It's Christmas every day in Rovaneimi...

I've been to Finland three times now. The first time was in February 2020, just before lockdown, the second time I flew there just for dinner in August 2022 and now I'm back again in April 2023. One thing has characterised all three trips: every hotel I have been booked in to has given me a room right at the very end of a corridor. Every hotel. Back in February 2020 at the Scandic Simonkentta, I think I was in room 602, I can't remember exactly, but it was right at the very end of a corridor on the right. It was the same with the second visit, when I stayed in the Scandic Paasi, and at the Santa Claus Hotel in Rovaneimi (room 560) AND yesterday (Saturday 15April) at the Indigo Hotel (room 411). Once again, I'm at the end of the corridor, this time on the left hand side. The only difference about the Indigo Hotel, from where I am writing this blog, is that the doors open inwards. Everywhere else, in fact, everywhere else, not just the hotels, doors open outwards to make it easier for people to escape their rooms if they need to kick the doors down to escape, say, a fire. Why the Indigo bucked the trend, I don't know.

Santa Claus Hotel, Rovaneimi

I flew from Rovaneimi at just gone 1400hrs. It was a very pleasant flight. The skies were clear and cloudless and below me I could see the barren landscape of Finland with it's frozen lakes and rivers and all I could think about was that I rode the night train to Rovaneimi and that all of that was below me; what took me all night will be over in an hour and all we got for free from Finnair was a small cup of blueberry juice. Not that I'm complaining. Finnair has been brilliant and it was only a one-hour, 10-minute flight. I was sitting in seat 1a with plenty of leg room. It was a small plane with two rows of two seats and it was packed.

On reaching Helsinki I took the train into the city and then trundled my suitcase along cobbled streets (not ideal) to the Indigo Hotel on Bulevardi. The pleasant nature of this hotel was revealed immediately with an efficient check-in, the room (411) was good and I decided to get a walk in before dinner. I paced it out for 2.14 miles, following a straightforward but random route in the shape of a square and then, when I got back to the room I phoned home and then started to wonder about where to have dinner. A trendy pasta restaurant was suggested, but in all honesty I couldn't be bothered with 'trendy' so I stayed at the hotel's Bröd restaurant where I enjoyed gravlax followed by steak with pollenta chips and rounded off with a lime posset, which I could have done without because it was tasteless. But let's not criticise the hotel, it was fantastic. I sat there reading The Big Midweek – Life Inside the Fall by Steve Hanley in between eating and drinking. I ordered a bottle of sparkling Pellegrino and, not really wanting a no-alcohol Heineken, I opted for a non-alcoholic cider, and let's face it, non-alcoholic cider is apple juice, why not simply offer me an apple juice? Either way, it was a pleasant drink, much pleasanter than a Heineken 00.

It's Christmas all year round in Rovaneimi

I had a long chat with the waitress, so long I almost let my green tea go cold, and then I paid up and headed back to room 411. I messed around with the room lights and then sat and read my book until I felt tired enough to sleep, but then I awoke around 0304 and here I am writing. It's now 0509.

Daybreak, 0444 in Rovaneimi. This the view from my hotel window...

In Rovaneimi yesterday I realised that Santa Claus works full-time throughout the year. There's a Santa Claus theme park full of souvenir shops and a decent buffet restaurant, the Three Elves, and after a pleasant lunch we headed for the airport and the short flight to Helsinki. But I found it hard to believe that Santa is working in April, meeting people from all over the world and agreeing to have his photograph taken. I felt that I was too old to sit on his knee and so only managed a brief glimpse of the great man - who I thought lived in the street next to mine in the UK (clearly I am mistaken) - but I found that it's Christmas all-year round up there in the Arctic Circle, even my hotel, the aptly named Santa Claus Hotel, had Christmas trees on top of the entrance canopy. Elsewhere there were Christmas lights too. First thing in the morning in Rovaneimi it was minus six degrees. As the day progressed it warmed up a little to around plus 2 degrees and there were patches of ice around that needed to be avoided.

Hearty breakfast in Rovaneimi

Snow is everywhere. It features prominently in family photographs on Finnish iphones and can be seen banked up on the roadsides and in car parks, huge piles of the stuff blended with black/grey grit giving it the appearance of a skunk, like the cartoon character Pepé Le Pew. From the air the snow makes the ground below look like a choppy sea full of white horses crashing hither and thither, and on the roofs of houses there are chunks of the stuff, unsullied by grit, waiting to slide off and hit the ground – and we're talking two to three feet thick slabs of it.

Rovaneimi airport is tiny and there are very little in the way of flights on the departures board, just the Helsinki flight that I'm on and another one. Security was, again, a doddle, and soon we were boarding the flight. I was told as we sat drinking our tea and coffee, that a famous Finnish actress had just walked past us, but such information was alien to me as I don't know any famous Finnish actresses.

While it's warmer in Helsinki than in Rovaneimi, it's still cold and there was a bitter wind that prompted me to do up the buttons on my coat before continuing my journey on foot from the central station to the Indigo hotel, but it's getting warmer here and the Finnish people are looking forward to having barbecues in their back gardens even if they will have to don coats. While the sun is shining and the sky is blue, it's still brass monkey weather. According to my pal Ilkka, the barbecue season has already started. In Tornio yesterday evidence of the beginning of barbecue season was there for all to see in a Motonet store where shop assistants were stocking up with gas cylinders. Inside the shop – which was a huge, cavernous space on the edge of town – there was plenty of different styles of barbecue equipment ranging from the disposable to some pretty impressive pieces of kit that wouldn't look out of place in a modern kitchen. As for Motonet, it was one of those places where you could buy anything: knives, camping equipment, weather-proof clothing, DIY equipment, sweets, outdoor games, stuff for your car, anything at all.

Yours truly at the Arctic Circle...

One of the best things about Finland is Karl Fazer chocolates. I was pleased to note as I walked along Bulevardi that there was a Karl Fazer coffee shop and it was just across the street from my hotel. I went in for a coffee and a pistachio cake and sat there reading before heading back to the hotel to decide upon my dining arrangements. It opens at 1000 this morning, which gives me a little time to chill although I'm not really sure if I'll do that, despite telling the people behind the counter that I'd be back. Instead I might mosey on up to the shops, but then again, perhaps not as I can't really afford to buy anything from Finland's expensive stores, like Stockmann, although it's nice to have a look. Or is it? Perhaps I'll just get resentful and I don't what that as this trip has been full of positivity in so many ways.

It's 0539. Is it even worth going back to bed? I should do because I've a long day ahead of me and then it's work on Monday

I was told the hotel had a swimming pool. It doesn't, although I might be confusing it with another hotel in Canada, across the river from Detroit. Annoying when you consider that I packed a pair of trunks. But all things considered I wonder whether I would have taken the plunge had there been one, probably not. There's simply too much to do, like getting to the station to catch a train to the airport and then all the hassles of security and sitting around waiting for the flight home.

Another virtually empty airport in Finland, this one is Rovaneimi

When I woke up this morning at the ungodly hour of just gone 0300, I checked in online and I'm so glad that I remembered. I had another aisle seat at the back of the plane but now, to my sheer amazement, I'm sitting in seat 3A, which is quite unbelievable. I'm so pleased that I remembered as the flight is full according to the BA website and they're asking for volunteers to take another flight. All well and good, I thought, but the only reason I'm here in Finland on a Sunday – giving up my entire weekend – is because BA was only offering a business class seat on Saturday and that would have cost £1,100 so there was no way I was going to give up seat 1A to possibly find myself spending another night here in Helsinki. Why Finland is so popular at the moment I'm not sure, but all the flights appear to be full. On that extortionate business class seat, it's simply not worth it. Later, sitting in seat 3A I was directly behind the two rows of business class seats, separated by a curtain, and that seems to me to be a piss poor incentive to fork out over £1,000. Alright, so I had to suffer small paper cups of water from the plane's supplies as opposed to a bottle of mineral water, but so what? In fact, one small gripe: I pressed the service button on the panel above the seat and when the cabin crew member arrived I asked if I could buy a bottle of mineral water. Moments earlier I had seen her walk past with a trolley full of bottles of mineral water. "I'm sorry, these are for business class," she said snootily and then offered me some sub-standard tiny cups of water from the plane's tap. I'm so glad I didn't pay that £1,100 for a business class ticket. None of those bottles were given to any of the eight people sitting in rows one and two, and that's what I hate about capitalism and the snobbery that goes with it.

Frozen rivers from the air...

Earlier, having woken up at an ungodly hour, I went back to bed having set the alarm to wake me at 0700 and when it did I pressed the snooze button. I repeated the process until it was 0730 (because I was tired and didn't want to get up) and then jumped in the shower, cutting my foot on the door as I jumped out to find a towel. I made a make-shift bandage with some tissues, which are still there now, wedged between my toes, but there's no pain and it's not that bad.

Breakfast at the Indigo was okay, but not mind-blowing and while I've always said that a hotel stands or falls on the quality of its breakfast, the Indigo is different: it's the friendly staff that hold it together. The fresh fruit looked dry and everything else had that insignificant look about it. I chose scrambled egg, mushrooms, vegetables and small sausages, a plate of the dry-looking pineapple chunks, two miniature apple pies, a tiny pain au chocolate and a small Danish pastry and then later a small bowl of yoghurt, I think it was strawberry-flavoured, but you can never tell with yoghurt. I also had three mini chocolate HobNob style biscuits - and I mean mini, they were tiny - a glass of cranberry juice and an English breakfast tea. I sat there reading and then I went back to the room. 

I planned to nip out for a brief walk, wary, of course, that blue skies and sunshine in Finland don't always mean it's warm out there, it's not. I had a late check-out so my plan was to mooch around, possibly have a coffee, but it's easy to get carried away, especially as I'm reading Steve Hanley's The Big Midweek so perhaps I'll leave the book behind, get a brief walk out of the way and then come back to check out. I didn't bother with the walk in the end, but decided to walk to the central station rather than order a cab. I never order a cab unless absolutely necessary.

View from room 411, Indigo Hotel, Helsinki

Apart from cutting one of my toes in the shower, I'm generally feeling fine, but there's no time to chill out with a book. Despite the fact that I've been forced to stay in Helsinki for another night thanks to BA's greed, apart from dinner in the hotel, that's about all I get. After breakfast, time started to run out and I quickly realised that my plan to sit in a cafe reading was out of the question as I'd needed to get moving towards the central station to catch a train to the airport. I had the full two hours once I'd reached the airport. I found somewhere to eat and ordered a foccacia bread filled with cheese and ham and followed by a caramel cheese cake, not forgetting a cappuccino. Once finished I checked the announcements board and noticed that I needed to make my way to passport control. I wish that I'd known about this earlier as once through passport control there were more cafés and I realised that I could have sat in a Starbuck's closer to gate 40. In fact I was lucky that there hadn't been queues because I was under the impression, having already gone through security, that there was nothing more to do other than go to the gate, and that the next step was boarding the plane. How wrong was I! But there were no queues, this was Finland after all, and there's nobody around so all was well and soon I was boarding the plane. It was a pleasant flight of roughly two hours and twenty five minutes and I read a lot of my book whilst occasionally glancing out of the window at the hazy blue skies.

No trains! It wouldn't happen in Finland...

UK Grim

As we approached the UK, of course, the clouds gathered, but there was no turbulence. We landed safely and then the shite started to happen. Travelling by train from Helsinki airport to the centre of town cost 4.30 Euros (around £3.50) but in the UK, a one-way trip on the Heathrow Express into London set me back £25. What a rip-off. Then, once on the train, I was faced with a shuffling beggar and a nutter in a bright yellow tracksuit and then, to top things off, when I reached the concourse of Victoria station I noticed a sign saying 'no Southern trains' due to engineering work. I went back on the tube, headed for Blackfriars and then got a Thameslink train to East Croydon before jumping in a taxi home. Oh to be back in Finland, I thought to myself. All the trains run on time – and are state-owned – and the people are happy even if it is a little cold.

Heathrow baggage reclaim...a very long wait

Night train to Rovaneimi...

It was an early start (on Thursday 13 April) but I decided to avoid a taxi to the airport. Why spend £60 and ruin the environment when I can get an electric train all the way to Heathrow? And do I really want to listen to a racist taxi driver telling me how much he despises the Mayor of London and going on about the ULEZ? No, I don't, so I found myself on the 0709 Victoria train followed by the Underground to Paddington (via Oxford Circus) and then a rather pleasant, albeit short, ride on the Heathrow Express to the airport.

Rovaneimi, 0725 Friday morning, minus 5 degrees...

For some reason, past bitterness created by the hassles of travelling simply evaporated; annoyance and weariness had left the building for some reason. There was no animosity between me and the airline, I couldn't really be bothered with Guy Debord's Society of the Spectacle, in fact, I never even stopped to spray myself with the Eau Savage tester and even 'security' was a doddle. There were no queues to speak of and yes, I had to take my laptop out of my case and all the usual stuff, but nothing phased me. I was happy. I made my way to The Curator, a restaurant, where I ordered a cup of English Breakfast tea and a 'pan hash' with a fried egg on top. It was pleasant and when I was finished I asked for the bill, paid up and made my way to Gate 3 and my awaiting Finnair flight to Helsinki. Dressed like the Milk Tray man I waited patiently for the flight to board and when I discovered that seat H was an aisle seat in the middle row of the plane, while slightly miffed, my anxiety – which was real – soon abandoned ship when I heard a voice on the intercom exclaim that boarding was complete and, guess what, there were rows of empty seats. Without wasting any time I jumped up and made myself comfortable in seat 38K and then set about checking out the music offering on the flight. While it goes without saying that there wasn't that much of what I would call 'good stuff' I did find Money for Nothing by Dire Straits, the only song of theirs that I like, and listening only to the opening bars of the track, which are something else, but the rest of the song (once it gets going) I can live without. I found Rock & Roll Star by Oasis, which somehow had lost its zing, and that was about it so I abandoned music for my book, The Big Midweek by Steve Hanley, a biography about 'life inside The Fall. At about this time I realised, once again, that I should have pulled out all the stops in my younger years and developed a career for myself as a rock star. Still, I guess I have the next best thing: flying all over the world and living (in a sense) the rock and roll lifestyle, even if I have made a conscious decision – that I've kept to for the last five years – to stop drinking and being an imbecile.

Yours truly about to board the night train...

The flight was very smooth and I arrived in Helsinki at 1515hrs and took the train to the central station where I met my pal Ilkka for dinner in a rooftop restaurant. The plan was simple: we were booked on the night train to Rovaneimi and I'm not going to hide the fact that I love it! You simply can't beat a long train journey and if you throw in an on-board cabin, well, what's not to like? 

And here I am, sitting in my cabin, it's almost 2200hrs and its dark outside (just like it is in the UK at this time of night). We've just stopped at a place called Hameelinna and will hurtle on through the night until we reach Rovaneimi first thing in the morning. I can't say I really want to get off the train, but I have to because there's work to be done and, ultimately, that's why I'm here. Left to my own devices I'd stay on to the end of the line, which is miles inside the Arctic Circle, mooch around for a bit and then take the train home again.

Let me tell you about my sleeping quarters. There's a bunk bed and I've chosen to sleep on the bottom. I'm not sharing with anyone and that means I can sit here by the window, peeking out occasionally when the train passes civilization. Right now it's pitch black and there doesn't appear to be anything out there, just fields. There are no lights, nothing, no sign of a road marked out by street lights, nothing at all to reassure me that I'm not in outer space. As I write this, the train is slowing but it's still pitch black and there's nothing to see.

It is a bit cramped, however, but it's not a problem. The bathroom has a hinged wall that pulls back to reveal a shower, but I'm wondering if there will be any hot water. Something tells me there won't be, but who knows? I might be pleasantly surprised. I can see lights up ahead, but over in the distance, I see a road with a solitary car on it as we whoosh through a small and deserted station. In a flash we pass what I'm guessing is a small village and now, within seconds, everything is pitch black again.

The night train arrives in Rovaneimi...

The temperature in Helsinki was around 10 degrees, but there was a bitter wind as we made our way to the central station, pulling our suitcases behind us; and I'm told that as we travel further north, it will get colder. As I flew into the Finnish capital earlier I noticed frozen lakes and snow dotted here and there and I'm told that the winter has kind of just ended and that, from now on, the days will get longer and longer until we reach the summer months of June and July when there will be 12 hours of daylight. Just imagine that. Likewise, in the winter there are 12 hours of darkness.

Inside my cabin on the train...

I've never felt so excited about going to bed. Alright, I have, but let's not go there. Suffice it to say that sleeping on a train is, for me, an exciting thing to do and I'm looking forward to hunkering down: the gentle rocking of the train as it edges further north, the only light coming from a solitary window, the world passing by outside... I'm so looking forward to switching off the light and just lying there on the bed listening to the noise of the train as it heads for the Arctic Circle.

We departed Helsinki at 1929 and are scheduled to arrive in Rovaneimi around 0725. After a brief visit to the train's crowded restaurant car (for a fruit tea and a pastry, not forgetting a bar of Karl Fazer chocolate) I returned to my cabin and set the alarm on my iphone for 0600 and 0630 just in case I oversleep on the first alarm, you never know. I might get such a relaxing night's sleep that I miss the alarm and end up God knows where, but I'm sure that won't happen.

Civilization has appeared again, bigger than past offerings: there are street lights and houses and stuff but it's soon gone, in the space of a few words, no, hold on, it's back again, and now it's gone. I wonder if there are any bears out – there are bears, wolves, moose and wolverines I am later told – and I feel pretty glad that I'm on the train and not out there in the cold and dark trying to find somewhere to pitch a tent. Streetlights resemble distant stars, but once again there are houses out there too, roads and snow here and there. We're passing through a fairly built up area with housing and light industrial buildings, but it's too dark to know for sure what else is out there. Now it's back to the odd street light, dark forests and open fields, none of which I can see too well because it's as good as pitch black.

Everywhere there is snow stacked up...

I'm too excited to read, I think I'll clean my teeth and then hit the sack. I could wait here to see 'what happens', ie if we stop somewhere, if people board the train, who knows what is going to happen? Not me. All I know is that I wish I could take the train back to Helsinki, but I can't, we're booked on a flight from Rovaneimi on Saturday afternoon. There's another town outside and I must say that the housing here in Finland is very cosy. Modern places most of them...we've just rushed through another station but again too fast to note the name of the place. It's another developed area, a town as opposed to a village, and I can just about make out a frozen lake followed by streetlights and deserted roads. Now there is some kind of industrial site with cars and vans parked outside and I'm amazed at the way the Finnish people don't appear to like drawing their curtains at night. That said, it might be something to do with the fact that crime, while not non-existent, is very low here. For a start there's only 5.5 million people living in Finland and they have a land mass far bigger than the UK's where there are almost 70 million people (and counting).

It's pitch black out there again now, but no, hold on, we're slowing down and there are more deserted roads and patches of snow, streetlights and the odd house. I can see one solitary star in the sky, which appears to be guiding (or guarding) the train. I feel in safe hands, put it that way. The train is slowing, but that doesn't mean it's going to stop, let's see what happens. Civilization ain't far, put it that way and the train is still slowing down.

I've just had the fright of my life. My suitcase, which is on casters, has just rolled towards me and at speed, like a wild animal pouncing. It's now rolled back the other way and, no doubt, it'll roll back towards me at any moment. Before I hit the sack I'll have to upend my suitcase to stop it from moving around. The train is still slowing down but it's pitch black outside and there's no sign of an approaching station. But now the big town is back, a huge town to be fair, industrial buildings, car parks, office buildings with stuff written on them, like 'pixact', another with the word 'Koja' written in illuminated letters on the walls. Surely, a station must be coming up soon.  AutoRentti, Scandia Rent, a garage, a Skoda building, Renault, this must be a city of some sort. Metso Outotec, now I know them! Tevo Lokomo, a car park with two cars in it, a building with the word Nokia on the side of it, Integrio; I've noticed that a lot of Finnish buildings are peppered with illuminated brand names. Wherever we are it looks interesting and it's certainly a big city. I can see a Scandic hotel, we're in Tammerfors or Tampere Tammerfors. The station is not deserted. There are passengers waiting to board the train. We've stopped and we're right opposite a Holiday Inn. I'm guessing there are people asleep inside and it makes me feel tired. I can see men wearing high viz clothing, clearly a night shift of sorts. Three of them, chatting, make that four. We're on platform 3. This must be a pretty big city as there's a Stockmann store across from the station. Stockmann is an upmarket department store, Finland's answer to Harrods or Peter Jones. The workmen are moving up the platform and below me a I see a man with a rucksack board the train followed by a young couple. Remember, this is a long train, a very long train, and this could even be the stop where they add a number of carriages carrying motor vehicles. People often put their cars on the train and then travel north on holiday in the summer months when, I am told, the sea and the lakes are warm enough for swimming. Not now, though. The lakes are still frozen solid.

We've been here at Tampere Tammerfors for some time now. A smaller local train arrives on platform two, it's short and green and brightly lit but in a flash it's gone. Somebody else has just boarded the train and I think they were carrying skis. Presumably there's still a lot of snow up north, which is not hard to imagine. We are heading towards the Arctic Circle after all. 

A Holiday Inn at Tampere Tammerfors railway station...

I can't work out what the workmen on platform 1 are doing, but it has something to do with a goods train of sorts that has just departed from a siding. Whatever they were up to, it's finished and they are gone. Perhaps now is the time to clean my teeth and hit the sack. But hold on, a locomotive is shunting a huge train and has just come to a halt on platform 1, it might have something to do with the three workmen, but I haven't a clue if I'm right or wrong, probably the latter.

The cabin comes equipped with a free bottle of mineral water and some very small and flimsy towels. I'm guessing they're not expecting people to take a shower. As I'm the only one in the cabin I get two bottles of water for my consumption and two sets of towels, but listen to me, I'm rambling. I need to go to bed and I think our stop at Tampere Tammerfors is a good reason to make my excuses and hit the sack.

I start to have a conversation with myself. Not out loud, but in my head.

"Go to bed!"

"Alright, then."

I was lying in bed and looking forward to the night ahead. At 2306 the train departed Tampere Tammerfors station and from then onwards I enjoyed the luxury of being gently cajoled into slumber by the motion of the train. I enjoyed a lovely sleep, punctuated by moments of semi-consciousness when I was aware of the speed of the train. I could feel it when the train pitched to port or starboard and was aware of the speed at which we were travelling, which, at times, seemed very fast.

Downtown Rovaneimi on Friday night...nobody around

I awoke early and could see that it was light outside the window. It was 0507 and like a child at Christmas time I wanted to get up and see what presents awaited me. Outside the window were pine forests and snow as the train travelled through what could be described as a winter wonderland. There was nothing out there but pines and snow, deeper than I've ever seen it in the UK. Here and there a small house like something out of a children's storybook, small collections of cottages with Christmas lights, frozen rivers – and I mean frozen rivers, solid enough to walk on. 

The sky above me was blue – or becoming blue. Not a cloud in the sky, but let's not deceive ourselves, it's not warm out there, far from it. There were Christmas trees everywhere and then huge expanses of frozen water, lakes and rivers, it didn't matter, followed by more Christmas trees. In addition to the festive pines there were silver birches, thin stalks of trees with no leaves. It would have been surreal had somebody decorated just one of the trees with flashing lights and baubles (or bobbles as we call them in my house). The forests were thick and dark and, of course, I imagined what it might have been like camping out there in the cold, which made it all the more cosy in my cabin with its under-floor heating. Again, I thought of the wild animals, who were keeping themselves well-hidden. I could stare at such scenery forever and a day: the white snow, the contrasting deep green of the pines, the emptiness, the beauty and in a strange way, the 'warmth' of it all. Up here there was no need to think about governments and politics and normal living, even if we weren't a million miles from the Russian border. Knowing that Finland now enjoys NATO membership was comforting, but all that rubbish and the thought of what the Sleaford Mods describe as 'UK Grim' are far behind me. Looking out on what is basically a living, breathing Christmas card there's no need to think about anything bad. The snow is like icing from one of my mum's Christmas cakes. Occasionally I spotted prints in the snow and wondered if they belonged to humans or animals. It's hard to believe that the snow would ever disappear, but in the summer months it thaws and all that remains are the pines in all their glory. I'm travelling through a snow dome that nobody has picked up or given a good shake. It would be wrong to describe the scene as monotonous because while it is nothing but pines and snow, it's beautiful. A motorway and a few houses appear, dotted here and there, and then we're plunged back into the forests with its pines and silver birches. And then I spot wind power, three white towers rising high above the pines, no, more than three, but the others are too far away to count for sure.

Perpetual Christmas in Rovaneimi, Finland

The train appears to be slowing but the Christmas card scenery continues. Another frozen river but we're in a small village or town with industrial buildings, not many, but a few and then they are gone and the forests return along with the wind towers, their slowly rotating blades adding to the surrealism of the scene. I would love to be up front in the cab of the locomotive pulling this very long train behind me, but I'll settle for my current predicament marvelling at the passing pines, the occasional chocolate box houses, the ghostly silver birch, the Christmas trees and, of course, the snow. How cosy it must be to sleep in these little houses. Everything is so still and quiet and deserted. 

It's almost 0600hrs, 0552 to be precise, it's brighter now and somewhere there's a winter sun casting its beam on the pines, turning them a fiery, burnt orange. No wonder the Finnish people are the happiest in the world, I think to myself. It's a shame to have to consider leaving my seat by the window, but I need to check out the facilities, see if there's any hot water, check out whether the shower actually works. A small village appears, a road sign that I can't read and in the distance two large buildings bathed in sunlight. We go under a road bridge, there's a gas station, Teboil and now we're somewhere fairly big, I spot a man standing by a building, there are more sun-tinged buildings, we're at Kemi, a mining town, platform 2, and people are boarding, I hear the doors sliding open and then closing. Oh to get out and wander about, find a hotel, mooch around, drink some tea and do nothing. I see flats and question the need for balconies, although I suppose they're fine in the summer. The train is on the move again, it's slowly edging out of the station, which isn't really a station at all, there's no platform on my side, just piles of snow and yet there are still signs for platform 2 as we gently pick up the pace and leave Kemi behind us. I'm guessing that soon enough the pine forests will return. For now, though, another gas station, a block of flats, houses, a sign for Kivviko and for Marrtala, a grey and winding road, a lorry carrying logs, a bunch of small wooden houses and slowly the return of the forests.

Still light at 21.30 on Friday night...

The shower was what I expected: small, cramped, luke warm and just a trickle of water, but it did the job, although I worried after soaping myself that I'd be unable to wash it all off. I managed and probably stayed in there for longer than I originally anticipated. The heated floor made it all very cozy. I dried myself and now I'm sitting here again looking out on the passing pines and birch trees, we're back in the snow dome and the sun is out and lighting up the tree tops.

There's 25 minutes until we arrive in Rovaneimi. Outside the scenery remains the same but the sky is blue and the sun is out. My journey is nearing its end and soon I will reluctantly leave the train and continue my trip by car. I'm heading for a place called Tornio, which is some two hours away, but I am sure there will be more forests and more snow.

It's now Friday evening, 2243hrs to be precise and I'm staying at the Santa Claus hotel in Rovaneimi having spent most of the day in Tornio and it's a very pleasant hotel. The room is perfect and I'm looking forward to an early night. Just had dinner in Rosso, you can see it in one of the photographs above; it was a nice restaurant with a friendly waitress, I ordered pesto chicken and a decent no-alcohol beer, well, two of them, and rounded it off with a cappuccino, which was probably ill-advised, but I won't know about that until I try to get to sleep*. I'd imagine that I won't sleep as well as I did last night on the train from Helsinki – will I ever sleep as well again? – but right now I might watch some television, I've got a book to read and I'm feeling good and it's all to do with everything: the smooth flight, the amazing train journey and now the fact that I can chill, my work is done. The original plan had been to fly home tomorrow (Saturday 15 April) but because the only way I could return tomorrow was by flying business class for around £1,100  for a one-way trip with British Airways, it worked out cheaper to stay another night in Helsinki and fly back on Sunday evening. I won't get home until around 1700. It's annoying but there's not much I can do about it. I plan to mooch around Helsinki, drink coffee, read my book and generally take life easy. Right now, I'm signing off.

* It's 0428 and I'm awake and on the laptop, I've been lying there looking at the ceiling since 0324.

Click here for the most syncopated song... in the world!

Map of Finland

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Norfolk Nobbler, Westerham, Bon, mum, Bez's book and chilling for Easter...

Hard to remember when I last went on a ride, but I think it was Westerham and it seems like weeks and weeks ago. My fitness has been hampered by illness and by travel. On the latter, a flight cancellation put paid to a ride a few Saturdays ago to Oxted. In fact, I can't remember the last time I sat in Caffe Nero chilling ahead of massive climb up Titsey Hill on the return ride home. Then there was illness. But you know about that as I wrote about it in the last post on this blog. So what other excuses do I have? Oh yes, the weather. Rain stopped play too and if you put it all together - travel hassles, weather and illness - it adds up to no riding and very little in the way of fitness, bar a few walks of around three miles each while at work, but that kind of didn't count, although I suppose it does, so, yeah, it's been odd not riding. The trouble, of course, is that once you start slobbing, it becomes addictive and soon you start not wanting to go, preferring instead the warmth of the house, the glow of the laptop, the comfort of the Hot Cross Bun - make that two, alright, three in the space of 24 hours. Because, yes, with slobbishness there is food, normally rubbish food, like cakes and chocolate, they all go hand-in-hand and soon, while I berate myself constantly while lying in bed at night, promising that today - or tomorrow - there will be no more cakes, no more chocolate and no more cappuccino, the opposite is true and I find that rather than eat less rubbish, I eat more.

When I had a cold a few weeks back, I started to go to bed early. Too early. I used to wake up around midnight in the spare room, the house in darkness, everybody in bed, and me looking out of the window at the street light in Ellenbridge, wondering what time it was; and then finding out by looking at my iphone - it was midnight thirty. Should I brazen it out, lie in bed until I fall asleep? Or get up, trot downstairs, make a herbal tea or a Lemsip, perhaps watch some television? In the end I would reach a compromise and perhaps nip downstairs (as opposed to trotting) to get a glass of water and then return to the darkness and try to seek out the Land of Nod. I'd oversleep, rush breakfast in the early morning, make sandwiches and head off to work with a wodge of paper tissues in my coat pocket. It wasn't severe enough to be off work and it wasn't COVID and soon it was Saturday and I didn't feel up to riding the bike. Fair enough. 

Easter Sunday morning in Westerham

It's been a good two weeks since I shook off the cold, but I'm still finding it difficult to pluck up the motivation to exercise. I've done a couple of work-outs using a set of dumbells (50 reps) but not regularly. "Right, let's do this," I might say to myself, but then realise that two days have passed since the last time I picked up the weights. 

I am writing this on Good Friday. It's just gone 6pm (1800hrs) and there's a programme on TV about King Charles and his relationship with Prince Harry. It's pointless. We all know why they're at loggerheads and, to be frank, we don't care.

This morning I did go out on the bike and I did a work-out on the dumbells when I returned. I thought I'd try the Norfolk Nobbler, a round-the-block hilly jaunt that is around six miles. But it wasn't six miles, it was nine miles and I couldn't figure out why. It took me 51 minutes and it was a good work-out. I thought that I'd followed the route of old, but clearly I hadn't, I'd added a couple of miles and I couldn't figure out how. I think that when I last did it I just rode one circuit, no repetition. This time I went around the loop and back up Norfolk and around Ridge Langley a second time, something I distinctly remembered doing the last time, but for some reason I'd somehow added two miles. It's bugging me now as I write this: how come it was almost nine miles instead of almost six miles (something like 5.94 miles). I just don't get it. I always went around Ridge Langley twice and then down Arkwright towards the Upper Selsdon Road, left and then up West Hill, passing Barnfield, riding the length of the Ridgeway, left on Arkwright and then home via Elmfeld and Ellenbridge. So how come I was out for 51 minutes and not the usual 38 minutes? It's a mystery and tomorrow I'll check it out again, perhaps just riding one circuit and taking it from there. I suppose the good thing is I rode nearly nine miles and not nearly six, so I guess I did myself a small favour.

The weather was fantastic today and most of last week too, so perhaps (at last) things are starting to pick up. Last week I wanted to ride to work, but just couldn't motivate myself to do it. One day there was a frost on the ground so I gave that day a miss, but I reckon that things will start to get warmer and soon I'll be able to return to four rides a week (which is all I need to lose a bit of weight). Look, I'm not a fat arse, but I'd like to lose around a stone, perhaps a bit more. 

On Saturday I went over to see mum and meet up with Bon, who I haven't seen a great deal of lately because he's moved to darkest Sussex. Bon hasn't been on his bike for a couple of years because he's had other stuff to contend with, like moving home, so I suggested we meet up later in the year when the weather really improves and ride from his place to the beach for lunch at the Lobster Pot. I can get the train to Pulborough or drive down with the bike in the back (I think that'll be the best option).

To Westerham!

The ride with Andy has been game on for some days now. I texted to say I'd definitely be there and so, at 0800hrs on Easter Sunday I headed off. It was touch and go that I'd actually do it because there was a family get-together at lunch time in Oxted and the table was booked for noon. I knew that if I left Westerham at 1000hrs I'd get back for around 1100hrs, giving me enough time to shower and be ready for the drive to Oxted. But, as often happens, it didn't work out that way. I finally got underway around 1025hrs meaning that I'd be home around 1130hrs and would have to rush to get ready. I considered simply riding from Westerham to Oxted (around 3 miles, possibly a little more) and then hanging around until noon and joining them in the restaurant, but that would have meant being unshaven and stinking of sweat, although I thought about it: I could nip into a chemist and buy some underarm deodorant and freshen up in the public toilets in the car park behind the high street. Had I brought some trunks with me (why would I bring swimming trunks on the ride?) then I could have enjoyed a brief swim and a shower in the Tandridge Leisure Pool and then things would have been find. I would then have to ride home, up Titsey, after a three-course meal, not that I couldn't handle it.

When I reached Westerham, Andy was already there, drinking coffee in the seat by the window. The weather was amazing. Sunshine and blue skies, daffodils in bloom, and I parked up outside next to Andy's Blast. I ordered an English breakfast tea, took a leak and then joined Andy. We talked about cycling holidays and the notion of cycling around the Canary Islands. This was something Andy would like to do, but it's more of a pipe dream than anything else. That didn't stop us discussing how it would materialise being as Andy's in to cycling he whole way, ie from the UK. So, a ride to Portsmouth, pick up a ferry to Santander and then cycle to Cadiz to pick up another boat to the Canaries. It wouldn't be cheap and we figured the whole trip would take around a month, but what a trip. I found the entire conversation uplifting and soon it was time to ride home, but I just knew I wasn't going to make it in time for the family lunch and started to wish it have been booked for 1230hrs instead of noon. But hold the bus, never say never. I put a spurt on, having left Westerham at around 1025hrs and managed to reach Botley Hill at just before 1100hrs. I called home and suggested that I could either head down to Westerham and wait for everybody there or ride home, knowing that I wouldn't get there much before 1130hrs. Why were they planning to leave at 1120hrs? The table was booked for noon, that would mean 40 minutes. It's only a 10-mile ride and the 269 is 'national speed limit applies' so I figured they could leave around 1140 and still be there on time. I decided to go for it and sped home along the 269 through Warlingham and beyond towards Sanderstead. I was pushing it and managed to reach home around 1130. It was a case of going straight into the shower, changing and then driving back in the direction I'd already come from and as a result I started to feel a little light-headed. Note to self: never rush things. When we reached the restaurant I decided the best course of action was to drink a lot of water and fortunately they plonked a huge bottle of the stuff next to me. I drank the whole bottle and then ensured there was another one ready, which there was. I started to feel better. That said, a brief word on rushing around on a bike: don't do it! Right at the end of the ride (apart from feeling a little light-headed, which itself wasn't good) I nearly came a cropper by riding in front of an oncoming car. I like to think that I was aware it was there, but perhaps I didn't, I can't remember. It wasn't as bad as think it was (at least I don't think it was) but I remember seeing the woman sitting in the passenger seat wondering what the hell I thought I was doing. She was right, I was wrong, but disaster wasn't so much averted, it was kind of just about avoided.

The bike has been performing well and I need to reward it by providing another new tyre, like the one on the rear, and one of those gel-based inner tubes. The tyre on the back I bought from Halford's and it wasn't pricey, just around £13. It's not a huge mountain bike tyre like the one on the front, but something more suitable for tarmac roads.

Well, it's Easter!

The lunch was perfect. I chose the 'roast of the day', which was pork, and it was perfect. I rounded it off with a tiramisu (yes, I know) and then we all drove back home. I spent the rest of the afternoon either sleeping, reading or watching Columbo on the television. I'm reading a book by Bez (Mark Berry, a former Happy Monday). Actually, I say 'former' but they're still going strong. It's a great book, very inspiring and it led to me watching Bez interviews on YouTube until 2300hrs. I hit the sack just before 2330 and then woke up around 0430hrs. I must have nodded off because when I next looked at the clock it was 0730hrs and I was alone in bed. I could hear breakfast television and decided I'd get up and have breakfast. It's now 1528 but I've been lazing around all day doing nothing and only now am I considering some kind of outdoor activity, like a walk.

We wandered around Oxted as the last rays of Easter sun shone upon us as we looked in to shop windows. Costa was open until 1700hrs. Everywhere else was closed so we went in and ordered a pot of tea and then simply sat there for around 20 minutes and chilled. And now it's almost 2030hrs and I'm still chilling.

Buzzin' by Bez

I'm finding Bez's autobiography - Buzzin' - an inspiration. One chapter to go and I'm wishing there was more. The guy is simply amazing on so many levels, somebody I'd definitely have on the guest list of my dream dinner party. Not only a leading member of the band Happy Mondays, but a close pal of former Clash frontman Joe Strummer. I loved reading about Bez and Joe and pals sitting around Joe's camp fires and I'm glad to read that Bez has carried on the whole camp fire thing at his place in Herefordshire. Bez is a keen beekeeper and he likes the idea of free living outside of capitalist society, he believes in urban farms and growing his own food. While you could say he started off as a bit of a chancer and a blagger, he has become this amazing person who is always positive about life, a true inspiration. So I'm feeling fairly buoyed up by Bez and meeting Bon and the sun going down over Oxted and that great, uplifting conversation with Andy on Sunday morning, Sunday lunch with the extended family and all is good with the world.

Nasty cold has me grounded...

Since returning from Verona last week I've been laid up with a nasty cold and I can't for the life of me figure out where it came from or who might have given it to me. One of the problems with flying, of course, is that you pick things up courtesy of the air con system running through the plane. Who knows what awful diseases my fellow passengers were suffering from? Not me. So I was fine the weekend I got home. Remember I had that extra day courtesy of British Airways messing up and cancelling the flight with no sign of an apology, no compensation, nothing. Well, put it this way, on my next flight (which just so happens to be in a fortnight's time) I won't be flying with BA. No, I'll go with Finnair instead. I've flown with them before and it's a million times better. But more of that trip later perhaps, it's not on the blog radar just yet.

They're good but they won't prevent a cold...

So, Tuesday was when it all started. I got to work okay that morning and then suddenly I was hit with a streaming nose and started sneezing. It continued and intensified and very quickly I reached that awful nasal stage where there's a strong need to want to blow my nose. I haven't had an illness like this since early 2017 (if you exclude COVID in January 2022) and I know this wasn't COVID so I didn't even bother testing. I was still functioning, that's the main thing. Tuesday night I was kind of okay, we had dinner and then I started to feel weary, I kept falling asleep and starting to snore, much to the dismay of my family. But I knew there was something wrong and I nipped out to the convenience store to buy some Lemsip (my go to drug whenever I have a cold). As I said, fortunately, I've not been ill for some time, easily six years, which means I must be doing something right, hopefully that means I eat the right foods and consume enough fruit and vegetables in my diet, even if I have been living on cakes over the past few days prior to returning from Italy. Well, not living on them, but certainly swapping my ultra healthy breakfasts for cake and cappuccino, which is odd when you consider the health benefits of the Mediterranean diet (surely that doesn't include cake and filled croissants?).

I decided it was best that night to sleep the other way around, ie not next to my wife for fear of giving her my cold, but the other way around. If I'm honest with you, whenever I break from the norm in terms of sleeping arrangements I get kind of excited, like when you're a kid and you plan a midnight feast when everybody's gone to bed. I might well have mentioned my strange fantasies of sleeping in different parts of the house, although I've yet to do any strange in-house camping, like hunkering down in a sleeping bag in the conservatory, but I won't go on about this as somewhere I've written a blogpost about it and when I find it I'll put in a link. Here's the link, click here.

Tuesday night after my first Lemsip I slept well but wasn't really looking forward to going to work in the morning. There's something horrible about splashing warm water on my face when my nose is stuffed up or streaming or both (in this case it was a mixture of both). I went to bed with a toilet roll by my side so that I could blow my nose without getting out of bed if I had to, but the Lemsip did the trick and, give or take, I was out like a light. Once I'd showered (the very thought of it horrified me) I felt better but it was false, I was nowhere near better. At work I was kind of fine... well, alright, no I wasn't, I tried to be, but it was a big struggle. If I remember, I sat in Busy Beans sipping a cappuccino having already eaten my peanut butter and banana sandwiches, my Pink Lady apple and my 22 red grapes: that's what I have for lunch on more than one day in the week, it's pretty healthy and it sees me through, but because I was feeling weary and stuffed up there was no way I was going to handle the three-mile walk that I normally do at lunch times (I've been doing them for years) so instead, a cappuccino in Busy Beans sufficed (and was most welcomed). I was so stuffed up I couldn't really focus on reading either so I put aside my copy of Buzzin' by Bez and just sat there looking at my phone, reading old blogs, you name it, anything but actually concentrating on anything. And that's fine because I'd been concentrating all morning reading page proofs on a computer screen. Somehow I forced myself to keep it together on the work front, which was just as well as there were deadlines to meet and I met them.

When I reached home Wednesday night I had dinner (I can't remember what it was) and then I headed for the spare room (which had been occupied the night before, hence me sleeping at the other end of the bed). I hit the sack around 2000hrs, put my radio on and drifted off to sleep. I awoke, of course, at midnight thirty and went downstairs to make myself a Lemsip, this didn't take long and I returned to bed, which was great, it was like a secret camp and I jumped into bed and listened to BBC Radio Three until I realised I needed to switch it off in order to sleep. This I did and I guess I must have had, in total, around seven hours of sleep. I went downstairs, had breakfast, which by now I couldn't taste, and then went upstairs to face the warm shower and the sensation of splashing warm water on my face. Nothing worse when I've got a cold as I explained above.

I'm guessing that these things build up and then start to calm down again, but I wasn't sure at which stage I was at. After showering and dressing I always felt better, but I knew I wasn't and sure enough as the journey to work progressed I found myself still sneezing and blowing my nose and getting a slight headache as a result, just a dull nagging ache which added to the awfulness of my condition. But I got through it and I think I was kind of fit enough to do the three-miler on Thursday lunch time, not that doing so did me any favours. Thursday night and Friday night I hit the sack in the spare room listening to the radio, one curtain drawn back so I could see the night sky outside the window. Hunkering down, for that was what I was doing, hunkering down like a vagrant in the woods, toilet roll at my side for any midnight blowings or wipings (of my nose). 

I followed this routine and I will do it again tonight, for it's now Saturday and it's the first time I actually realised that things had improved. I was weary, there was no way I was capable of riding to Oxted, which had been my plan prior to this cold hitting the shore, so I chilled, took a drive to Hever Castle but didn't fancy paying over £60 just to enter the place. Instead, we ended up in Sevenoaks at Basil and here I realised that things were feeling good, well, not good in the sense that I was 100% better (I wasn't) but good in the sense that I could smell things again (or was starting to). I had a panini, I had a cappuccino and I had a Millionaire's Shortbread and yes, I was beginning to feel human again, but it's not over, it's just starting to subside, the tide was on it's way out but it hadn't got there yet. I reckon one more early night should do it although I don't think I'll ride to Westerham tomorrow, I need the rest.

Going to bed at 2000hrs isn't a bad idea, but there's always that 'waking up past midnight' thing that can be annoying. Just the thought of knowing I've got to try and get back to sleep again, but I've been doing it and I think I need it. Listening to the radio is relaxing as it's not as crap as television and if I can break the habit of falling asleep on the sofa and waking up at gone eleven and then having to go around locking the house up, well, that's got to be a good thing.

So here I sit, in the bedroom (not the one I'm sleeping in) looking out on the houses across the street as the light starts to fade and the street lights come on. In the distance I can see the red lights of high rise cranes, I can see the darkened silhouette of the woods and serene looking skies overhead, there's even the sound of a jet circling Heathrow or making it's final approach. There are no lights on, just the halogen glow of the computer that is sitting on a pine table by the window. Whether people can see me if they walk past I don't know and I don't care. Everything is still.

Tonight the clocks go forward one hour and then it's officially British Summer Time. The blossoms are on the trees too, well, not ours, that always blooms later, say next month, but the fact that the blossoms have arrived, along with the daffodils means only one thing: decent weather ahead and that means more riding of the bike. I won't be there tomorrow and will text Andy shortly on that, but here's to next week.

Heading back to Blighty...

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

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

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

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

On the plane...

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

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

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

Looking down on Italy...

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

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

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

Approaching Gatwick airport.

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

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

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

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

"Last toilets before Passport control!"

In Trentino*...a long way from Verona

Sometimes I have a strong impulse to make a stand, make a point, a statement, and it never does me any good. Yesterday, after loitering around the terminal building I made my way to the gate, Gate 22, which was a fair walk, but I needed it after that ill-advised almond croissant and cappuccino back at the café. Remember, I had already enjoyed breakfast, albeit at around 0700hrs and it was now mid-morning. 

Verona airport

I decided not to use the automated walkway – or conveyor – as it's just too lazy for words, and besides, it was quicker walking unless I walked whilst on the moving floor. I passed Gate 13 and realised that I would make a stand if my flight was leaving from that gate. No, I won't have it, I simply won't have it.

At Gate 22 there was a little queue and then Groups 1 to 6 were invited to board. I was Group 6 and I haven't the foggiest idea what that meant. I walked through the tunnel to the plane, getting a little angry at the HSBC ads that lined both walls as it was all part of the air travel thing, along with the big brand perfumes, the international banks and suddenly everybody was an Economist reader, everybody knew a great deal about central banks and international politics – or that was what we were being led to believe: that here, inside the claustrophobic passageway that led to the plane, it was all about 'international business' and entente cordiale and all that cosseted clap trap of the well-pressed shirt and the whiff of Paco Rabane. Those days have gone, I felt like saying out loud, "they've gone, do you hear me!" but for the sake of revealing my inner craziness and saving myself the humiliation I zipped it.

I hate the moment of stepping from the jetty on to the plane and being greeted by the cabin crew, this time with a complimentary wet wipe, which I refused. What the hell would I do with a wet wipe? I found my way to seat 28a where I found Dorothy, a 71-year-old woman celebrating her birthday with a trip to Verona to meet her children who were already there [although later I didn't see them at the airport waiting for her, she was looking for a shuttle to take here somewhere and was after somebody who could tell her where it was].

My anger built up [but remained concealed] when it was announced that we would be sitting on the tarmac, in the plane, for the next hour, something to do with our slot, our time of take-off. I seriously considered getting off the plane, making some excuse and just going home. I was on the cusp of doing it because I didn't like the look of the grey skies outside the window and was already imagining turbulence, something I hate with a vengeance. But I stayed put and struck up a conversation with Dorothy and Francesca, a 21-year-old American from Nevada who was studying in London but was visiting a friend who was studying in Verona. 

Dessert at Polentera Hotel (apple strudel with vanilla cream)

Dorothy had a sad tale to tell. Her ex-husband, an airline pilot, ran off with a younger woman and has since had four kids with her, but Dorothy was left alone in Dulwich, albeit with the support of her kids (also his, although they have disowned him). Dorothy is a diabetic, but it doesn't seem to bother her. She's also an actor of sorts and has appeared in movies and pop videos. She was in one of the Terminator movies, she told me, unless I wasn't listening properly, although I think she was an extra. Francesca was quietly spoken and clearly from money, she showed us movies of her water skiing in blue seas off the coast of somewhere extortionate and I could tell by her tanned skin that peeked through her ripped and trendy jeans – and the fact that her father was also a pilot (of his own plane) – that an easy life lay ahead. We all 'got on', which was nice, although chatting whilst confined in an airliner doesn't really constitute 'getting on', but I got the feeling that Dorothy wished we all had more time together; this was, however, the conventional brief acquaintance of travelling and while we all made noises of 'see you again one day!' we all knew, of course, that this was our first and last meeting and that we would never see each other again. Nobody exchanged email addresses, put it that way.

View from Polentera window

We were in the air for around 90 minutes, there was no turbulence but a lot of cloud until we'd cleared the English Channel and were half way across France, then the Alps appeared in all their glory and soon the plane was chuntering towards Verona. The landing was smooth and Maria was there to greet me. We drove towards Storo and the Polentera Hotel, which I would later discover is surrounded by mountains. I had dinner alone and then went back to my room to watch television, all of which was either dubbed into Italian or was Italian. I gave up and turned in, but awoke around 0300hrs and found it difficult to get back to sleep. Eventually I must have nodded off because the alarm sounded at 0630hrs and wearily I made my way to the bathroom.

Breakfasts in these small 'agriturismo' hotels – let's not forget the Villa Dragoni in Buttrio, Italy – aren't particularly healthy: cappuccino (well, I asked for one because it was offered) plus biscuits, sugary fruit juice, a bread roll filled with jam and a slice of cake – were on offer and I scoffed the lot, of course I did, 'when in Rome' and all that, although I was a long way from the Italian capital. I was close to Lake Garda apparently, or so I was told as I was driven away in a Fiat 500 from the Polentera Hotel. I'd expected to be staying a second night, but no, I'm in the Cristina Hotel in Pinzolo tonight, a wellness spa hotel designed for the skiing fraternity. Well, not yet. I will be later today and there's a pool, but I haven't brought any trunks, although I'm guessing there won't be time, there never is. This trip has an itinerary, it's a bit like a conference, but right now I'm sitting in a room 'working' as the whole thing doesn't start until lunch time, begging the question: why did they pick me up at 0820hrs? I guess that there's little to do back at the Polentera, but then there's little to do here so I'm spending my time deleting emails, answering emails, sending emails and I might put a news story online, but other than that there's little to do; I'm also sitting here in a suit, which feels a little bit stilted...and hot. I might have to take off my jacket, it's probably the most radical thing I'll do all morning.

Breakfast at the Polentera Hotel in Storo – lots of unhealthy stuff.

When work was over (it's never over when you're on a foreign press trip) there was dinner, which seemed to go on forever. It started around 1900hrs with ham and cheeses on plates outside of the restaurant, the Champagne flowed but I stuck it out with sparkling mineral having explained (as you have to) why you don't drink, it's such a bore. Dinner didn't start until around 2100hrs and it was gone 2300hrs (and many glasses of mineral water) before I returned to room 143 and another broken night, this time I awoke at 0400hrs and managed to get back to sleep before the alarm sounded at 0630hrs. 

View from room 143, Cristina Hotel

Yesterday afternoon I had heard that my Friday evening flight back to London was cancelled by those bastards, British Airways. They'd booked me on a flight home Saturday morning, which meant an afternoon of swanning around in Verona (not a bad call) but in all honesty I'd rather have been going home. Still, I've made the most of it. I found Romeo & Juliet's famous balcony (it's not up to much) and now I'm sitting in Casa Mazzanti, a caffé, drinking a cappuccino. Over here, cappuccinos are not so over-the-top as they are in the UK. Instead they're smaller in size and not so flamboyant. No chocolate on top, just the white milk, they don't stand on ceremony. I'm booked on a flight tomorrow morning at around 11am, which means I need to be at the airport at 0900hrs. I could do without that. In fact I could do without flying. I'd much rather catch the train to Paris and then jump on board the Eurostar to St Pancras, but I'd never get home so I might as well grin and bear it. I think if they cancelled again, I'd be on the train immediately (who's to say they won't cancel again?).

The hotel I'm staying in here in Verona is very pleasant. I'm in room 106 of the Albergo Mazzanti. It was down a side street so my taxi driver was unable to take me to the door and I had to walk the last few yards. It's weird isn't it? You would have thought I'd be happy to be here, swanning around Verona (and I would be had I been getting on a train tomorrow morning (or even tonight) but I'm not. Instead I have to engage with air travel again and I'm not looking forward to it. All that stands before me and the flight is a decent meal and I've yet to work out where I'll be going. I might go back and ask the hotel for their recommendations. Anyway, nothing much more to say so I'll sign off.

Lots of cake for breakfast at the Cristina (a wellness hotel!).

Poor man's Colosseum in Verona...

* I ought to point out that while I flew into Verona I was quite a way from the city for most of the time on this trip. My first stop was Storo, in the mountains, I'm told the Dolomites, and I was in the region known as Trentino, which is basically a lot of snow-topped mountains with towns dotted here and there. They surrounded me wherever I was, be it in the hotel or out on the streets, they were everywhere. It was odd, because today (Friday) we drove away from the mountainous region in a small minibus (well, it was a large cab). As we drove along with mountains on both sides and at the front and back, I marvelled at the dramatic scenery. Eventually, however, I fell asleep (probably because I'd been getting broken nights).

Room 106, Albergo Mazzanti, Verona

When I regained consciousness we were on the AI motorway and then the A4 motorway and the mountains had gone. The land was flat and I could see for miles. It was good to sleep and I enjoyed every luxurious minute of it. When we reached our destination it was time for more work and when it was over we took the same cab and found ourselves in a small café in a place called Vicenza. The weather here was lovely: blue skies and sunshine. I left my raincoat in the suitcase and we ate alfresco, just a snack, before getting back in the cab and heading for the railway station where my colleagues were boarding trains to Verona and Venice. It was time to say goodbye to everybody. I was staying with the cab all the way to Verona, which was 50km away. I had another night to go thanks to, but not courtesy of, British Airways (they're not as good as they're cracked up to be, a bit like the UK). As I said earlier (yes, this post has kind come full circle) I am in Verona now. I'm sitting in the Casa Mazzanti caffé having a cappuccino and writing this blogpost, which I have now finished. 

Well, almost finished. I feel I must say something about the hotel, the Albergo Mazzanti, as it's absolutely the perfect hotel for anybody looking to spend the weekend in Verona. For a start there's only 16 rooms, so it's small and perfected formed, which is what I like. Second, it's bang in the centre of the city, a few paces away from a huge square lined with restaurants and cafés and only a short walk from the aforementioned Romeo & Juliet balcony and what I referred to above as the poor man's colosseum. I'm sure it's got a proper name, but that's what it looks like. Anyway, the hotel is amazing. As I write this, it's Saturday morning and I really must be making tracks for the airport and a flight back to Gatwick. However, just to say the rooms are great (see photo) and the breakfasts are good too. More cake, I hasten to add, but that appears to the Italian way and I'm certainly not complaining.

View from room 106...

Yesterday I wandered about a little, mainly in search of the Romeo & Juliet balcony, but then a little further, up to the "colosseum" and beyond and then back to the hotel for dinner, although not in the hotel but in the nearby Caffé Dante, which has struck a deal with the hotel (you'll get 10% discount off the price of a meal there). And let me say that Caffé Dante was very good indeed. I had two courses and it was around 54 Euros, not bad considering the quality of the food and service.

I better get out of here, got a flight to catch. All I need to buy is a fridge magnet to add to my collection. Last night I discovered that Verona has a Hard Rock Café, but as I didn't fancy dining there I couldn't very well pick up one of their magnets. The problem is that buying one from the many kiosks dotted around the city is only possible if you have cash. I don't, just a credit card, so I'm without one at present. My only hope is that there will be some at the airport as I don't really want to draw cash just to buy a fridge magnet. That said, it would be a shame to leave Verona without one.