Night boat to Helsinki, part two...

Last night's dinner in Bon Vivant (and yes, I still hate the name) was absolutely amazing and arguably the best meal I've eaten outside of my own house. I started with potato and oyster mushroom, but there was no mention of 'soup' and I was wondering exactly what I'd get. A jacket potato with mushrooms? Surely not. And no, it wasn't that, it was a soup, which was very tasty even if it didn't look that appetising. It had made the mistake of fine dining establishments in the UK from the early noughties onwards: that of serving up something that resembles gob. Or as fine dining establishments like to call it, foam. I hate it! And yes it does look as if somebody (the chef probably) has gobbed in a dish, added a bit of garnish and shouted 'Service!' But it tasted good. It tasted great but it wasn't particularly substantial. I've enjoyed better soups, put it that way, but still, it was good and that's all that matters. For my main course, I chose beef and plum and again the description was deceptive. What was I going to get? A piece of beef and a plum? Well, yes, I suppose, but it was much better than that: a huge slab of beef cooked to perfection with a very tasty slab of potato 'cake' on which was resting a large sprig of brocolli. Is that right? A sprig of brocolli? Anyway, it was the most amazing main course and I loved every bit of it, even if the waiter did arrive a few moments later to say he'd given me the wrong sauce (I hadn't noticed) and said it didn't matter a jot. I finished with a rice pudding dish – 'rice and gooseberry' – and it too was amazing, far better than I expected and easily the healthiest dessert on the menu. An alcohol-free Heineken and a large bottle of mineral water finished off the meal and I must say I sat there for a long time chilling as the ship steamed its way towards Helsinki.

Icy waters surrounding the port in Stockholm

After dinner there wasn't much to do unless I fancied the noisy cabaret act or the fruit machines in the casino. There's nothing worse than a casino, especially on a ship, because the reality is there are no 'high rollers' just chancers in ill-fitting clothes, you know the sort of person, they used to hog the pub fruit machine and knew far to much about when to 'nudge' and when to collect, always had pockets full of tokens jingling in their pockets. They're not James Bond, they're not George Clooney or anybody else who looks good in a dinner suit, they're just fools who will eventually lose whatever they win. Gambling, like drinking, is pointless. So with a toss-up of cabaret or casino I decided just to wander around. I checked my flight to London, added all the information the airline wanted to know and then put the finishing touches to yesterday's blogpost. It was soon time for bed, not that I really wanted to return to the barren cabin, but all the shops were closing for the night and it was almost 2300hrs. I lay on my bed, resting my head on the one pillow provided, and listened to the noises of the ship (which were mainly people flushing toilets in nearby cabins). 

Ice surrounds the ship

Outside it was dark and all that was visible was the bright white bow wave of the ship as it ploughed through the inky black sea. Eventually I fell asleep but I awoke around 0300 and by and large that was it, I never got back to sleep. I looked out every now and then and saw distant ships that I imagined were going back to Stockholm from Helsinki, but that was it. Prior to that moment (and probably much earlier on, possibly around midnight) I remember the ship slowing down. When I looked out of the window there were lights and a port and it reminded me of that scene in Apocalypse Now when Martin Sheen arrives in a strange, illuminated part of the jungle where the soldiers are dropping acid and I think Dennis Hopper turned up taking photographs. My memory of the movie is sketchy at best. I remember it being 0600 and 0700 and then I noticed that my watch was losing power, the battery needed to be replaced. 

Fast Lane restaurant...

At around 0800hrs I jumped into the shower. I wasn't expecting anything great, but it turned out to be the best shower of the trip, far better than the Birger Jarl hotel's offering. The space was cramped, however,  and the plug appeared to be blocked so the tray filled up and overflowed – but then I saw a plug on the floor and assumed it was a 'wet room', although that doesn't excuse the shower as there was a plug in the shower that clearly wasn't working. I decided not to shave, I just couldn't be bothered, and besides, I needed to get out of the cabin and down to breakfast in the Fast Lane restaurant. I'd imagine that Bon Vivant is closed and who wants a fine dining breakfast for heaven's sake, miniscule portions of food that should be piled high on the plate? Fast Lane was making big claims about its breakfast and to be fair it delivered on them. Porridge with berries and yoghurt fitted the bill nicely, throw in a pastry, a banana and a mint tea and I was in my element again. But then I wondered, when am I not in my element? Probably when I'm hungry. I kind of regret the pastry, but other than that all was well.

The view from cabin 9212, Thursday 8th February, 0800hrs.

The sea is flat calm and there's a mist that limits visibility. It's 0939 and there's about an hour to run. I'll need to get back to my cabin in order to pack stuff up and make ready to disembark. I must say I've enjoyed the ride, it's been a great night on the high seas and far better than being in a hotel, and I think I probably exaggerated the more unsavoury elements of the trip. It wasn't the ship's fault that one of its passengers decided to have a noisy shag and I suppose I ought to forgive the man in Fast Lane for belching, he was only human after all. 

The perfect main course...

Was it a party boat? Well, I suppose for some it probably was; there was certainly a lot of entertainment and with entertainment comes drinking so I'm guessing there are a few people with sore heads this morning wishing they didn't have to disembark, but in so many ways it was very civilised, far more civilised than it might have been if the ship was English. The passengers on the Silja Symphony were a little more sophisticated, considerably less lairy and drunk than their English counterparts. There's a mixed bunch here in Fast Lane this morning: a young family with a baby and their parents, the odd married couple, two kids playing on their own by the window, a man with a pony tail and beard playing with his iphone, a couple of slightly older people, probably married, a woman on her own, her case already packed and by her side, drinking tea, and many other variants of humanity going about the simple task of eating whatever they consider to be 'breakfast' be it a cup of tea or a bowl of porridge.

It's getting very close to the time when we disembark. Looking out of the window now I can see a lot of land, lots of snow and houses and hills and bare trees. We're in Finland that's a fact and it looks very cold and bleak, much bleaker than Stockholm so I'm glad I've brought the Russian hat with me and that I'm wearing a thick jumper and my UniQlo trousers, which are padded and warm. I'd better go, it's been good and I'd definitely do it again, that's a fact.

Minus 14 degrees in Helsinki...sea's frozen up

It's seriously cold out there, I thought as I surveyed the port area of Helsinki. My iphone said it was minus 14 degrees and the sea had frozen up. There were huge chunks of ice covering every inch of the sea and it was amazing how the boat managed to get through it all, but it did. Foolishly I had left my charger and adaptor in the cabin, which was mildly annoying as I'd spent a lot of time surveying the cabin for anything I might have left behind. I failed to check the power point. But no matter, I simply went back in and retrieved it and no time was lost.

Breakfast on the boat...

There was ice on the ground in Helsinki – a lot of ice – it was much, much colder than Stockholm and I had to be careful in case I slipped and fell. Fortunately I didn't fall and it was only a matter of time before I found myself at Helsinki airport after a brief meeting with a colleague. The check-in procedure was pretty straightforward and there was a queue for security, but it soon dwindled into nothing and eventually I was through and sitting in Nordic Kitchen where I ordered a salmon sandwich and some Fazer chocolate, not forgetting a mug of green tea. I might buy myself a bottle of water for the flight. Earlier, I ordered a cab to take me from London Heathrow to home (£79). That will save a gruelling journey with a suitcase on public transportation. I should be home by around 2200hrs.

I'm flying Finnair and if I remember correctly they hand out a small circular piece of chocolate in a red wrapper. I'll be looking forward to that. Having said that, I've had a couple of small bars of Fazer with my salmon sandwich in Nordic Kitchen so I don't want to be overdoing things. In fact, all this eating of rubbish simply has to stop, but I just can't resist it, especially if I'm hungry. I need to start swimming and upping the cycling as the weather warms up, but I can't keep talking, I must act.

Night boat to Helsinki!, part one...

I can't contain my excitement! I used to reserve such joy for a long train journey, but now I'm about to embark upon a sea journey, from Stockholm to Helsinki, an overnight trip on the Silja Symphony. I can board the boat around 1530hrs, or so I'm told, and then we depart around 1645hrs. Our arrival time in Helsinki is 1030hrs and there's little much to do on board but sleep and eat (two of my favourite pastimes). Actually, sleeping is not a favourite pastime, I don't know why I said that as I often wake in the middle of the night and then spend hours trying to get back to sleep. Last night, for example, I awoke around 0100hrs, but that was because I hit the sack around 2130hrs. I got up, wandered around the room a bit then got back in to bed and somehow I awoke around six. I reckon I had around eight hours sleep in total. I took a shower and went down for breakfast, but it wasn't as relaxed as Tuesday's first meal of the day. I decided not to have the 'Full Swedish' of scrambled eggs, mushrooms and cherry tomatoes, settling instead for a bowl of cereal with seeds and raisins and yoghurt and a bowl of fruit (oranges, grapes, melon). Throw in a green tea and that was it; alright, on the way out I grabbed a mini croissant and a small biscuit, but that was it. I had to check out and as you might recall me saying in yesterday's post, I hate checking out of hotels. Still, there was little fuss, everything had been paid for, I hadn't used the minibar so it was plain sailing.

In the dock awaiting departure for Helsinki.

I took a cab to the other side of town, to the Hilton Hotel where I had some business to attend to and then I took a short stroll to a coffee shop close to the Birger Jarl hotel called Bröt & Bread where I ordered a cappuccino and a really tasty pastry filled with almond paste. Afterwards, I retrieved my suitcase from the hotel before boarding another taxi which would take me to my final meeting of the day. I got there early and tried to find a café that was open just to keep out of the cold. I found one opposite an ice rink and ordered a green tea and soon it was time for the meeting. Lunch followed in an excellent Thai restaurant and then, after saying my farewells, I took yet another taxi to the port at Hamnpirsvägen 10 where I have to await the Silja Symphony, my boat for the journey.

I've switched to a cabin with windows

Right now I'm sitting in a café, I've just ordered a vanilla tea (and bought a fridge magnet) and now it's a waiting game. There's not many people around, but having said that, I arrived around 1300hrs, actually, make that 1330hrs. Right now, at 1441hrs, there's more activity, but mine isn't the only boat waiting on the port side, there are boats to Turku and Tallinn too and who knows who is going where? All I know is that my boat doesn't start boarding until around 1500 to 1530hrs. There's a group of five people sitting close by, one is American and I'm not sure about the others. The American talks a lot about eagles. Two people, one being the American, sport black shirts and bald heads, they look virtually identical but they're not.  There are a few families, I can hear kids and everybody is wearing a bobble hat. Mind you, it is very cold and it's quite funny the way Swedish people cast aside preening and looking neat and tidy, bowing instead to the harshness of the cold weather (understandably) and wearing what looks like sleeping bags. Bivvy bags, bobble hats, trousers, you name it, the game is to keep warm at all costs.

I can't think of much else to say at this present time, except to say that they upgraded my cabin, which I didn't expect. Either way I don't get a window, but according to one of my colleagues, it'll be dark by the time I sail and I won't need one. 

This ship is absolutely huge!

I decided to take the ferry because I didn't fancy three flights in one trip. I'd already flown from London to Stockholm and I didn't fancy flying Stockholm to Helsinki and then Helsinki to London as that would have meant...well, I'm not sure what it would have meant; I suppose another hotel room in Stockholm or Helsinki. So I opted for the boat, which I reckon is cheaper, it's only £132...or something like that. So, as I say, here I am. I have my ticket, I have everything I need for the journey. I'm getting twitchy. I need to know whether there will be an announcement or whether we're all expected to just get up, go through the barriers and board the ship.

There's some kind of automatic machine scooting around the terminal building, probably a scrubber/dryer or some kind of cleaning device. I remember once (while a freelancer) having to write about scrubber dryers, oh, the glamour! I've just got up and checked and it is a scrubber/drier (see video). How fantastic! I know, little things, but it's not that little, it looks a bit like a Dalek. The machine is amusing others, namely the two bald-headed men wearing black shirts who earlier were talking about eagles. They've now visited the restrooms leaving a white-haired man with a white hoodie covered in stars chatting to one of the two women who share the table. I presume the other woman, ah...here she comes now, she's back, dressed in black (as she was before she left) and she has dyed black hair. She must have been in the restrooms.

Dancing girls greet passengers...

I'm going to take a wander, find out the lie of the land, see if there's going to be an announcement, find out what's 'beyond passport control' and generally get my bearings. I don't need any more to eat and I hear the catering on board is good. Talk again later...

Later...

So I found out that there would be an announcement and there was and now I'm on board, in my cabin and it's not brilliant. Very basic. It makes me wonder what the cabin I had before was like. I'm told that I can upgrade to a cabin with a window for just 20 Euros, I'm definitely doing that, but I can't do anything for another 25 minutes after the boat has departed. It's 1645hrs now so we should be leaving soon.

The ship in the dock as we embark on our journey...

I've taken a wander around and it's okay, there's a few gift shops and a number of restaurants and eating areas. Currently I'm in Fast Lane, a kind of cafeteria selling pastries and hot drinks. I bought a green tea and a couple of small bars of Fazer chocolate and I'm sitting in the corner blogging because you can only get wifi on level seven. On level 6 there's an Italian restaurant, but I've booked myself a table in Bon Vivant (I hate that name) for 1830hrs, it seemed like the most upmarket offering on board. Elsewhere on the ship there's a conference going on. There are various bars dotted around and the whole ship shouts excess, there's plenty of opportunity for Sweden's Dave Oafs to drink themselves senseless on board and then stagger off in the morning. I keep seeing people with trays of lagers and can only imagine how awful it could be. 

Noisy shaggers...

Outside of drinkers, of course, there are shaggers. I was quietly minding my own business in a public area on deck 11 when I heard the unmistakable porn movie shrieking of a woman behind one of the doors close to my own. She clearly had no sense of shame as she wailed on and on and on in true porn star manner. It was quite embarrassing if the truth be known. I know these boats have a reputation to keep up – that of 'party boat' – but the passengers could pipe it down a bit, there are English people on board! I'd imagine whoever she is, she's cast off her bivvy bag and Ugg boots, dispensed with her bobble hat and jumpers and, well, there's not much room in those cabins and I don't particularly want to imagine any more. For all I know she might be a right heifer, but it doesn't always follow and who said heifers can't have their fun? And who am I to start calling somebody I don't know and haven't seen a heifer? The odd thing was I walked past all the shops, spoke to the lady on the information desk about upgrading (not because of the shaggers, I just wanted a window with a sea view) and when I got back to the 11th floor and was making my way to the cabin to get my laptop, she was at it again. I'm now wondering whether there's anybody in there with her or if she's got a giant vibrating dildo wired up to the mains, possibly USB-chargeable, purchased, perhaps, from a Stockholm sex shop, not that I've seen any sex shops – and not that I was looking either. I've been far too busy to entertain anything so sleazy – not that I'd entertain anything sleazy if I wasn't busy – all I want is dinner, my book and then bed, preferably in a cabin with a window. God! I'm sounding really old and boring aren't I? A decent meal and a book, that's all I want, but it's true, who wants the faff of anything else? Well, clearly the woman behind one of the doors further up from mine. Briefly, I imagined knocking on her door and telling her to keep it down, but that was probably the last thing on her mind; and the last thing on my mind was having an altercation with a Viking gentleman, although I'm not on the Viking Line.

Boats going to Helsinki and to Tallinn (Estonia)

So it's just gone 1700hrs and as far as I can tell we're still at port. Normally when you're on a huge ship like this one you get the sound of engines revving up and notice a little bit of movement. Then it's time to wonder if you're likely to suffer from seasickness. I've travelled across the North Sea before (twice) and on both occasions I was fine, let's hope so today. Earlier, I passed a seafood restaurant and thought no, imagine a double whammy: seasickness AND food poisoning, firing on all cylinders with a soundtrack of shagging as the boat dips and dives its way to Helsinki, or Helsingfors as it's known to the Swedes. The very thought almost made me sick as I imagined all the soft toys – the seals, the meerkats and the bears – giving me strange looks as I disembarked with a green complexion, smelling of sick and wishing I was home.

A man next to me has started belching loudly, I won't even look at him, but there you have it.

New cabin...

I managed to upgrade to a cabin with a window and it only cost me 20 Euros, not bad. I'm on deck nine, no longer on deck 11, and while the dimensions and style of the cabin are roughly the same, there's a window and I can see out at the twinkling lights of Sweden on the shore line. In all honesty I didn't know the boat was moving. I was expecting to hear the roar of engines, but there was nothing and if I hadn't asked somebody I would still think we were in the dock. If it stays like this I'll be happy. I've got dinner booked for 1830hrs in Bon Vivant (arguably the best restaurant on the ship) and if everything goes to plan I'll be docking in Helsingfors (Helsinki) around 1030hrs tomorrow morning. I just hope I get a decent night's sleep.

I'm back in Fast Lane, but I'm not eating and nobody has asked me what I'm doing so I assume all is well with the world. There's 20 minutes to kill before it's time to eat and I know that there's nothing but shops on this level (level seven) and that elsewhere there are bars, a conference centre, a casino (I hate casinos) and probably that's it. Oh, there's a gym too and I'm sure there's loads of other facilities; this is, after all, a hotel on on the high seas full of people shagging and drinking and buying stuff they don't need. There are men nursing pints of beer, men and women drinking together, alcohol wherever I look and I'm the only one on a laptop writing. The Society of the Spectacle is here too, I've seen it, on the sixth floor, or deck six, everything exactly the same as the 'spectacle' found at airports all over the world. Once again, I'm never tempted.

In Stockholm, part two...

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

The full Swedish?

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

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

The view from room 709...

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

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

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

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

To Stockholm...

Sometimes things go smoothly, and so far that has been the case, not that I want to tempt fate. I left the house just before 1000hrs and jumped aboard the 1009hrs train from Sanderstead. At East Croydon a Brighton train arrived within minutes and the first stop was my destination, Gatwick Airport. Despite being largely automated, there were no problems with checking in; it was even easy to change my seat to a window seat and deposit my bag on the conveyor.

Weak tea in Grain Store

I took a table in Grain Store, a café I have visited before, and I've just enjoyed scrambled eggs on toast plus more toast with a small jar of marmalade, it's just annoying that it's soda bread, which is hard and unforgiving and not very pleasant. Oh, and let's not forget a decaff tea, which was dreadful. It had no substance to it and, you might understand me when I say that I could see the hot water and not the tea, having poured in the milk. It's weak and tasteless and very pale, which is very odd considering the brand is Taylors, a reputable name in the world of tea drinking. I left it to brew for at least 15 minutes and look at the state of it (see pic on the right of this text).

I had the full two-hour airport experience, mainly because everything ran smoothly, even security, and so I sat at my table feeling pleased that I had well over an hour left to run before heading for the gate. I'm off to Stockholm and then Finland and then home again and there's a trip across the ocean involved too, and by that I mean I'm taking the night boat to Helsinki on Wednesday night.

I was tempted to go for a wander around the shops, but it's so depressing looking at things I really don't need like Go-Pro cameras, fancy headphones, expensive and unnecessary luggage or clothes that are far too expensive for my tastes or for what they are; I did have a brief look at the iphones and the Samsung phones and the Garmin watches, but I never left the store feeling as if I needed to buy one, not that I could afford it and besides who needs so much data? Nobody. The whole thing about measuring everything, how many steps, how many this, how many that, building up stats on everything, there's no need and there's no point. I do it enough with Strava.

Through the clouds!

At 1250 the gate was announced, gate 23, and I marched there, it was quite a yomp and I decided not to use the automated walkway. While the Norwegian flight was supposed to take off at 1300hrs, it didn't take off until nearer 1400hrs, but for some reason it didn't matter so I accepted the situation, which wasn't at all dire. I was sitting in seat 6F on the right hand side of the plane, there was nobody sitting next to me and a woman in a track suit sat in the aisle seat. We didn't talk to one another and I think she was in a trance for most of the flight. I saw her again at baggage reclaim but again she looked a little odd and besides we didn't know each other. Alright, she wasn't odd, just quiet, she probably hated flying, I don't know, there was a bit of Katherine Ryan about her.

The flight was perfect and it was turning in to the perfect day, everything seemed to be working fine: the trains, the planes, the automobiles, everything. There was some initial cloud when we left Gatwick, but then the rest of the flight was spent above a blanket of cotton wool cloud, and there was no turbulence. In short, I loved it. As we descended towards Arlanda airport, the frozen lakes of Southern Sweden showed themselves as we heard from the captain that we'd be on the ground in around 25 minutes. The cloud disappeared and soon we were on the ground heading towards passport control and baggage reclaim. I hate having to use the 'other passports' queue as I consider myself to be a European.

I needed to check out where the hotel was located and what was the best way of getting there so I stopped at the Café Ritazza beyond baggage reclaim – I've been there before – ordered an apple tea and a piece of carrot cake and called the Birger Jarl,  my hotel for the next two days. The woman on the front desk told me a cab would be around 700SEK and I really wasn't planning on spending so much money so I opted for the good old Arlanda Express which took me to Stockholm Central in around 18 minutes. It's like the Gatwick Express, but far, far better. It was dark outside so very little to see, so I just amused myself with my own thoughts and then, suddenly, we were there. I jumped a cab outside the station and was soon at the hotel.

Frozen lakes

The Birger Jarl was the first hotel, ever, to ask me what floor I fancied staying on. "How many are there?" I asked. "Seven." "Okay, put me on the seventh floor and so here I am in Room 709 on the seventh floor in a room with polka dot wallpaper and, oddly, no desk so I'm forced to recline on a kind of elongated chair which allows me to stretch out, put the laptop on my lap and write this blogpost. I've just had dinner downstairs in the restaurant. Chicken followed by chocolate mousse and washed down with a no-alcohol beer and a few glasses of water. It was a very pleasant dinner. I sat there reading my book, Eat, Sleep, Cycle by Anna Hughes, it's absolutely brilliant and I'm loving every chapter of it, make that every sentence.

On the dinner front, while it was okay, the portion sizes were a little on the small side and I wasn't able to put it on my room, presumably because the restaurant is a separate business and not really part of the hotel. But portion sizes aside, the evening was very pleasant and relaxing and just what the doctor ordered. To be honest, did I really want to come to bed feeling stuffed? No I didn't. Far better to eat reasonably light before hitting the sack.

The Arlanda Express at Stockholm Central 

For some reason I thought it was minus 13 outside, maybe because that's what it said on my hotel room's television set (flatscreen screwed to the wall). But it turns out to be just minus 4, which is good. I stood outside in what I thought was minus 13 and it wasn't that cold, but when I was told it was only minus 4, well, I thought yes, that's probably about right, and then took the lift to the top floor and my room, which is great. There are wood floors, a decent wardrobe, a fine bathroom and a flatscreen television, which I'll probably watch in a few minutes before hitting the sack. I was going to have a shower, but I'll leave that until the morning now. In fact, I'll probably pass on watching television, who needs the stimulation before trying to get some sleep? Not me.

Room 709, Birger Jarl, Stockholm

I'm here for two nights, which is great as I hate staying anywhere for just one, there's no point unpacking. It's nice to know that I don't have to up sticks in the morning, it means I have some kind of base, which I like. On Wednesday I take the night boat to Helsinki and suddenly I feel like a spy. I always feel like a spy when I travel abroad. Jason Bourne, somebody like that. Whenever I'm on a train in Europe, as I've probably said before, it's as if I'm in The Great Escape. Big X being questioned by the Germans and then being caught out by the Gestapo. "Bartlett!" And then that great scene as Richard Attenborough is running through the quiet streets of France. "Your German is good and also your French I hear. Your hands...up!" I'm just hoping that the bad guy from No Country for Old Men isn't milling around looking for a large sum of money, but fortunately I don't have it so my conscience is clear. 

It's gone 2200hrs and I'm just lolling here with the lap top on my lap. Being on the seventh floor there's not much traffic noise, which is good as I'm ready to hit the sack. I can get breakfast at 0630hrs in the morning, which is good as I like a decent hotel breakfast and it'll be good to see what the Birger Jarl has to offer. I'm expecting great things and I'm hoping they won't disappoint as breakfast is the most important meal of the day as we all know. I'm hoping it won't be minimalist (like tonight's dinner) although I was more than happy as I don't really want to over-eat. 

The Birger Jarl is a quirky hotel and it's kind of the icing on the cake for me as today has been rather special. I've had little cause to be upset with anything or anybody. Perhaps I will treat myself to some Swedish television, but only for a short while as I want to get a good night's sleep. In fact, sod the television, I'm going straight to bed and I can't wait.

To Tatsfield Village...

Last week, two trips to Tatsfield, one alone, one with Andy (on Sunday). Great rides both of them, the weather wasn't too severe, but it was a little on the chilly side, certainly on Saturday. I've taken to riding along the off-road path on the return journey along the 269. It's been okay but there are bits where the uneven path shakes the bike to smithereens and on Sunday I lost my front light as a result. I looked down and it wasn't there and the very thought of stopping and retracing my steps back along the path was too annoying to be given any major consideration, which I suppose was stupid in itself. I figure I'd buy a new front light. That said, perhaps I'll take a look for it this weekend.

Tatsfield Village pond.

I'm still angry with myself for not tying in to an exercise routine, not yet at any rate. Everything in my life is so haphazard. I might start using the trim wheel on, say, a Monday, but then I'll completely forget about it until Wednesday and it's all to do with circumstances. I might oversleep and vow to do the exercises in the evening, but then the evening comes and I completely forget about it until it's too. Likewise the Saturday ride, but this is more my fault. I simply get up, knowing I can go whenever I want and then end up still being in the house at gone 0900hrs when the demands of others starts to creep in. End result? I don't go out, although I do promise myself that I'll go in the evening and then, of course, I don't go.

Pot of tea at Sheree's...totally civilised!

Now it's the following week and it's Saturday morning (yesterday) and it's lunch time for heaven's sake and there's no way I'm going now. I'll either go tonight or (most likely) I'll content myself with the thought that I'm going tomorrow and then lol in front of the television all night. There has been a kind of on/off pattern to cycling, mainly because of cold weather and the sequence goes something like this: Two rides, one ride, no rides, one ride, two rides (per week) and so on. Last week I managed two rides, good for me. This week it's just the one and in many ways it's gone back to what it used to be pre-pandemic when rain might have stopped the Saturday ride or Andy couldn't make it on the Sunday or the weather across the weekend was so rubbish we didn't go out at all. Back then, of course, we just accepted the situation for what it was and perhaps that should be the way now, but I don't think so. It needs to be addressed and I've got to have more discipline, more get up and go, more organization and so forth. In other words, as I keep saying, I must get my act together and make a difference.

Inside Sheree's Tearooms...

It's the same for walking. I've done alright on walking. I'm not always recording the walks on Strava, but I think this week I've managed a couple of two-milers and one slightly longer, but when the International Man of Mystery isn't around I prefer a curry and rice and a mug of tea down the caff and why not? Fine, but I don't walk home, I wait for the Purley Oaks train, although, all things said, I always walk around two miles per day from my house to Purley Oaks station in the morning and at night, so the default is around a two-miler daily.

I promised myself that I'd go swimming. I haven't gone yet and we're now in February. I won't say anymore about that but hopefully one day I'll manage it and get in the groove. In fact I'm not going to say anything about my plans for exercise as whenever I do I simply don't do it.

Today I rode to Tatsfield village, forgetting that Andy wasn't going to be there. I have vague memories last week of him saying he wouldn't be going, but as I say, I forgot. So I left the house around 0800hrs and at around 0900, as Sheree's Tearoom came into view, I couldn't see Andy's trademark orange forks. I started to think, hold on, I've beaten him to it, I'm the first to arrive, this is great news, but as I drew nearer and kind of remembered him saying he wouldn't be there. In many ways I'm glad I forgot because had I remembered I probably wouldn't have gone, I'd have left it too late and then thought I'll start again next week. In other words, not remembering he wouldn't be there did me a lot of favours.

Chicken curry at Rodi's Redhill

Over the past few weeks I've been taking the off-road path on the return journey along the 269 and it's been alright, except that it's pretty bumpy, shaking the bike to smithereens and last week (rather annoyingly) I lost my front light as a result. Today, after tea at Sheree's, I followed the same route along the off-road path, but I slowed right down and kept an eye out for my light. I didn't find it, which means I'll have to buy another one. It was warmer out today than it has been of late, which made for a pleasant change. 

When I reached Sheree's, Ken was there. We wished each other a good morning and that was it; I felt glad that he didn't engage me in a chat about catheters. Instead, I sat there looking out of the window and just chilling out until I'd finished my pot of tea. Then I headed out on the ride home and I must say it was enjoyable. At least I got one ride in and things will improve, I know they will.

In Porto...

No cycling this weekend, too cold. I'd been away, in Porto, and returned home fairly late on Friday night so I didn't go on Saturday. Sunday was freezing cold and Andy wasn't going, he had to go out somewhere and while I faffed around pretending I had real intentions of going out, I didn't. Instead I drove the car and its occupants (me, my wife and daughter) to the Bluewater shopping centre, or mall, and after lunch in John Lewis, I found a Starbucks and finished off my book, Triggers, by Glen Matlock. I went to Waterstones and bought two books, one on cycling around the coast of the UK, the other a Japanese novel. I'm reading a lot at the moment and there are other books on the list in my head.

A tram in Porto

On Thursday and Friday I was in Porto in Northern Portugal attending my company's annual conference. Each year we travel en masse to somewhere in Europe. One year we went as far as Marrakech. It's always good and we all get to hear about the company, how it's performing and so forth, all crucial stuff, and it's an opportunity to mix with fellow members of staff on a more social basis than during the rest of the year when we're all working and doing our own thing.

We took off from Gatwick airport around 1100hrs last Thursday morning. We flew TAP, the Portugese national airline. Both flights were good and roughly two hours in duration. There was a shortish coach ride to the hotel, the Avenue, where I was staying in room 108. It was a pleasant room with a decent shower and a comfortable bed. I was on the first floor, which was good as it meant I could avoid the lift and take the stairs.

Statue in Porto

The hotel breakfast on the Friday morning was excellent and dinner the night before in the restaurant (Badio Gold) was great too and the atmosphere was, to say the least, lively. There was plenty of food on offer too, served on platters. I left around 2230hrs and walked back to the hotel with a colleague. Porto is a nice place but it is also a little edgy in places. No problems were encountered.

We had to leave for the airport at 1530hrs and I'm glad I gave up drinking nearly seven years ago.It meant that I slept well and was up with the lark and down for breakfast early. We hit the streets early too, around 0900hrs, probably earlier, and headed down to the Douro, the river that runs through Porto. There were steep descents and ascents and we were on the move most of the time, covering 6.57 miles in what turned out to be a huge circle around the city. We stopped off a couple of times at a cafe for tea and cake and then at a restaurant for lunch and then we made our way back to the hotel via another hotel across the street from our own. We took the lift to the 19th floor and from the gym took what amounted to aerial photographs of the city that surrounded us.

The Douro river, Porto

Once back at the airport I joined colleagues for a cup of tea and a chat and then we all flew home, arriving back in the UK around 2030hrs. I took the train to East Croydon and jumped a cab home and then spent the weekend chilling out. I wish I'd taken a ride on the bike, but it was so cold I couldn't face it. Hopefully next week things will have warmed up.

Aerial view of Porto

Room 108, the Avenue Hotel, Porto

New Year's Eve ride to Tatsfield Village...

The weather app says 12 degrees, which is reasonably warm for this time of year, but what about that wind? It's not warm, I can tell you, it's cold and it went right through me as I pedalled along the 269 early on New Year's Eve. I left the house around 0813hrs and reached there about an hour later. The skies were dark and grey and yes, I did think about a possible downfall, but I didn't think too hard, mainly because there were encouraging signs in the skies above: breaks in the cloud, sunshine and potentially clearer skies. There had been overnight rain, I discovered, once I'd passed Sainsbury's in Warlingham and found myself on the more rural bit of the 269 that would take me all the way to Botley Hill and beyond. Roadside puddles were like black treacle, forcing me to take to the off-road path for a short while rather than risk straying into the middle of the road and being hit by a car. The wind was unpleasant, especially when I rode along Approach Road towards Tatsfield Village, but it wasn't long before I reached Sheree's and she knew my order. "Pot of tea?" I said yes and paid up. Andy had already ordered his latte and he had a few Biscoff biscuits in some silver foil, three for me, three for Andy, and a great snack it has to be said.

Library shot of Sheree's in Tatsfield village...

We chatted about Christmas and falling asleep in front of the television and then we moved on to talk about medical procedures, remembering Andy's hospital experiences when he broke his hip after coming off the bike earlier in the year. Was it this year or last? Catheters were mentioned and clearly overheard by Ken who came over to tell us all about his, not that we really wanted to know, and then he kept on talking about this and that ailment, eventually telling us that he was 82 years old and how he kept fit by walking, with professional-looking sticks he'd left outside. He was a nice guy and a regular at Sheree's, but I hope that doesn't mean we have to talk about end-of-life ailments every time we go in there; let's hope not.

I'll be honest. I don't want to hear about illness and poor health and catheters and the pointlessness of the human condition, or Mortimer and Whitehouse going on and on about it on television. Why talk it all up? I just don't want to. I'm not ready to be an old man just yet. I'm not old! I ride a bike, I walk a lot, I'm still working (and I love it) and I just don't want to hear anything negative or depressing. I used to like watching Mortimer and Whitehouse's Gone Fishing until I realised that eventually they will start whingeing about their aches and pains and ailments. I don't want to hear about 'your bad knees' or how you can't do this or that anymore, I don't want to hear it. I can't be bothered with it anymore, it's not funny, it's depressing, and it's made a lot worse at this time of year when it seems to me as if the grim reaper is working over time, killing off various celebrities so we all have to put up with 'people we lost in 2023'. I think I mentioned that bit in a previous post, but it seems to be inescapable at present, what with Mortimer and Whitehouse - yes, that's the third time I've mentioned them since I started writing this paragraph, and Ken at Sheree's. Andy and I have had our fill of it, it has to be said, and to be fair to us both, we never mentioned our own personal tragedies today (for mine, click here) In fact, I made a point of steering clear of the subject and I think Andy was doing the same. Perhaps our chat about catheters was ill-advised, not that we were to know that Ken would come over and expand on the conversation. I got the feeling we might have been there all morning, but Andy visited the bathroom, which set the ball in motion for us to start preparing to leave. I stood up, Andy returned and we headed for home. We're now on first name terms with Sheree. Andy introduced himself and so did I so it's all good. I couldn't tell you the names of anybody at the Costa in Westerham.

Taking shelter from a downpour...

A few hundred yards into the ride and it started to rain. As I reached the covered Tatsfield Bus Stop it was getting fairly heavy. So heavy that I decided to take shelter there, it was like old times minus Andy and the flask of tea. The rain and the wind combined and what was initially vertical rain became almost horizontal, forcing me to sit on the back rest of the bench and lean back against the rear wall of the shelter. I was there for around 20 minutes, watching the rain fall and fall and fall and then suddenly the sun came out and the rain stopped so off I went. While it did start again, it wasn't that heavy so I put up with it, deciding to take the off-road path rather than get drenched at close quarters by the passing cars. But I was mistaken if I thought I'd keep dry on the off-road path. Oh no, I got drenched by passing cars as they whizzed past, kicking up a shed load of spray. I might as well have asked somebody to throw a bucket of water at me at regular intervals. Even though I was a considerable distance from the cars, the water thrown up was like a wave and it hit me square on the side of my face every time. I wasn't safe until I reached Warlingham Sainsbury's and rejoined the road.

The bike sheltering from the rain...

I can't remember exactly what time I reached home, but as soon as I did I stripped off my wet clothes and made myself some marmalade on toast, just what the doctor ordered. The plan is to ride tomorrow, weather permitting, and visit Sheree's again. We like Sheree's because Sheree herself is an excellent person who brings that much-needed personal touch and some much-needed happiness. All of a sudden, Sheree's has become our go to venue for a weekend ride. Alright, it's not as far as Westerham in terms of fitness, but it's a pleasant experience and that's what it's all about at the end of the day, being relaxed, chilled and happy.

I've got a fish finger sandwich on the way and I can't wait, then it's another night of sitting in front of the television until I feel tired enough to hit the sack. Knowing me I'll probably watch Jools Holland, I always do, but the problem is it's so 80s, as indeed is Jools himself. I'm hoping not to see Ade Edmondson and Jennifer Saunders and also that self-proclaimed twat, Dawn French. How boring was Imagine? Very! Anyway, here's hoping there will be some good music and not all that obscure stuff he crams into Later... but I'm not holding out much hope if I'm honest. I'd like to see Glen Matlock playing bass so here's hoping!

It's past midnight now, so Happy New Year to all my readers. Guess what, Hootenanny was poor, no Glen Matlock, unless he's on now. If so I wouldn't know because I've switched to BBC1 to watch the fireworks. Bed beckons. Good night.

Chilling over Christmas...

 On Wednesday last week - the Wednesday before Christmas - I went down with a cold and cough. I remember feeling a little shivery on my way home from work and (fortunately) I was staying in what I call the Capsule (see previous post). Feeling unwell often messed with my sleep and anybody sleeping with me so I figured it best to be in the capsule until the illness was over.I think I timed things correctly (or I almost did). My cold was a little debilitating. I felt weary and I was coughing and sneezing and later blowing my nose too (a typical bad one if you ask me).

My first line of defence is always Lemsip and I'm glad to report that we had two boxes in the cabinet. All I had to remember was to stick with just four sachets in a 24-hour period. Not too challenging.

Andy outside Sheree's, we'll meet there on Sunday I hope...

I was in work on Thursday, feeling, it has to be said, a little down-in-the-dumps. There were a few people in and everybody was winding down. I managed to get done what I'd planned to get done, finishing an article that needed to be written. I felt good about that and left the office late knowing that it was all over for the Christmas break. I was feeling bad enough to ask for a lift from Purley Oaks and I was in no fit state to do the 2-mile walk from Purley station to Sanderstead that I'd been doing over the past fortnight. I got a lift from Purley Oaks and then embarked upon chilling out and trying to get better in time for Christmas. In all honesty, whatever I had made me feel down, very down and I felt as if I couldn't cope with the world. I certainly wasn't looking forward to any kind of interaction with other people. I did virtually nothing. In fact, sitting here now I'm trying to remember but can't. What did I do? I think we went out on Saturday, or was it Sunday, but I remember being in Sutton, in Starbucks and in M&S. My daughter had a haircut booked so we were simply killing time until she was finished and then we drove back home.

I've never enjoyed the commercialism of Christmas. In fact, I hate it. The greed, the pushing and shoving, those awful Christmas ads on the television and the fact that all we were doing was filling the boots of another Tory, another awful businessman. The family bit is all fine, that's what it's all about and, by and large, my Christmases (our Christmases) are family oriented. We have a big family get-together on the 'big day' round at Natalie's mum's and Boxing Day we tend to go to a pub for lunch and throw in a shortish walk, this time around Shere, the Surrey village where they filmed The Holiday. We found a great pub, The Bray, and I had what was arguably the best steak pie, mash and gravy in the world, all very filling, all very nutritious too. In the evening we played Trivial Pursuit, and I was fine but tired out, probably because I was still a little under the weather. 

Triggers by Glen Matlock is brilliant...

Today, the day after boxing day (it's amazing how quickly Christmas is diluted by the passing of time) I went over with the family to Sutton to see mum. We bought M&S sandwiches from a nearby BP garage and made small talk with mum and my brother who drove up from Petworth. We drove home and now we're chilling again, watching Tom Cruise in War of the Worlds. It's great chilling out as I never seem to relax and soon, within a few days in fact, well, after the New Year, the job starts again and it's a busy month of travelling, one trip I have to do and others I can take or leave (although I'll probably do one of them). But the last thing I want to do now is think about work. 

I haven't been in a fit state to ride the bike. The plan had been to go out on Boxing Day but there was no way I was fit enough. Hopefully by the weekend I'll be back in the land of the living. I'm hoping for a ride next Saturday and then on Sunday I'll go see Andy at Sheree's in Tatsfield.

I'm reading a great book. Triggers by Glen Matlock, a former Sex Pistol, although you could always say that once a Sex Pistol always a Sex Pistol. It's a great read for so many reasons, one being that his early years were very similar to mine, there are things he talks about that I remember too, like Sunday roast on Sunday and then cold meat on Monday (normally, in my case, served with tinned spaghetti and mashed potatoes). Then he worked in a department store. I did too. I was known as a 'mobile porter', somebody who could do any job in any department. My best job was operating the lifts. I knew how to get them stuck so I could spend time alone between the floors reading until the electrician winched the lift to the next floor. I also worked in 'small electrical' fitting plugs on to kettles and had a stint in the heavy electrical department shifting fridge freezers from the warehouse to the lorries. A great job it has to be said and here I am decades later, still working, still earning, although the job is a little more sophisticated and in line with what I'm capable of doing.

The best steak pie, The Bray, Shere, Surrey

It's now just turned 1900hrs and I'll stop writing for now. Alright, I'll continue. Somebody asked me the other day if I was still writing my blog. I am, I told them, but I'd slowed down somewhat, which is annoying. I used to write about every ride I took, but now I kind of amalgamate a number of rides into one post, but if I'm travelling, I always write up what happens each day I'm out of the country. It's my way of remembering what I did and when I did it, photographs thrown in for good measure.

Tomorrow we will be out and about visiting people and I'm really looking forward to it; there's a guy called Julian, I haven't seen him since this time last year and I'm looking forward to meeting him again. Perhaps this time we'll exchange numbers and try to meet up again some time in the new year.

Anyway, time to sign off and watch some television. At least I'm chilling, that's the main thing. I don't do enough of this, and I need to do more.

To Tatsfield...

Sergey Rachmaninov's 10 preludes Op. 23 (no 6 in e flat major) as short as it was, started off my Sunday morning breakfast, although, if I'm really honest, it was a boiled egg and soldiers. I'm off on a ride to Tatsfield Village to meet Andy at Sheree's, which is shaping up to be our new venue. It's almost Christmas and I guess the reason is, well, not really festive, but just cosy and friendly. The people who run the place make the whole experience welcoming. The place is festooned with impossible teapots and scented candles and other fripperies; it's also a shop selling newspapers and groceries, but it looks out on to Tatsfield's village green and pond and the whole thing is very English - and the perfect place to chill after a shortish eight-mile ride in the winter air.

As I write, there is around 30 minutes until take-off and I'll be riding the usual route. There is no rain. At least I don't think there is as yesterday's weather forecast had a sunshine icon blazing out from the computer screen, which was extremely heartening. I need sunshine and brightness and so does Andy. We have both experienced loss in recent days: my sister and Andy's wife and I would say for both of us we need distraction and the best diversion, perhaps, is cycling. Andy said he was using cycling to keep his mind intact and I've said many times in previous posts that there's much more to cycling than fitness. It provides time to think and to zone out and deal with the problems life throws our way.

Sheree's Tearooms - a place to take things easy

I've lost my sister and Andy his wife and my thoughts go out to a man who has been selfless, considerate and self-sacrificing. He is a kind, decent and noble human being who right now is having a tough time of it and while grief is a hard one to beat, it can be alleviated. I know that my sister would not have wanted me or anybody else to be unhappy and I'm sure Andy's wife Marcia would be the same. Life goes on as they say and life is for the living, but let's not forget those who have passed, their memories must be kept alive.

Tchaikovsky's Symphony Number Six is breaking the silence as I contemplate the ride ahead. There's around 15 minutes before take-off and soon I must don the fleece and the snood and head out into the garage to find the bike and then head towards Church Way and the hill that will take me to the churchyard and beyond. As I speak church bells are ringing out from the radio and they remind me of my childhood when the bell ringers of St. Philomena's broke the morning silence as I lie in bed awaiting breakfast cooked by dad and it would have been similar to what I've just eaten: a boiled egg and soldiers and tea with the accompaniment of Radio Four's Today Programme coming from dad's tiny transistor radio.

The ride was good, but windy on the outward journey and while I was wearing a heavy fleece and a jumper and tee-shirt, so three layers, it still penetrated and made me wonder if I'd bothered with the jumper. I checked when I reached Sheree's and yes, I had it on. But the weather was good and that hard headwind that had hindered me slightly heading out, was gone for the return journey. I followed the usual route along the 269 and all was well and now I'm home and feeling exercised, which is good.

Andy and I chatted for over an hour over a couple of soya lattes and two pots of mint tea with a couple of Biscoff biscuits thrown in for good measure. Sheree's, we've both realised, is a great place. It lacks the corporate tinge of Costa and it's far more relaxed and friendly. There are no queues for complicated drinks and the vibe is slower and far more cosy than any of the national coffee chains. Remember, you can't beat an independent operator. Andy visited Sheree's on Saturday much to her surprise. "I thought I'd got me dates wrong!," she said, as she normally expects to see us on the Sabbath and that's what's great about this fantastic teashop, they expect to see us! They know we're going to be there and, of course, we are. I asked if she's open on Boxing Day and the answer was no, they're not; had they been we would have been there, but as it is we'll he heading for Westerham and the corporatism that is Costa Coffee.

My sister has passed away...

Saturday, 2nd December: My sister passed away today. We all knew it was going to happen. On Monday she would have been in hospital for five weeks. She's not been well but she hasn't been in any pain and she died peacefully. We'd all taken turns visiting her and now she is gone. I stood by her bedside with my brother, we'd both missed her passing by around 30 minutes. She looked rested, she looked at peace, and I'm glad to say that she loved the bear I had bought her some weeks earlier. We are left with our memories, nothing more.

Crissy - or Criss - or Cwar as I called her, was a good person and right now I'm feeling a little numb. It's quite hard to believe that she is no more, but it's true and there's nothing anybody can do to change the situation. 

I'd been on a bike ride, just a short one, but on my return, around 1230hrs, I found a text from my niece and jumped straight in to the car and headed for Epsom General, its around 10 miles away. Seeing my sister lying in bed at peace was sad and strange; it was just Jon and I on either side talking about old times with Criss in the middle, lifeless and still. We went to the cafe on the second floor and had tea and an almond croissant and sat there reminiscing and trying to be upbeat about things and then, when Jenny arrived, and after she had seen her mum, we drove to our mum's. We told her the sad news and she took it reasonably well. Jon offered to stay the night but she said it was okay. Jon and I considered a curry but then realised it wouldn't be right so I dropped him at Carshalton station and then drove home, feeling a little jittery, my stomach fluttery as it had been most of the day since I heard that Criss didn't have long. I had to take my mind off of things so I listened to Radio 2, Rylan Clark's show was on and, thankfully, it calmed me down, especially when he called his mum and there followed a humorous exchange which was, by nature, mundane but funny nonetheless as I drove through the freezing streets towards home. Listening to a CD would have been a pointless exercise as this wasn't a moment to pretend I was in my own movie (as I normally do when I'm driving alone) and I preferred the music from the radio as it carried no baggage. There was a quiz involving members of the public, easy questions most of them. Lots of traffic. Too much. It characterises driving these days it seems. At one point, a car had broken down and I had to turn left instead of driving straight ahead as planned. I turned around and all was fine and naturally my thoughts were with my sister and her premature exit from the world. I sat in front of the television for most of the evening trying to keep things upbeat and eventually went to bed in what I call the capsule (it's Max's room, but add a radio playing classical music, draw back the curtains and look out at the night sky and it's like being the only passenger in a small spaceship bound for nowhere).

I awoke Sunday morning still feeling empty. I'm thinking about another short ride, hopefully I'll pluck up the motivation to get out there and do it.The key is to remain upbeat.