, lived up to everything I expected from it so I bought it there and then and left the shop feeling good about myself.

Swatch Casual Blue...

Ever since then I keep looking at it when it's on my wrist. Feel free to ask me the time, I say to people I know. Feel free, and if you do, I'll stretch out my left arm and tell you and you'll notice this huge chunk of stainless steel with a blue dial and a brown leather strap. It's cool, of course it is! And I love it.

So I've finished my tea and the sun is shining and I'm annoyed that I didn't get out on the bike today. Had I gone out, I'd be on the way back now, probably about half an hour away from my front door, but I didn't go out, I stayed in and there's a puncture in the garage waiting for me to fix it. Oooh! Is that the time? Better go.

A thorough drenching on Saturday and a puncture on Sunday

Tuesday 5th November: I thought there would be no riding at all this weekend due to poor weather. All week the forecasters had been saying that Saturday would be a wash-out, but when I checked the weather app on my iphone, the rain clouds of previous days had been replaced by a cloud without the blue rain underneath it, not until 0900hrs at any rate; that was when the rain was expected to fall, and, by and large, that's exactly what happened.

A pleasant and autumnal start to Saturday but later rain

Andy and I met on the green as usual and then headed off in the direction of Botley Hill along the 269. We'd decided to ride to the bus stop, the slow way, and while I felt sufficiently out of condition, having not enjoyed a long ride since 6 October, I soon found I was powering along Beddlestead Lane and was clearly not as unfit as I thought I was. We reached the bus stop and drank our tea while discussing Brexit and then it started to rain so we remained under the shelter of the bus stop until the rain stopped.

There was, I figured, a good chance that we'd escape a soaking. When Andy and I parted at The Ridge, I was thinking I could power along the 269 and get home before the rain starts up again, but no, it wasn't going to happen. A mild drizzle started and before I reached Slines Oak Road the rain was falling by the ton and I took refuge under a bus shelter opposite Sainsbury's, but not for long. I figured the rain was settling in for the long haul so I put on a brave face and headed for the green and, ultimately, Sanderstead. In the process, I was soaked, drenched, whatever other adjective you might care to use. but I was wet-through. The rain persisted and there was simply no point in taking shelter anywhere so I continued on my way, through the high street, down Church Way and when I reached home I had to peel my clothes off and hang them up to dry.

Fortunately, they were dry on Sunday morning and when I woke up at 0600hrs there was no rain, just a huge puddle on the roof of next door's extension. But when I headed outside to jump on the bike, having made the tea for the ride, I found my rear tyre was flat - again! I aborted and set about fixing the puncture a little later. It's ready to ride now, but there's no time as I've got a family event to attend and looking at the week ahead, it looks like more rain.

Christmas decorations spotted in Marks & Spencer, Sutton. Not long to go!

Feeling slightly depressed about the whole thing I left the bike in the garage and now I'm contemplating the week ahead and whether my early morning rides will be disrupted by the weather. Monday (yesterday) was fine and today (Tuesday) looks roughly the same, although rain is promised at lunch time. In other words, I will be going out shortly on a ride round the block. Unless, that is, I find a puncture. And the answer to that question is no, I didn't have a puncture, but I left the house late and decided to return and get to work on time. I'll go tomorrow morning, on time. I need to do at least three rides per week, so Monday, Wednesday and Friday is fine.

Leaving Brussels and heading home...

Breakfast in the hotel was fine, not the best, but not the worst either. I started with scrambled egg, mushrooms and one tiny sausage and followed up with a bowl of Coco Pops (I haven't had them for ages). Add a couple of paper cups of tea (I chose the paper mugs because they were bigger than the tiny cups) and a small pastry plus some yoghurt and another bowl of Coco Pops. You might think I was being greedy on the breakfast cereal, but I wasn't, the bowls were about the size of a teacup. I was tempted to have another pastry, but resisted, and soon, having checked out, found myself crossing town in a taxi.

6th floor, NH Hotel Brussels Grand Place...

Around midday I headed back to the Grand Place as I wanted to take a look at a watch, which I now intend to buy (it's better than the Sekonda Midnight Blue). But I didn't buy it, I just looked at it longingly and then continued to wander about looking for somewhere to eat lunch, until I realised that time was running out and I ought to be heading for Brussels Midi station instead and the 1456 Eurostar to London. I walked back to the hotel, feeling, it has to be said, a little weary and depressed having awoken around 0300hrs and not falling back to sleep. In fact, I  got up around 0430ish, or just before 0500hrs, and really need to sleep. The taxi meandered through heavy traffic, but got me there in time to have 'lunch' at a Pret a Manger on the station concourse (ham baguette, two bananas, cookie and tea). I sat outside the store watching people running around catching trains here, there and everywhere and eventually, of course, it was my turn to head for the barriers and, being an international train, the faff of security.

The ride home in seat 81, coach 13 was pleasant and I did fall asleep. Soon we were in the tunnel, crossing under the English Channel, and by just gone 1600hrs I was back at King's Cross St Pancras, annoyed that Hatchard's the bookstore had disappeared. I made my way to the London Underground, jumped on a southbound train to London Bridge where I jumped out and bought an inner tube for my bike from Evans Cycles. My weekly short rides around the block were brought to an abrupt halt on Wednesday morning when I discovered a rear-wheel puncture.

I got home to an empty house and decided to fix the puncture before anybody else turned up. This I did and then I sat and watched television. There's a General Election on 12 December, the first winter election for around 100 years. There's also been a fire on a train in Pakistan, England's rugby team plays in the World Cup Final this coming Saturday against South Africa, and Donald Trump is interfering with the English election by suggesting to Nigel Farage on his LBC radio show that he do a deal with Boris Johnson. Can you honestly think of two people less qualified to run the country as Farage and Johnson? I can't. In all honesty, while I know there's a lot of right wing press against him, I think I'll vote for Corbyn and set the cat among the pigeons for the next five years. Who cares if he taxes my back garden and lets in loads of immigtants, they're coming in anyway and that, my friends, is the irony of Brexit. A lot of people voted Brexit because of immigration and don't kid me they were frightened of Spanish accountants, they thought it would get rid of the bhurkas and all those nasty foreigners from Somalia and Eritrea with different skin colours to ours, those 'fuzzy wuzzies', but the racists were wrong and they were conned. Non-EU migrants are coming in droves and there's been no let-up by the Government. They reckon our population will hit 70 million in the not-too-distant future and I'm waiting for the bigoted Brexiteers to realise they've been conned and hopefully, in the North East, that moment of realisation will come shortly after Nissan has moved elsewhere and they're all out of work. "But how did you vote in the referendum, Mr Unemployed and On Benefits? Oh, you voted Brexit did you? Well, you only have yourself to blame!"

The weather is looking very poorly and I'm expecting some abort texts this weekend. There's rain setting in and that means no riding. Why I bothered fixing the puncture I'll never know. I hope we do get out, but normally if there's rain it's in the morning and that's when we go cycling.

Three years ago.

In Brussels...for one night and a day

I travelled on the 1258 Eurostar - a recently refurbished E300, said the guard over the intercom - and all was well. Fortunately, I had lunch at the Station Pantry having cleared security, so there was no need to trampse up and down the train with hot tea and extortionate snacks. Instead I just sat there playing with my iphone. We stopped at Ebbsfleet around 10 minutes after leaving St. Pancras and then I think Calais Frethun followed by Lille and then Brussels Midi. I took a taxi through the congested streets of the city and now I sit in the NH Hotel Brussels Grand Place Arenberg, which would have taken me around half an hour to walk. To be honest, I don't have my trainers otherwise I probably would have hoofed it over here. I'm only in town for one night and then I'm heading home so there's no room for walking shoes.

Room 610 NH Hotels Brussels Grand Place

In fact, talking of walking, I need to really get my act together - along with my colleague Paul in the office - and start up our round-the-town treks. We've given in a little bit to the caff and it's not the way to go.

Anyway, back to Brussels. I'm sitting here at the desk of room 610, a fairly pleasant room with two single beds, a decent-looking bathroom and a minibar stacked with various things, including a tiny Toblerone, which I've eaten. I know, I shouldn't have stayed well clear, and let's face it, I'm not a great fan of the triangular chocolate, but I figured that I was in Belgium so I might as well eat one. Furthermore, there's no restaurant here in the hotel so I'll have to go out later in search of somewhere to eat dinner. There's also no iron or ironing board so I've had to hang a shirt on one of the hangers provided and hope it loses the creases developed while stuffed in my tiny one-night-away suitcase, which is little more than a glorified laptop case. Still, it does the trick. What's the point of a huge piece of luggage for one change of clothes? None at all.

The room is rather cosy and it's got a lot to do with the lighting, which is pleasantly dim and perfect for this time of year. Although the room is fairly modern in terms of furnishings, a smouldering log or coal fire would add to the ambience. There's a flat-screen television on the wall opposite the bed and an office block across the street and because they're still working here in Brussels, I've had to draw the curtains as I don't want nosey office working spying on me.

About to leave St. Pancras Intl...

I'm going to take a wander around, although I know roughly where I am as I've been to Brussels many times before. I'm close to the Grand Place, that's for sure, I mean the hotel has the words Grand Place in its name so it can't be far, but where to eat? There's a great Indian restaurant around here somewhere, called the Spicy Grill, I've written about it before, or rather I've raved about it before and now I might have to seek it out (and risk bad breath in the morning). Which reminds me, I need toothpaste. I always need something. If it's not toothpaste, it's a razor or shaving foam, there's always something missing and it's very annoying as I don't have time to faff around on this trip, it's a whistle-stop visit, one night, a meeting and then home again. I might have a couple of hours tomorrow to do a bit of mooching around, but I don't have the footwear for any serious walking.

When I left the hotel in search of the Grand Place, it was dark. A lot of shops were still open but mostly only those selling fridge magnets, bobble hats and scarves, plus one or two waffle houses with, it has to be said, some pretty imaginative waffles on display. Unfortunately, I'm not a big fan so I passed them by, although I did stop off at the Hard Rock to buy a fridge magnet, adding to my collection of two from Tokyo and Pittsburgh. I wandered into a Swatch retailer and saw the perfect watch for yours truly. It had a blue dial and a brown leather strap and I want it so badly. Don't get me wrong, it's not expensive, not like that Rolex I used to own but was forced to sell to pay off a debt. In fairness, I never wore it and it gained time so it was always, in my opinion, a bit pointless. But that doesn't mean I don't want a decent watch to wear. I looked at it for a long time, prompting the saleswoman to try her luck, but I wasn't buying, not right then at any rate, although buying it in Brussels would give it a back story that it wouldn't possess if I purchased it online. "I bought this in a little shop off the Grand Place in Brussels, you know!" I might say if asked.

I needed to find somewhere to stop and eat dinner and chose Bocconi, a fantastic Italian restaurant where I have been a customer on two previous occasions. It's a very, very nice restaurant, it never ever lets me down and it's worth every penny. I skipped dessert and I don't drink so the bill was a modest 57 Euros and now I'm back in the hotel and will probably go to bed with my book by Laurie Lee. Yes, I'm still reading it, mainly because I don't tend to get a lot of time to sit and read and by the time I get home most nights I'm too tired and there's always something good on the box. Not tonight. Or perhaps there will be something good on, who knows? I'll check it out.

Awaiting dinner in Bocconi, Brussels...

A general election looms back home in the UK and I find myself wondering about all the political parties and how I don't really feel comfortable voting for any of them. Boris Johnson? Well, no, he's a buffoon and a liar and a pompous git and a Tory and they've messed the country up enough and certainly need some time out of power. Jeremy Corbyn? I'd like to vote him, but can I really be so stupid? The bastard wants to tax my back garden, for heaven's sake, and he's keen on letting all and sundry into the country when there's already too many people. Then there's Jo Swinson. She's more like a primary school teacher than the leader of a political party and no, I can't vote for her either. I think the problem is that none of our political leaders have any gravitas, they're not what I would call 'proper politicians' and, therefore, there's nobody worth voting for. I need to sit down and think long and hard about what I want before 12 December, the day of the proposed election, two days after my birthday.

Subterranean Homesick Blues
It's around 0300hrs on the morning of Halloween, when I wake up in the pitch dark and look around. Nothing much is happening, there's the occasional sounds of people talking as my room is right opposite the elevators so when people get back late from some party or other they stand around talking before heading to their rooms. I'm not saying I was woken up by the noise, I just woke up and tried to get back to sleep. But then, for some reason, I started thinking about Bob Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues and found it on Spotify, I simply had to play it, even through the tinny little speaker on my iphone.

Johnny's in the basement

Mixing up the medicine

I'm on the pavement

Thinking 'bout the government

I don't really want to think about the government, not at 0300hrs, but I still listen to the track twice, it's that good, and then I try to sleep, but it's impossible. I got out of bed around five minutes ago and it's now 0511hrs, a great time to sit around writing something - anything for that matter. It's a long way to breakfast, that's all I can say. I'm looking forward to breakfast, there's nothing better than a hotel breakfast and that's for sure, although the restaurant is a bit of goldfish bowl down on the ground floor with windows looking out on the street. Is it worth going back to bed, resetting the alarm to 0630hrs and at least getting around an hour's sleep? Probably not. I can sleep on the Eurostar home.

View from a taxi window in Brussels...

Did I mention that I don't have toothpaste or a razor? I think I did. Oddly, I have a toothbrush and shaving foam so perhaps I should clean my teeth with soap and shave with my toothbrush, although somehow I don't think it'll work. Did I also mention that my room has two single beds pushed together? I might have done. Anyway, I fell between the two while watching the news. They must be on casters and as I was lying across both of them, trying to make myself comfortable, the beds simply went their own way and I ended up between them. Luckily, there was nobody around to witness the spectacle. In fact, talking of spectacle, room 610, and I'm sure other rooms in this hotel, has a toilet observation window, albeit frosted. This is very annoying because normally when I stay in a hotel I leave the light in the bathroom on and the door closed except for a small slit of light, but with an observation window this practice is impossible as the light floods through the glass and on to the bed. That's why I woke up in the dark.

To Woodmansterne Green to meet Bon...

I'd made the tea, I was dressed and ready to head outside and ride to the green to meet Andy when I decided to check the iphone. Andy had aborted and I nearly did too. Having woken up at 0500hrs thinking it was an hour later, I could have simply gone back to bed and it was tempting, but no, I texted Bon to see if he wanted to meet on Woodmansterne Green. He did, so off I went to meet him.

Our bikes on Woodmansterne Green, Sunday morning

Having not been on a ride for a fortnight, I was out of condition and found the ride a little sluggish, especially on the road leading to Woodmansterne Green. Bon met me half way and we both headed towards the green where I produced the tea. The weather was wonderful and we spent a long time drinking tea, wandering about, chatting about stuff and enjoying the warmth of a late October Sunday morning.

Bon and yours truly...

The ride from the green to the Croydon Road was freezing. My face started to ache, that's how cold it was, and I was glad when I made the right turn and headed, largely off-road, towards Foxley Lane. I decided to ride up the steep side of West Hill, which was fairly painless and when I reached home I went straight out again, but in the car, not on the bike. The bike, incidentally, needs a drop of oil. The car took me to mum's and all the way there I listened to Automatic For the People by REM.

It was good to see mum and eat some cake, but soon it was time to head home via the car wash. On the drive home I listened to Iggy Pop. "Here comes my Chinese rug...".

It was a lazy day, which was much needed.

Early morning thoughts on a Sunday morning

It catches me out every year and 2019 was no exception. I woke up, turned to look at the digital clock on the bedside table, noted it was saying 0611hrs and started to wonder why my iphone hadn't woken me up. Last night I had checked that it was set and while it needed charging, which meant I left it downstairs in the hall, plugged to the wall, I knew that I would hear it when it sparked up. Not today. So I got up, found my cycling trousers, jumper, socks and what have you and was about to head downstairs when I remembered: the clocks had gone back. It was really 0511hrs and I found myself with a dilemma. Do I undress and climb back into bed or simply carry on? After a moment's thought I decided to stay up, go downstairs and make some breakfast, listen to classical music and do what I'm doing right now, write this blog post.

It would be misleading of me to say we're 'well into October' because we're more than that: it's Halloween next Thursday and then it's November. Already the bad weather has set in. When the alarm went off yesterday I aborted because when I got out of bed I peered out of the window and noted rain falling hard on next door's roof. Then I climbed back into bed and didn't get out until gone 0700hrs. Saturday was one of those awful, drizzly days when the rain nagged at everybody all day. Everything was wet and miserable and I found myself in a shopping centre in a galaxy far far away looking yearningly at a Sekonda Midnight Blue watch and going as far as trying it on, but not buying it. There never seems to be enough money and that, added to the drizzle and the wet terrazzo flooring of the aforementioned shopping mall added to a cloud of depression that hung over me for the rest of the day.

Now that we're in November, of course, we're into what I've always called 'typical NoVisibleLycra weather'. Grey skies, the threat of rain, cold temperatures, although not that cold, reign supreme as Andy and I cycle somewhere with only the promise of a cup of tea at the end of it. Oh, and the prospect of cycling home again too. But we love it, although sometimes - particularly on Saturdays - I could do with longer in bed, or simply not hearing the alarm at 0600hrs.

Soon the mornings will look like this (if we're lucky!)

It's not yet 0600hrs and I'm sitting downstairs with just one light on listening to Radio 3. Classical music is good when you're writing something as it takes place in the background and never intrudes on the thinking process; in fact, it probably helps things along a little bit and so I sit here, the sleep banished from my head, an empty bowl of cereal and an empty mug on the table next to me looking at the hour stretching before me and the distant thought of being out in the garage, unpadlocking the bike and heading up the road to meet Andy.

It's dark outside, although now that the clocks have gone back, the mornings will be lighter for a week or two before the darkness takes over and Christmas becomes a dawning reality. Already the shops have sprouted Christmas trees, but most sensible people ignore them, for the time being, content to cling on to any last hope of summer weather. Sunrise today was at 0644hrs, roughly 15 minutes ago and the cloud and sun icon on my iphone's weather app means it's going to be a day of sunshine and cloud. Hopefully no rain.

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 Dallas...

There's one phrase I hate hearing. "This is going to be a full flight." It's particularly unwelcomed if I've already enjoyed virtually empty flights (a recent journey from Budapest to London and, of course, an excellent flight from Miami to Monterrey. Well, the flight going from Monterrey to Dallas was full and I was sitting in seat 15F, a window seat, but that was the only hassle, that it was full, there were no other issues, we took off on time, the flight was smooth all the way and now I sit in au bon pain (the bakery cafe) munching on a cheese and ham roll right next to Gate A34 where my flight to London departs at 1705hrs, getting in to London at 0810 on Saturday morning. I'll be in seat 26L, an exit row and a window seat, although I have a sneaky suspicion that there won't be a window.

About to touch down at Dallas Fort Worth airport

I went through US immigration, which seemed to take an age; first there was a kind of self-service system into which I had to key details, including my fingerprints, and then there was one of those zig-zag, back and forth, slalom queues leading to the guy that lets you into the country. Anyway, I'm through, I've done security and now I'm waiting to board. Can you believe that after getting off the plane, going through immigration and then security and arriving at the gate I only had 35 minutes before my London flight boards. It's less than that now, something like 10 minutes. I was expecting to be sitting around here for a couple of hours, enjoying a hot meal and then a bit of writing, but no, that's all gone to shit. In fact, boarding starts in just one minute. Hate it!

Luke warm tea, that's all I'm going to say. Luke warm.

Back in Monterrey I'd had the misfortune of stopping off at The Urban Corner for a cup of luke warm tea and what amounted to a scone. It's amazing how, once you engage with the travel system you start eating shit and getting bad-tempered. Here at Gate A34 there's a lot of people waiting to board. I'm sure they're going to board all the fat bastards that fly business class first, so I'll probably get the chance to finish my mint tea. Don't you just hate people that fly business class? Why are they always fat and ugly people. Always, without fail. Big, fat, beer-gutted bastards. I hate them all.

I got up at 0630hrs this morning and the sun was shining over Monterrey. I had breakfast (another Sunday roast followed by a bowl of cereal and a yoghurt) and then I went back to my room, packed stuff away, checked out, took a cab to the airport and boarded the flight.

I only saw the lobby on check-in and check-out day

Yesterday was a kind of lazy day spent entirely by the pool, but I was working all day long and skipped lunch in the process. I took the lap top to the poolside, wrote 95% of an article based on what I'd been doing in Monterrey and then, around 1830 I had a swim. I went out for a Mexican meal and hit the sack around 2230hrs. Little more to say and they're boarding, so I'd better go. Talk again later.

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.