The Villa Dragoni, Buttrio, Italy...

The Villa Dragoni is arguably the strangest place I've ever stayed. It is a very grand, classical establishment set in some impressive grounds in Buttrio and is surrounded by quiet residential streets where it is possible to walk for miles without seeing a soul. Buttrio is the sort of place where you can walk in the middle of the road, safe in the knowledge that you won't be run over. In the villa (I have been here roughly 24 hours) I have only seen one other person and she is the person looking after the place, alone. I asked her if there was anybody else and she said no and for all I know, I might even be the only guest. It's hard to tell as I've not even come across other rooms. There are no corridors with numbered rooms on either side and my room (room three) is kind of on it's own with nothing on either side of it, I don't have an adjoining room in which I might find another guest. It's all very strange. This afternoon I found that I was locked in the place. The door that led to the staircase which leads down to the 'front desk' – if that's what it can be called, it's never manned by anybody unless they know you're coming, and only then if you call them. Last night my taxi driver pressed the intercom on the main gate and eventually the woman (that's all I know about her, she's a woman) opened the gate, presumably by pressing a buzzer. When I look out of my window when it's light there is nobody around, the villa itself appears empty, all the darkened rooms are echo chambers with no signs of life, there are tables without tablecloths or chairs, lights are off, nobody is home and yet I'm told there are 12 rooms here and with a convention in town you'd be forgiven for thinking that the place would be choc-a-bloc with guests, a full house even, but if it is, I've seen nobody.

The Villa Dragoni, Buttrio, Italy...

Today 'the woman' told me that tomorrow (Wednesday) breakfast would be served downstairs and not in my room, which means that if there is anybody else staying here I might see them. It's going to be an interesting morning. 

I've spent the day looking for the conference venue as I knew it was close by (2km away) but just needed to know in which direction to walk. After a fair bit of faffing around and using the iphone's SatNav (something I've been doing a lot over the past few days) I found it and it works out to be roughly a 30-minute walk through seemingly deserted streets. The well-appointed houses on either side of the streets are quiet and there is no sign of life, except on the Via Nazionale where cars travel in both directions going in and out of town. Restaurants are sparsely populated, similarly teashops, not that I've found many. In one of the latter – let's call it a café as they don't have teashops in Italy – I stopped for a cappuccino and a creme-filled croissant (my new delicacy) and asked for directions to the conference venue. There was a man wearing clothes branded with the name of the company hosting the event and he gave me rough directions which I eventually abandoned, but that might have been because I took the wrong left turn and ended up heading back towards the Villa Dragoni. With dogged determination I set out again this afternoon to find it and find it I did. As I say, roughly 30 minutes. An American woman I met at the location (she lives in Pittsburgh and flew in yesterday from London) told me I might need an umbrella if I'm planning on walking. Oddly, I don't think I have much choice in the matter as getting a cab around here is nigh on impossible, or certainly not at the time I need it. Best to put my faith in walking or even cycling. I know they have a bike for hire and I might take it, but perhaps not tomorrow. Either way, a bike in the rain is definitely off the agenda. Fortunately the event starts at 0930hrs, meaning I can get up early and enjoy a leisurely breakfast before heading off.

This evening I took the train to Udine. It takes all of 10 minutes, but there was no time to buy a ticket so I risked (foolishly) a 200 Euro fine. Fortunately there were no guards on board or they simply couldn't be bothereed to do ticket checks. At the station I met a girl from Albania who worked for the company hosting the event. She had been working in Buttrio for the past four months and I think she lived in nearby Udine. She was going to visit her parents, I was simply looking for somewhere decent to eat dinner and eventually found a really nice, quiet little restaurant where I enjoyed pasta with prawns and pomodoro sauce followed by (foolishly, but then I always fall for it) a tiramisu dessert. I ordered coffee but then realised it would be my fourth of the day. Fearing that I might not sleep I decided not to drink it and instead asked for the very reasonable bill (around 20 Euros). Not drinking alcohol makes all meals cheap although I'm told that some of the best wines in Italy can be found here in Buttrio. It was tempting, but I held my nerve and stuck with the sparkling mineral water. The last thing I want after nearly five years of abstinence is to go back on the booze, back to hangovers and the wrong attitude towards life.

Trains between Buttrio and Udine are few and far between. When I reached Udine station for the return trip I was told that the next one would be in 90 minutes. I couldn't wait that long so I waited (just like yesterday) for a cab outside the station. When I was dropped off outside the gates I fumbled in the dark for my key and eventually gained access, but as I trudged alone along the dark, gravel, tree-lined pathway towards the villa I started to wonder if I would meet 'the woman' or whether I'd have to use the telephone number (which she always answers) to enter the building. She wasn't there, she was nowhere to be seen but the the door was open so I went to my room, up one flight of stairs, and then across an exposed walkway reminiscent in so many ways of those fairground ghost trains where the train briefly reappears to onlookers below before plunging back into the darkness of the ride.

It is strange being here and wondering whether or not I'm alone. Tomorrow will reveal the truth of the situation. 

No thunder storms tonight so I guess I'll get a pleasant night's sleep. I must set my alarm to wake me around 0630hrs so I'll be in time for breakfast. At least being downstairs and (hopefully) with other people I'll be able to ask for milk with my cereal. I must say it feels quite weird being here in this huge old building surrounded by trees and lawns and with a freezing cold swimming pool still flaunting itself to those mad enough to consider a swim (there's a huge and very dead black beetle sitting at the bottom of the deep end). I did think about going in having braved the cold pool in my villa last week, but I'll be honest and say that this time (further north as I am) I didn't fall victim to temptation.

Far too cold for a swim...

It is now 2136hrs and unlike conventional hotels, I can't just go down to the front desk and ask for some peanuts or wander into the gym for a spin on a stationary bike; there's no ice machine in the corridor (there's no corridor!) and there's no elevator, nowhere I can bump into another guest and stand their self-consciously waiting as the numbers count down to the ground floor. The television works, but everything is dubbed in Italian and it's odd watching Ray Winstone in Great Expectations speaking in a gruff Italian voice or Clint Eastwood (ironically) in a 'spaghetti' western, a pasta western perhaps.

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.

To the lakes!

I left the house this morning around 0809hrs, keeping a weather eye on my surroundings and looking out for patrolling police cars and royalists attempting to keep everybody indoors watching the funeral on TV, not that my television is working; it might well be we need a new one. There was little in the way of traffic on the roads and I didn't see a single cop car, let alone marauding royalists and Brexiteers sniffing out anybody with republican tendencies. But who was I kidding? Nobody was going to stop me from cycling, nobody was out to get me and nobody cares what I'm up to. I was, quite simply, in the clear. Today was a long one: a ride to the lakes in Chipstead, Kent. The plan was to meet Andy there at 0930 but there was no flask. Flasks are old money, pre-Covid cycling when we used to sit in fields, on benches, taking shelter from the rain at a covered bus stop. Not any more. There was no meeting point other than at our destination and if you need proof that things have changed in the world of No Visible Lycra just scroll back through the pages of this blog, pick a random year, a random month and you will see how things have changed. Now we meet at our destinations, be it Westerham, Tatsfield or the lakes at Chipstead village in Kent. In many ways, it's better the way it is now, it's simpler. We fix on a venue and we meet there and then we say goodbye until the next time. I think we both prefer it. But sometimes it's good to look back, as I did when we both stood on the small green opposite the pub with the lakes behind us, a lonely paddle boarder making their way across the big lake, presumably from Chevening Sailing Club. 

The Rockhopper on Clarks Lane, Monday 19th September 2022

We are less excitable about being out in all weathers, unlike in the old days. I recalled Twats of the Antarctic and other posts that saw us suffering in snow and rain and sleet and heavy winds, but who wants to risk injury? Not Andy. And who can blame him? Only months ago he almost had to undergo a hip replacement after coming off his bike thanks to black ice on the road. Best to use a turbo trainer as the nights get longer rather than risk another trip to the hospital and the pain of recovery. Andy and I used to boast of being all-weather riders, 12 months per year we were out there, wearing balaclavas and scarfs and heavy jackets, anything to keep the bad weather at bay as we rode out in the dark, past iced-up windscreens and frosted pathways, the grass verges frozen and ice-tipped as we rode towards Warlingham Green, which, to me, resembles a closed railway station. Similarly the Tatsfield Bus Stop, once our refuge from the ravages of winter, now little more than a piece of wood at the top of Approach Road that sometimes I see other riders using. I can't even refer to it anymore as 'our bus stop' because it isn't, and it never was, of course. Only the other day, sitting in the comfort of Sheree's Tearoom in Tatsfield village, I pointed out that the old wooden bus stop opposite the Ship pub, was also one of our 'homes', another of our shelters from the storm, but now we sit in the warmth of the cafe with tea served in china cups and possibly a slice of cake. In short, we prefer our comfort. Visiting the caff used to be a rare treat, something we savoured, but now it's routine, something we always do and let's face it we both like it; no, wait a minute, we love it! I can't think of anything better than visiting Costa at the end of an 11-mile ride to Westerham or a 10-mile ride to Oxted where I have the choice of Costa, Caffe Nero or Starbucks. And I know I've been going on and on about how great the weather has been, but it has, it's been wonderful. I checked today and ever since April I've been riding to places like Biggin Hill and Oxted on a Saturday morning and stopping for tea or coffee in the sunshine, relaxing in the open air. The sun has been shining all year and as the year has progressed the temperatures have increased. I've been riding to work, as you know, in the heat, and riding back, in the heat. Only now have things changed. There is a nip in the air, I'm wearing the gloves again and I'm putting on a hat under my helmet to keep warm... and it's only September. But listen, even now, mid-September, it's warm, but a little cooler in the early mornings.

Andy and our bikes at Chipstead lakes, Kent, 19th September

I rode the usual route to the lakes, along Pilgrims Lane all the way, turning right towards Chipstead Village and sailing into the village where, it transpired, I was first to arrive. I answered the call of nature behind a bush and when I stepped back on the stage of the green there was Andy. He too had followed Pilgrims Lane and was riding his mountain bike. Andy had bought a Thermos flask with enough water for a couple of cups of coffee. I bought some water with me, but opted for a cup of Andy's instant coffee, which did the job. We chatted about the instransigence of managers in business and how they have no idea of how to incentivise their staff to make money for the business. That and our reminiscing about old times and those extreme weather jaunts summed up our chat, we paid scant attention to the lake itself because there wasn't that much to see... and let's face it, we've seen it all before, although it's worth pointing out that for a very long time both of us have tended to visit the lakes alone, normally on a whim when either myself or Andy wasn't riding. I think the last time I was there was during the pandemic. I remember it well because when I reached the patch of green in front of the pub there was a honey monster soft toy on one of the benches and that might well have been the last time I was there. Andy's the same, sometimes he says he rode to the lakes alone. But there have been some great rides to the lakes, like back in April 2011 when we rode there with Andy's pal Richard and overdid the Nuptial Ale (in celebration of the wedding of Prince William to Kate Middleton).

The lakes - it's been a long time since we've been here together

The lakes has always been one of those far-off destinations for a regular weekend ride, it's that extra five miles beyond Westerham and it's always been rare to visit purely because we've all got other things to do. But not today. Today is the day of the Queen's funeral, 19 September 2022 and with nothing on television but that event and a lot of people staying in to watch it, a ride to the lakes seemed like a good idea as no coffee shops would be open and that's why we needed the flask. Last night I saw one in Sainsbury's, or it might have been the night before, but it was £28! That's a lot of money to fork out for a small flask, and, as Andy rightly remarked, there's little point as these days we rarely do what we used to do, ie sit at the Tatsfield Bus Stop where there is no Costa or Starbucks and, therefore, the need for a flask of hot water and some tea bags is very real. 

Crossing over motorways on the return ride out of Chipstead

I never checked my watch so I have no idea of what time we left, but I got home around 1145hrs. We rode out of Chipstead village together but Andy then bade me farewell and sped up; soon he was out of sight. You must remember that Andy is now super fit in cycling terms, he rides long distances and takes them in his stride, he's lost a lot of weight and he's certainly faster than I am. I don't want to hold him back. Don't get me wrong. I'm much fitter too than I was during the pre-Covid days. Remember that back then we tended to ride once or twice a week and only three times when there was a bank holiday. Today I'm trying to put in four rides per week, two of them to Redhill where I work as the ride back is a real work-out. Andy has a trainer in his garage and can be found on it virtually every day (if the weather looks iffy) and then he cycles with Oxted CC on a Saturday morning and can cover as much as 80 miles depending on the route taken. So things have changed, but for the best I think, we're both fitter for a start, which is a good thing, and long may it continue.

Corn fields on Pilgrims Lane on the return ride

On the way home...

A bad week, just two rides...

It is the day before the Queen's funeral. For the past 10 days or so the media in all its forms have gone on about nothing else. It's all been very boring and depressing. Some people have been really foolish, they've been queuing for hours on end so that they can walk past the Queen's coffin which, up until today, has been lying in state. Today is the last day as the Queen will end up later on at Windsor Castle, her final resting place, and the world will go back to normal. Here in the UK we'll have to endure Liz Truss, our new PM. Let's hope not for much longer.

On the cycling front, not a good week it has to be said. Rain (or the threat of it) stopped me riding in but there were other factors. My plan to ride on Friday was scuppered as I had to wait around at home for a phone call that never came and then it was too late to ride in so I took the train. I managed a ride yesterday to Oxted, which was pleasant, bringing my weekly total to just two rides, one last Sunday, one on Saturday. My new cycling week starts on a Sunday (yesterday) so today's ride is my second this week.

The Rockhopper in Westerham last Sunday...

It was a good ride, but it's important to point out that the weather has changed and it's much colder now than it has been. I wore a heavy fleece, which seemed to do the trick. The ride was pleasant as there was sunshine. In fact, the last couple of days have been amazing in a strange sort of way, very evocative of something, the past clearly, but evocative nonetheless. I rode along the 269 towards Botley Hill and then straight across the roundabout and down Titsey Hill towards my destination (Oxted). Riding down Titsey Hill is more unpleasant than riding up as the road is pitted and furrowed and shakes the bike, making me feel slightly nauseous. But it's short-lived and soon I am riding into Limpsfield Village, turning right and then left into Granville Road. There's something liberating about riding along Granville in the morning sunshine. I've been doing it all year, since around April, and sitting outside of either Starbucks or Caffe Nero drinking tea or a cappuccino or even a green tea. Yesterday I had an amazing brew: Jasmine Flames tea from Teavana, very nice. I sat outside of Starbucks having parked the bike outside Caffe Nero and walked down the high street. Oxted is such a nice place and it's fantastic in the sunshine. All summer I've been doing this, on a Saturday, riding to Oxted, picking my venue and then enjoying the early morning hustle and bustle of the town, people passing by on their way to the gym, mums with prams, dads with young children, middle-aged couples enjoying a coffee, solitary figures reading a broadsheet, all part of life's rich tapestry.

I tend to find myself in a charity shop next door to the Caffe Nero, just for a brief wander around and yesterday was no exception. I went in wearing my crash helmet and cycling gear and stood by a small carousel of paperbacks, picking one or two up and then putting them back on the rack. As I was doing this a young girl let out a loud scream as she passed me, presumably when I moved to place a book back where I found it. She made me jump. It turned out she thought I was a mannequin and was shocked when I moved, which is odd because the shop doesn't have any mannequins. Weird, but we all enjoyed a laugh off the back of it.

Andy's Kona in Westerham last week

I rode back up Titsey Hill (16%) and initially had trouble with the gears, but managed to crank the bike down to the lowest gears before the climb commenced. I find that Titsey Hill is really easy. It's long, but it's not difficult and the ride up the hill is pleasant as there are trees on either side and peace and quiet and then suddenly there's a road sign which signals the approaching mini roundabout and the B269. The rest of the ride is straightforward, past the Botley Hill Farmhouse pub and straight down towards Warlingham and then Sanderstead and home. I stopped off at the garage to give my bike a jet clean. The plan now is to clean the chain. I'm also getting a strange knocking, which is more pronounced when I stand up on the pedals. It's on the left hand side and while I expect everybody to say it's the bottom bracket, it can't be because I've only just had a new one installed (when I last got a service) and I can't believe it can go again that quickly, ie within a year.

I've just come back from a Washpond Weeble, which I managed in record time (1hr and 3 minutes). I've shaved 13 minutes off of my time and it makes me feel good. I whizzed round at a rough but constant 12 miles/hr and took all the inclines with ease (there are no hills on the Weeble).

Washpond Weeble: I shaved 13 minutes off of my usual time...

I had planned to ride to Biggin Hill this morning, but my plans were scuppered once again, this time by having to give people lifts to stations. The Weeble was an afterthought, a chance to at least get out and not have a Sunday without a ride.

Summer rides

The summer rides have been good. Ever since that first train strike back in June when I 'took to the streets' on the bike, I've been enjoying some amazing rides to and from Redhill in what can only be described as amazing weather. The 12-mile ride into the office is pleasant and mostly on fairly quiet roads, and the ride back is the same but uphill and it can be pretty daunting. I've worked out the trouble spots (the places where I need to be careful) and I think I can honestly say that I'm au fait with the route there and back.

Rockhopper close to Rectory Lane last Sunday...

As a result of the riding I've lost weight (I'm almost 12 stone). I've lost around a stone, which is good and I hope to keep it off, but I've started to lapse. Just a few minutes ago I weighed myself and I'm still just over 12 stone, but the lapsing has started. A bit of rain has kept me off the bike. This week I rode three times (if you include my planned ride today to Oxted) which is fine and I shouldn't fret about it, but ultimately I should be doing a minimum of four rides per week (two at the weekend and two during the week). So it's either Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday or throw in Wednesday too (actually, make that Friday). But last week I lapsed. Again, I shouldn't fret about it. What I should be fretting about is that I'm not regularly updating the blog as much as I used to, the whole thing has gone off the boil a bit. So, here I am, trying to get back into the whole thing.

At the moment, my bike sounds like a wood-burning stove and Andy reckons I need to clean the chain. There's also a problem with the gears (and Andy reckons I need to clean the chain). He's probably right and I will do it and that will (hopefully) save me the money on a planned gear service I was looking in to. I'm finding that changing down the front cogs often leads to the chain coming off and because it's so grubby I end up with my hands covered in thick, black grease. Invariably the problem occurs as I ride up White Hill Lane. I go to change down and the chain comes off or it doesn't come off but simply doesn't change down, leaving me to tackle the hill, the awful hill, in the middle cog at the front. It's possible, thanks to my improving fitness, but it's challenging to say the least. So that needs to be sorted. And yesterday I started to realise that if I'm going to continue into the winter with the rides to work I'm going to have to get some decent lights, something that has always eluded me. Lights that are USB-chargeable aren't the answer, although I have a particularly bright set of front lights that will need charging up as the nights draw in. I also need to sort out my brakes, or rather I will soon have to sort out my brakes. All that down-hill braking on White Hill Lane on the outward journey is bound to take its toll soon and I need to be ready. 

Another shot of the Rockhopper last Sunday

My fitness levels are certainly improving although, as I said at the beginning of this post, I'm starting to lapse a little. Let's talk about this for a while. My campaign to lose weight started when I was in Prague. I slowed down on the food front, ate a healthy breakfast in the hotel, started to drink green tea, and then, when I flew home I upped the ante a little bit. I tried to carry on my 'no bread' thing, which I started in Prague, and I succeeded and found myself weighing just over 12 stone. It was the cycling too, not just the lack of bread in my diet, but put the two together and I was starting to look a little lithe, which was good. One helped the other: the weight improved the cycling, the cycling improved the weight situation and long may it continue. The hot weather helped too as I found myself eating less, enjoying (heaven forbid) a salad, not eating loads of potatoes and so forth. But of late I've found myself back on my latest addiction: toast and honey. I need to slow down on that front. I've been reasonably good on lunches, and dinners have been fine, although the approaching autumn has prompted the odd roast dinner, I bought a packet of milk chocolate digestives at work last week and wasn't satisfied until they had gone, so little bad habits are creeping in. And I keep thinking that a combination of cycling less because of the poor weather and, perhaps, the odd chocolate bar and, of course, the hassle created by people celebrating birthdays at work (and bringing in tins of Celebrations, 44 calories per chocolate) are going to mess things up. But I didn't do too badly today: had a small cake and a cup of tea for lunch and a small slice of bread with half of an avocado on top and then for dinner tonight a vegetarian dish cooked by yours truly (aubergine, courgette, onion, garlic and a tin of tomatoes, plus pasta). It was fantastic, even if I do say so myself.

To Oxted for a cappuccino (and a pastry)...

Alright, I had a pastry this morning, a cinnamon swirl to accompany my large cappuccino, that's something else I've started up again, frothy coffees. Got to get back to green teas and nothing much else. I rode to Oxted this morning to meet my pal Garth. The ride was good although I'm not keen on riding down Titsey Hill as the road is so bumpy it actually makes me feel quite ill. The handlebars and the whole bike shakes and so does my body, but eventually, when the road levels and smooths out, I sailed into Oxted, rode up the High Street and there was Garth at the Caffe Nero. We chatted about this and that and after reaching a chilled out state we rode home again. I rode up Titsey Hill as always and got home just over an hour after I left.

The bike needs a clean, I need to get the rust off of the forks, I need to clean the chain and I might need a gear service, but not yet. Tomorrow (Sunday) it's Westerham to meet Andy so let's hope the weather holds, I think it will.

On Pilgrims Lane on the way home from Westerham

It's now Monday morning and I've got to go to work but just to say that the weather did hold yesterday, it was a very pleasant day although there was a little bit of mist at Botley Hill and as I descended into Westerham. Costa was closed until noon so we found ourselves in a small cafe on the other side of the street. I ordered a cappuccino and an almond croissant and found myself chatting to Andy about Duncan Bannatyne after two brand spanking new ice creams vans went by and I remembered that Bannatyne started off in the world of business as an ice cream man. We also reminisced about ice cream vans of old, the sound of Greensleeves on a summer's afternoon and, of course, Mr Whippy ice cream cones. I enjoyed a Mr Whippy at the Boathouse cafe in Felpham yesterday week ago and very nice it was too. 

Andy was on his racer so I knew he would be way ahead of me within yards of departing so I wished him well and continued on up the hill alone. 

25 August 2022 - Flight BA779 Stockholm Arlanda to London Heathrow

You can tell when it's time to engage with the UK after a few days out of the cuntry. Since Monday there have been no queues and nobody moaning, but today it started again. When I arrived at check-in points 19-21a I was greeted by a queue of people standing in front of empty seats where the BA staff were supposed to be sitting. So typical that there was nobody there, but like everybody else I waited in line. BA staff eventually arrived and started the process of checking in bags. I asked for a window seat and of course there was none available because (for the first time this week) it was a full flight. The hassles, the disappointments, had started, I thought as I was handed my boarding pass which displayed a middle aisle seat and let me make this clear: the plane had two aisles with three seats per row, there was no middle aisle. It's only a short flight, but I could still do with a window. Sadly not, though, as it's a full flight. I'm now a little more miffed that I was when I woke up this morning, but I set about the task of making the most of last few hours in Stockholm.

Last snack before heading to Arlanda airport

I've got to reach page 200 before I leave here!

Breakfast at the hotel was pleasant, consisting of green tea, muesli with seeds and sultanas and a few mini cookies, not forgetting an amazing cinnamon roll. I went to my room afterwards and packed things away, had a shower - having originally considered not bothering - and then I went to the front desk and asked them to look after my bags while I cavorted around the city for the last time. Actually, 'cavorting' was not what I was doing, I was just milling around looking for somewhere to chill and read my book. It was, if you like, a last wander around town. I went to a place called Brod and Salt, two foodstuffs/ingredients I wasn't that happy about when you consider that bread contains a fair amount of salt so why have bread and salt? Why double the dose of bad health? I ordered a cappuccino and a sticky blueberry pastry that I regretted the moment I took possession of it and then I set about reading Philip Roth's American Pastoral which I'll admit I'm struggling with, but I must finish it as I borrowed it from a colleague and it's her favourite book, but I'll be honest and I will tell her I struggled. Listen, the jury is out until I finish it, the whole book might redeem itself before the end, who knows? The aim was to reach page 200 before heading to the airport and I made it.

Room 341 Scandic Malmen

I considered another coffee but didn't bother. I went back to the hotel, retrieved my suitcase from the luggage room in the basement and then headed for the metro and a short trip to the airport on the Arlanda Express. It wasn't long before I found myself at Arlanda airport and, despite saying I wouldn't eat anymore until I arrived in the UK, I consumed with gusto a cheese and ham baguette and a paper mug of tea. I made the mistake of going to the gate, which in this case meant going through passport control and not being able to go back to the shops and restaurants. There was nothing but a small kiosk, but I bought a bar of Marabou milk chocolate (Sweden's equivalent of Finland's Fazer brand, I'm guessing). It's comfort food.

The thought of a middle aisle seat continued to bug me as did the weather in the UK which was supposed to be bad, ie cloud and rain, just what I don't like when I'm flying. In Stockholm the weather was sunshine and blue skies, but I figured that at some point on the flight things would change and I would be looking down at thick cloud knowing that sooner or later I'd be descending through the murk to the UK below. What an awful thought. Heathrow airport. It normally means endless circling until a runway becomes free, although the captain said something about arriving ahead of schedule so we might avoid the crap of going round and round and round in thick cloud wondering if we'll hit another plane circling in the other direction. I tend to think of the worst when I'm flying, but I keep my thoughts to myself. I heard a voice on the Tannoy system making a last call for a flight to Helsinki and I started to wish I was on that plane, which would probably be half empty and I'd definitely get a window seat. Anything for the tranquility of a country with just 5.5 million people. Frankly, I'm amazed at how empty Helsinki airport was when I flew to Stockholm (see previous post). There was nobody around and it was wonderful. Stockholm was busier and I'm expecting the usual shit show at Heathrow immigration... and then the awful and extortionate Heathrow Express to Paddington, which is far preferable to a taxi ride home listening to the rantings of a bigoted Brexiteer going on about Siddique Khan, the Mayor of London. I'm scheduled to board a BA flight which is full-to-bursting and I'll be sitting in the middle seat. Life couldn't get much worse if it tried, I thought to myself, hoping that they might cancel the flight and put me up in a hotel overnight so I can regroup, get a window seat and fly back in the morning. I always have these thoughts and I should be careful what I wish for (avid readers will recall my last trip to Pittsburgh in May, and will know exactly what I'm talking about).

Stairwell at the Scandic Malmen

Two cunts have turned up. Former colleagues who haven't seen each other for some time. One of them now has two kids and is married and living in Battersea. The other says he used to live in Balham. I know the type, fucking awful, so I moved away just in case they say something that makes me want to vomit. The plane arrived at the gate and it's now just a matter of boarding and getting home.

The flight was fine all the way, even sitting in the middle seat was fine. I didn't speak to the person on my right who spent the entire flight - all two hours and 10 minutes - on his laptop, but I briefly had a word with the lady to my left who was knitting a small octopus for a charity that had something to do with premature babies.

Foodwise, a KitKat and an awful cup of coffee: a paper mug of hot water with a coffee bag thrown in. The member of the cabin crew who served me was raving about how good it was, but to me it was like muddy water. She kept saying it gave Costa Coffee a run for its money but let me tell you this, it was nowhere near. I wanted a proper bar of chocolate but the KitKat was all they had and let's not forget the Tyrell's potato chips and the small bottle of mineral water. British Airways love to reinforce the class divide between coach and business class, they even draw a small grey curtain across to block out the plebs in economy so that the posh people in Club Europe or whatever it's called don't have to listen to us salivating over what delicacies they have to eat compared to the crap we're given. I'd love to run amok with a tin of paint but I'm sure I'd be arrested and fined and banned from flying for years, which wouldn't go down too well, and besides, is it even possible to bring a tin of Dulux on to a plane? Probably not.

The plane did arrive ahead of schedule and I had to wait an age for the baggage handlers to load the luggage from the flight on to baggage reclaim conveyor number 11. But once I had my bag I sailed through customs with my kilo of cocaine* and made my way to the Heathrow Express (£25). I took the Bakerloo to Oxford Circus, changed on to the Victoria Line and when I reached Victoria jumped on a train to Sanderstead. Trip over.

* Joke, alright? Not serious. I know how sensitive we all are these days.

Leaving Helsinki for Stockholm...

I thought about walking from Helsinki's central station to the hotel using my iphone's SatNav, but I didn't get very far and decided instead to go against the grain of my own thinking and jump into a taxi. We got stuck in a small jam but soon I found myself checking in to the Scandic Paasi and making my way to room 602 which was at the end of a corridor on the 6th floor and oddly in the same position (albeit in a different hotel) as the room in which I stayed the last time I was here, back in February 2020 and also in a Scandic property. In Finland all the doors open outwards (it's a fire precaution). I've probably mentioned that before too. I think it might be the same in Sweden too and, therefore, I'm guessing it's the same in Norway, who knows? Next time I find myself in Oslo I'll know for sure. The room was pleasant and after dinner I sat and watched an episode of Top Gear, the one when they go to Australia to herd cows using their cars. Mildly amusing and enjoyable to watch and I'm now looking forward to the next Grand Tour on September 16th on Prime. The following day was relatively free. Well, the morning was relatively free. I had to be on a flight to Stockholm at 1425hrs which, miraculously, would get me into the Swedish capital at exactly the same time so I amused myself by going to the gym and getting some much-needed exercise. I jumped on an exercise bike, set it for 60 minutes on a high setting (17 out of 20) and then sweated my way through what was quite a work-out. By the time I got off the bike and wiped it down I was in need of wiping myself down. The tee-shirt I had been wearing was wet through with sweat and I'm sure those in the lift moments later were looking at me in disgust as, to be fair, I must have been whiffing somewhat. But not for long. Once back in room 602 I took a shower and then packed up ready to leave the hotel. There was a metro station virtually next door and I rode the train for two stops to the central station and then took the sky train (was that it's name?) to the airport where I found everything very simple and easy. Why? Because there was nobody around. Remember that Finland only has a population of 5.5 million and they have a bigger land mass than the UK (where the population approaches 70 million). So there was nobody around and it was fantastic. I checked in my bags immediately, security was a doddle and soon I found myself in an empty airport wandering towards gate 36a to catch my short flight to Stockholm. I was amazed at the lack of people, it was fantastic and yes, before you ask, I could live in Finland. The stark contrast between Finland and the UK was all around me. There's probably no better way of illustrating the lack of people than showing you a few photographs (you can see some in the previous post, but here's some more).

I could get used to this. Helsinki airport is like a ghost town.

 

Empty, no people, lovely!

Where is everybody?

Hardly anybody around at Helsinki airport

Helsinki airport is empty, nobody around, brilliant!

This is what I like, hardly any people...

Nobody around...

Nobody around at Helsinki airport

But things changed when I reached Stockholm. The flight was pleasant and virtually empty and after touching down I made my way to baggage reclaim where I encountered people. Oh no! Not people! It was the last thing I needed, crowds of travellers, but I was one too so I couldn't really complain. There were sniffer dogs at customs and once through the other side I made my way to the railway station to take the Arlanda Express into the city and to my hotel the Scandic Malmen, which in my opinion wasn't as good as the Scandic Paasi in Helsinki. There was a big reception area and I vaguely remember not staying here but coming to the lobby on a previous visit to Stockholm when I was staying in the Nofo hotel. At the time I remember thinking that it would be a good hotel to book should I ever find myself back in the Swedish capital. Well, there I was, in the Scandic Malmen about to check in to room 702; actually, I can't remember the exact number, which is just as well as the room stank to high heaven because there was a drainage issue, and I couldn't stay there, the whiff was too much, so I bowled down to reception with a view to finding another hotel if I had to; the man on the front desk, who resembled Rutger Hauer's replicant in Blade Runner, looked for another room and initially said he didn't have one, but eventually I was given room 341 on the third floor which, compared with the room on the seventh floor, was tiny and had a very cramped bathroom. Not brilliant it has to be said and because of 'the environment' they weren't going to be cleaning my room daily, which meant I'd return later to an unmade bed, nothing more depressing than an unmade bed. The last time a hotel said it wasn't going to be cleaning my room was in Pittsburgh in May at the Hilton Garden on Forbes Avenue. I spent a week in that hotel and whenever I returned to my room there was my unmade bed competing with Tracey Emin's work of art. I suppose I could have made the bed myself, but that would have been missing the point. During my stay in the Pittsburgh Hilton Garden I ended up with a foot infection that later needed two weeks of treatment with antibiotics, and bearing in mind that the only place my feet were exposed to the outside world was in the hotel room, I'm guessing that's where I picked it up. Anyway, fortunately I picked nothing up in room 341. 

I was in Sweden for two days conducting interviews and meetings. Prior to the first one, which was on the other side of town to the Malmen, I found an amazing little bakery. I'd been up at the crack of dawn, had a quick breakfast in the hotel and then took the metro to Hotorget from where I walked the rest of the way. It was fairly easy using the iphone's SatNav and I reached the bakery at 0730hrs. My meeting was scheduled for 0900hrs so I settled in with a couple of bakery items and two cappuccinos. It was Wednesday, half way through the week, and I'd resigned myself to not getting much in the way of exercise. But I suppose the two bakery items were a bit excessive... and the two cappuccinos. After the interview I walked back across the city. I didn't do too badly until the very end of the journey when the SatNav confused me again and I think I probably walked around in circles a few times before finally finding my hotel. Half way back I stopped for lunch and sat outside in the sunshine. It was hard to believe I was in Sweden as I could easily have been in Italy or the South of France. I ordered salmon with asparagus and skin-on potatoes, plus a Carlsberg (no alcohol beer). It was pleasant and prepared me for the rest of the journey back to the Malmen. I had one more interview to do. I got back to my hotel around 1430 hrs and went straight to my second appointment which was around a 20-minute walk away. The person I was interviewing had joined me for dinner the night before and we had sat outside in the warm evening air chatting about this and that. All very pleasant. But now it was over and we'd said farewell and it was early evening and I had time to kill. I wandered up a few streets as the light faded and found an Italian restaurant where I ordered a pizza and salad with another alcohol-free beer (make that two) and then I wandered back to the hotel knowing that tomorrow I'd be flying back to the UK – what an awful thought. Back to Liz Truss and Rishi Sunak and all the shite I left behind earlier in the week. I wasn't looking forward to landing on UK soil and I wasn't looking forward to the flight either, with British Airways as opposed to Finnair. It was as if a little bit of the UK had flown over to Sweden to pick me up and return me to the shite of the cuntry. Yes, I'm back to taking the 'o' out of country, it's that bad, in fact it's much worse than it was the last time I bastardized the word. Still, back I must go, but I had a few hours to go and most of it, of course, would be spent sleeping. I switched off the lights, drew back the curtains and lay on the bed thinking bad thoughts.

In the morning I discovered there was a gym in the hotel but it was too late to start building up a sweat. Instead I decided to enjoy breakfast and managed to eat a handful of small cookies on top of my original healthy muesli-based breakfast and then there was a rather nice cinnamon pastry slice that I enjoyed immensely. But I'd also started fretting about what I was eating and how much exercise I'd be doing on my return to Shitsville. After breakfast I nipped out and found a cafe where I bought a blueberry pastry and a cappuccino. I later considered another coffee and another pastry before resigning myself to the fact that I needed to get to the airport. I went back to the Malmen where I had left my suitcase in a room in the basement and then rolled down the street towards the metro and the start of my journey home. Here's some more images...

The Arlanda Express into Stockholm city centre...

People! At Stockholm's baggage reclaim area.

Lobby of the Scandic Malmen in the early hours.

View from room 341, Scandic Malmen

Beers with my pizza meal.

Coffee and a pastry before an important interview.

I bought these in the early hours...

The British Airways flight to London Shitsville.

The hours passed by and soon it was time to board the UK flight. It was, of course, a full flight, as I might have said already, and I had the misfortune of sitting in the middle seat, which wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but I was still annoyed about the middle seat and about going home. I was now sitting in a little slice of England which was going to take me home and dock with the mother ship. I ordered coffee and a KitKat and then just sat there occasionally looking out of the window to assess whether there was going to be any turbulence. There wasn't any, the flight was perfect. I sat next to a woman who was knitting a small octopus for a charity supporting mothers who suffer premature births. We landed safely and because I hadn't booked a return cab I jumped aboard the Heathrow Express into Paddington, took the Bakerloo to Oxford Circus, the Victoria Line to Victoria and then a direct train home.

22 August 2022 - Flight AY1332 London Heathrow to Helsinki...

The taxi to Heathrow was fine. I was left alone, which is the main thing and that was thanks to the driver not being English and, therefore, not being a racist or a bigot, like some of the British taxi drivers I've experienced on past trips. Very little conversation passed between us and I was allowed to look out of the window and engage in my own thoughts. Perhaps that should be 'engage with my own thoughts'. I reached the airport with plenty of time to chill out before I departed, that is after passing through security, which is always very annoying. Fortunately, I didn't have to take off my shoes. That said, despite not having any metal on my person, the alarm still went off and I was forced to use the body scanner.

Flight to Helsinki...

Finding somewhere to eat did prove problematic as everywhere I had to queue. First at The Curator so I didn't bother; then at Caffe Nero so I gave that a miss and then I found no queue at Wagamama so I took my seat, decided on what I wanted to eat and waited for somebody to take my order; but they didn't so I upped and left and then found a table at a very pink and girly establishment, which had once been Oriel. I was, of course, in Terminal 3, but the restaurant in question was rubbish. A couple to my left were already moaning to the manager about the dry and stodgy nature of the baked goods they had purchased. I had ordered from a menu that I had to request otherwise I was supposed to scan a QR code on the table and use my phone. They couldn't be bothered basically to hand out menus and asking for one caused mutterings from the staff as if I'd asked for something over and above the call of duty. Expecting paying guests to rely upon technology is all about doing as little as possible for the customer... but still asking for the same money. From now onwards, I will always say that my phone is faulty; similarly for paying the bill: I'd rather use my credit card and no, I don't want them to email me a receipt, I want a paper one...go cut down a tree and make it snappy! Not really. Well, not really in the sense that I don't want them to cut down a tree, but that's about it.

Looking out...

I am now onboard the flight and tucking into my second bar of Fazer chocolate (a quality Finnish chocolate brand). This is also mildly annoying as I have been doing very well on losing weight and keeping fit, but this week I'm away from the bike and it looks as if I'll be forced to eat crap on the hoof, like most travellers find themselves doing. I'm not moaning about the chocolate, though, as it is fantastic. But let's get back to the weight loss. First, the cycling to and from work over the past few weeks: it's been great (as you know) and I've managed to lose around a stone, perhaps just under a stone. I'm now (or I was) just a pound or two over 12 stone, thanks to exercise and salads and not too many potatoes. Now I'm away for a week, I've left my shorts on the washing line back home and that means no exercise unless I buy some shorts and that, of course, depends on whether my hotel has a gym with an exercise bike. Let's see.

Nobody around...Finland population 5.5 million

Outside of the plane window I can see clouds below me and blue skies above. The flight time to Helsinki is two hours and 17 minutes and I must say that Finnair has been good. Friendly cabin crew, a vast improvement on British Airways and it has to be said they (the Finnish crew) have a far nicer attitude. I'm looking forward to reaching Helsinki as I'm meeting Illka, somebody I met in New Delhi in 2018. He works for a Finnish company called Pesmel - they're into 'material flow how' - and we're having dinner in town. Then I'm off to Sweden (Stockholm to be precise) where I am planning to interview two people individually about steel making technology. 

View from Room 602, Scandic Paasi

The plane is big, an Airbus 350-900 and I am sitting in seat 23a, there's only one other person in my row and he's in the aisle seat, which means there's a much welcomed space between us which I'm sure we both appreciate. As I write this, we have been in the air for just over one hour which, if you'll excuse the pun, has flown by. The scenery outside the plane hasn't changed much, which is fine by me and there's little else to do other than write or read. Looking at the map, we're over Copenhagen at the moment and there must be around one hour and 15 minutes left before we land. Once on the ground I'll make my way to the hotel, the Scandic Paasi, and see what the situation is with regard to the gym. All the recent cycling to work has made me a bit of a fitness freak and now that I'm losing so much unwanted weight I want to keep it off, hence the possibility that I might need a pair of shorts if there's a gym and an exercise bike.

The flight is very serene, people are relaxing, there's little conversation, babies must be sleeping, adults reading or watching movies, it's great. I can see land below me and sea; I wonder if the Danish government has dumped loads of shit and other sewage in the sea. Somehow I doubt it very much.

Deserted platform...

There's about 30 minutes to go before we land. I'm always looking at the map and watching as the little plane (the plane on the map, that is) makes its way towards Helsinki. The descent has started and we're 15 minutes ahead of schedule. The temperature in Helsinki is 21 degrees and, as the pilot said, the sun continues in Finland. The in-flight service has come to an end, not that i was going to order more chocolate. The skies below us are clear and blue and I'm looking forward to being on the ground. If there's a minibar in my hotel room I won't be using it. The last time I was in Helsinki was in February 2020, just ahead of lockdown. Back then, it was cold and unbearable to be outside for more than a few minutes. Knowing that the weather was going to be pleasant I considered a wander around the city for a to see if I could find where I was the last time I was here, but time caught up with me. I wish I had booked the ferry from Helsinki to Stockholm instead of the flight as that would have been good fun, but I didn't think, which means another, albeit short flight tomorrow. Outside it didn't look as if we had descended at all. We were, however, flying at 41,000 feet. I would have to wait until the stats appeared on the screen in front of me. 

'We will land soon' said a recorded voice. As I suspected the clouds  reappeared. We are now at 20,000 feet so we've come down a long way, it just didn't look that way. Actually, perhaps it did as those clouds I'd been looking down upon were now much closer so perhaps I simply wasn't paying attention. There was only 15 minutes of the flight left but I wondered if they could get all that way to the ground in such a short space of time? It's a thought I always have at this stage in any flight and, quite frankly, it never ceases to amaze me. I could see lakes below. Quite a few lakes. It was a fairly clear day and I could see roads and houses. "Landing in 10 minutes," said the captain, but it still seemed impossible that we would be on the ground in such a short space of time. I could make out apartment blocks and even an airstrip. There was the odd rogue cloud and a hazy mistiness as the plane descended. Fields, fir trees, forests, the plane banked left a little making me wonder whether the airport I saw earlier was, in fact where we were landing. More banking left. I could see cars on the roads now as the plane straightened momentarily before banking left again. My seat (23a) was right on the wing. To my left I could see the sea, the undercarriage was now down and the plane was almost gliding to the ground. I could see back gardens and forests and industrial buildings, car parks, four-lane highways and we were on the ground, engines switched to reverse thrust, we had arrived in Helsinki and slowed to a virtual halt as we began to snake our way towards the terminal building.