Squeeze Up

D..n it, I hate trains. Hot, smelly, sweaty and overcrowded. Apparently for every square foot of seating in the tube you kind find every kind of human bodily fluid. And the seats on the trains coming out of London are designed for midgets. If you can spot a spare place then in order to sit in it you have to be willing to become more intimate with someone than most people become with their lovers. And trying to sit down involves such a combination of arms, legs and other body parts that wouldn't normally be seen in an orgy.

Hail

Trip down to London. Good idea to take the train, much easier, using public transport etc. Still have to get to the train station. So I drive there. And the after 20 minutes circling around the car parks decide I have to drive home and order a taxi! Travelling in this country continues to just be painful.

Wing to Wing, Tip to Tip

There I am, 2030 hrs at Dusseldorf airport on Sunday (as you do of course). Not too late, an hour or so further to travel but I have found my taxi driver. All is well. Then the taxi driver apologises. We have to pick someone else up. Their flight was delayed but has just landed so shouldn’t be long. OK, no worries. Listen to my iPod, try and relax. Wait. And wait. And wait. After an hour and a half I ask just how long we are going to wait. Taxi driver rings his head office and we decide to go.

Fast forward to the next day. I meet the person we were waiting for. I am prepared to complain. Rather disarmed by the fact it is a woman rather than a man, and pregnant at that (not sure if that makes me a male chauvinist or chivalrous, hard to tell these days). Anyway I start with the opening gambit “ah, it was you that I was waiting for at the airport”. She replies with “sorry, my plane crashed”. Now, as far as excuses go, that seems a fairly good one to me. In fact I am rather speechless. Images of her plane plummeting from the air and her being the only one to walk away, unscathed, are quickly dispelled as she explains that the wings of two planes collided while manoeuvring on the ground. Even so, I can’t imagine flying an hour after that had happened. It would certainly concentrate the mind. And I would certainly ask for a new pilot.

Wet Wet Wet

They weren't joking about the weather. Friday evening we drove down from Northampton to Cardiff. A journey that normally takes 2.5 hours took over 4. At one point I considered abandoning it and staying at a hotel. One flood we came too I hoped to get through but when there were four cars stuck in it I decided that discrepency was the better side of valour and turned around to find another route. One of the floods I did drive through wasn't too deep on the "wrong" side of the road so I started driving through on that side until a Landie came towards us and obviously couldn't wait, as he drove into the flood at us I had to move over (and I thank him for being so courteous). We saw mini fountains as water gushed up out of drains. We saw slip roads under water. I lost count of how often I had to revise route plans.

Sybilllll

There used to be a rule about visiting international head office. If you were booked in to hotel a you were OK, but if you were booked in to hotel b then you were about to bid adieu to your job. Things have moved on from those days and we can now chose our own hotel. And I usually chose hotel b. It is more amusing. It is a dutch Fawlty Towers. I turned up once and there was a fire engine in the car park. The firemen had brought it around because they wanted to clean it! Service is hit and miss. They often forget to charge for things (and I do tell them, honest). And there is always an air of chaos. And the owner has the perfect qualities of Basil about him.

Well, no more. Amusing it might be but I was booked in tonight. My plane was delayed so I turned up late. By late I mean 2105 hrs. And they wouldn't cook me dinner. The best they could manage was a sandwich. After a long day that did not go down well. Hotel a for me from now on.

Terrorists 1 Me 0

I don't like other people dictating how I live my life. I normally fight against it, to the level of doing things in spite of other actions. But this time the terrorists won. I was supposed to fly to Brussels today, in fact I even got as far as a hotel at Hathrow last night. However I was acutely aware of a meeting that I ahve to attend later this week. And I have been stuck on mainland Europe before thanks to terrorist activity. I really couldn't afford to get stuck again. So I drove back this morning and cancelled my meetings in Brussels. On the plus side I had plenty to be getting on with, it wasn't as though I spent the day twiddling my fingers. On the minus side, this time they won.

Gold

The hotel we stayed at was nothing like what I would imagine for Budapest. I understand that some of our group were upgraded. I find it difficult to see what more an upgrade could have provided. I had a drench shower, and a walk in wardrobe (obviously not together, that would be silly). Two massive windows, air con (that worked, note to London hotels), the bathroom was bigger than my daughters bedroom and the bedroom was, well, massive would describe it. And everywhere dripping with opulence. All for the same price that would get you a pokey dishevelled room in London. Congratulations on those who decided we should go to Budapest.

One More

One of the problems of travelling with work is that the cities I visit don’t really get a fair chance as I don’t see them but feel I have been there. Budapest is a case in point. I have wanted to go to Budapest for years. Now that I have been there for 48 hours (plus a delay at the airport) I feel I have seen it. In fact, the reality is that I have seen more of the airport than I did of Budapest itself. But I have seen enough to know it has MacDonalds and Burger King like every other city in the world (and that people eat at them which is even worse). And now I don’t really feel like going back. I am sure I am not doing it justice (and it is definitely better than Hannover) but it has the “tick” of being “done”.

Here, There

And the thing about travelling to foreign climates is that everyone thinks it sounds fun and glamorous. The reality is that you don't get to see much more than airports and hotels and it can be incredibly frustrating to go to what are, reportedly, nice places but never get to see them. For the last two months "J" has been telling everyone how lucky I am to be going to where I have just been. Having not seen anything other than the hotel rooms (oh, and one restaurant outside the grounds) I now want her to go telling her friends how it wasn't a jolly. It was a good trip, good meetings, learnt a lot, but most definitely not a jolly.

Delays

Sunday meant travelling again, and another flight. The thing is, although I enjoy flying, I really am not a good traveller. I normally want to be at the airport hours before I need to be. However, for once I was running late. I got a text from a colleague telling me there were massive queues. Not what I wanted to hear. So I got to Luton Airport, got to arrivals and, sure enough, massive queues at check in. But I was so late that they had opened a desk for late check in for my flight. Short queue, excellent. As I was checking in my colleague walked past, he had been in the long queue all the time and had only just checked in himself. The mad thing about that is that it almost encourages you to arrive late. I made it to the airport an hour or so after he had and our check in was within minutes of each other. Crazy.

Gloop

It's no secret that I have been spending this week in Scotland (I don't think I was actually banished) for Strangles Awareness Week. I seem to be living in hotels at the moment. Considering how many hotels I have stayed in over the last 6 years I am amazed that I only discovered something very important tonight (and suspect my lack of knowledge of it ranks on the nescafe scale of ignorance (see comments)).

Tonights meeting finished late and there was no food. By the time I got back to the hotel (which I wasn't going to name but have changed my mind, poor service, rooms not ready, apathetic staff - Ramada Perth) the restaurant and bar service had closed down. I considered going to get fish and chips but they said that there was some hot food on the 24 hour room service and I could have that in the bar. So I ordered the chicken and mushroom tagliatelle. What I learned was that you shouldn't order hot food once the kitchen has closed. In hindsight it is fairly obvious that they have bowls of tagliatelle on the off chance it may be ordered and then stick it in the microwave. Rather than pasta it was something that would do well filling the holes in the wall.

I really should have gone for the fish and chips, standing in the rain would have been better and more enjoyable.

Next Up

The iPod is such a wonderful invention. I wonder why I didn't get one before. With a 400 mile trip today in the car I was able to plug my iPod into an FM transmittor so I could listen to Brideshead Revisited, I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue, and a shuffle through my music. Excellent.

Feeling Deflated

So I got back from Hannover at about 1800 hrs yesterday. Not a bad time. Should be able to get home before "A" goes to bed. Get in the car. Start to move forward. Funny grinding noise. Stop. Turn off the radio. Take out the hands free earpiece. Pull forward. Grinding noise again. "Hmm", I think, "something stuck under a wheel". Get out. Go to the back of the car. Find out I have a flat tyre. When I say flat I mean as flat as people used to believe the world was. After that things went downhill.

I manage to finally jack up the car and undo all the wheel bolts. And the wheel won't come off. It seems welded on. No give at all. Maybe I am missing something I think, an extra bolt perhaps. I get out the manual. I examine the wheel. I examine the manual. I kick the wheel. I check the manual again. I grab the wheel and yank it. I check the manual. I hit the tyre with the spanner. None of this works. Finally I admit defeat and have to call out the assistance people (definite advantage of a company car). I have never failed to change a tyre before, I am really quite disappointed with myself. Finally the mechanic arrives at 2000 hrs (no, I won't be seeing A" before she goes to bed). He doesn't seem phased. Instead he gets a big rubber mallet and whacks the tyre a few times until it finally surrenders and comes off. So brute force really was the answer.

Then he puts on the spare. Which is one of these "temporary" tyres. I have never looked closely at one before. They look like they should be used in a soapbox derby. And you aren't allowed to go over 50 mph with one. And you aren't supposed to go long distances. So whose bright idea was it to start issuing these things. If I need to change a tyre then I want something that I can actually use, not something out of a lego kit. Because, you know, maybe, just maybe, I might have a long journey ahead. Something like a 500 mile round trip the day after I get back from Hannover. Just possibly. And having to first go to get a new tyre might not be how I planned to start the day when I needed to get to a meeting 250 miles away. I mean, I am just hypothesising, obviously. That wouldn't be the reason I got home after 2130hrs two nights in a row would it.

Take Off

So, off to Hannover for a Sheep Vet Society meeting (honest). The plane from Heathrow is the smallest I have been on, discounting flying Chipmunks (and that is not a circus act) when I was an RAF cadet. The plane is only three seats wide. We have to board one at a time so that the stewardess can individually shoe-horn us into our seats. By the time the last 5 people board there is no longer any room in the overhead lockers for their hand luggage. The stewardess has to stop a passing Robin Reliant and borrow the roof rack so she can strap the offending luggage to the wing. Then, when we are wedged in and require a liberal application of baby oil if we are to ever hope of getting out again, they announce that (a) we don’t have a take off slot for half an hour and (b) by the way we are still refuelling so please don’t fasten your seatbelts. Strangely enough, every time I have heard that last announcement I have completely failed to find it reassuring.

Best Laid Plans

OK. So that really didn't quite work. I had a simple plan for the day. Go in to the office. Meetings in the morning. Then sort out a few things in the afternoon before leaving slightly early (by which I mean 1700 hrs would be good enough). So that I could drive over to Wales. For a masonic meeting in the evening. However. Yes well. "J" rings me at 1900 hrs to see where I am, fully expecting me to be at the bottom of the M50. And I explain that I am still in the office. Things got a bit busy. Looks like I will be driving over to Wales in the morning then.

Sunny

One of the nice things about my job is that I am not always in the office. I enjoy the office time because the cameraderie is good and I feel part of a team. But on days like today, with the sun shining, it is nice to be out and about. Didn't go anywhere particularly scenic, I just had an off-site meeting, but I was out in the sun and it was, well, simply pleasant. Do you remember those days at school when the teacher would decide that the lesson could be taken outside in the sun? The wind meant you couldn't write your notes, and you got so distracted by a ladybird or an ant that you lost track of what was being taught. But it was nice. Good days.

Through Gritted Teeth and Droopy Eyes

I am rapidly deciding that Brussels and I are not meant for each other. I can never sleep well when I am there. I don't know why, something stops me sleeping. Then the meeting I go to at IFAH is at just the wrong time. The planned end time means that I either have a mad rush to get to the airport in time for a flight, or I have a long wait at the airport for the next flight. As I don't do "mad rushes" very well I invariably end up with the long wait. Made even worse when the flight is then delayed buy a further 75 minutes. By the time I got to Heathrow I was shattered. there was no way I could safely drive home so had to book into a hotel for the night.

Ping

You know this jet setting isn't nearly as glamorous as people think. I am in Brussels and bored out of my mind. The kind of shows around here are not the sort I would go to and all the channels on the TV, barr one,are in a foreign language. I can't have a late night (I mean after midnight) because I have to work tomorrow, otherwise I would go and find a club (not one of the local ones). I haven't brought a book because I have to learn my lines and I know if I have a book I will just read it but I have read and reread my lines enough today. When people hear that I travel a lot they always think it sounds fun. I swear "J" thinks I am off having fun. I am not. It is d..n lonely, especially when I know everyone else is together at a sales conference.

Sooooooo bored!

Know Thyself

I thought I knew Brussels. Yes, I know that is an incredibly stupid statement. But I have been coming to Brussels for two years for meetings. Now, the flaw in my theory was that I always stayed in the same hotel. I went for walks around the area and decided Brussels was nice. I have just realised that the hotel I stayed in was positioned in rather a posh area. Tonight I am staying in a different hotel because there is some sort of conference in town. And, for a start, I think that Comfort hotels should be sued for breach of contract. After all, somewhere called "Comfort Inn" should actually be comfortable. The hotel room is a box and there is no restaurant. But let's get past that. So I thought I had better go for a walk and find somewhere to eat. I turned left out of the hotel and, in retrospect, this was the wrong direction. Because I found out that left was the red light district. Hmm, a side of Brussels I have not previously seen.

Popping Over

So I was in B****** for a flying trip. Too quick really. From landing to taking off again was 20 hours. It didn't start well. Deciding to try and spend a good part of Sunday at home I booked a later flight than normal. It seemed a good idea 3 weeks ago but less good when it actually came to it. The drive to Heathrow was marred by an accident on the M25. So a drive that should have taken 1 hour and 10 minutes took about two and a half hours. As I usually try to give myself plenty of time to spare I was able to retire to the lounge to relax (I bought a lounge pass last year, money well spent). I then realised that I had forgotten to bring my masonic words that I should be learning. And I hadn't brought a book because I wanted to make sure nothing would distract me from learning my lines!

Once we landed at Dusseldorf I made my way to the exit. As everyone else headed towards the baggage reclaim I spotted a little door that had a sign above it "Exit - handluggage only". Goody I thought, a quick exit bypassing all the normal corridors and hallways. I spent the next fifteen minutes searching for my taxi driver before realising that the arrivals normally came out on the floor below. My quick exit was turning out to be not so quick after all. Down the stairs, searching the downstairs floor. First sweep and nothing. Now getting worried. Got out my travel documentation, no phone number to call. Words like "botheration" now going through my mind. Another sweep of the floor and there he was. Almost hiding, stupid place to stand if you are waiting to pick people up, but definitely with the sign that I had been looking for. I speed over and introduce myself. It is now 2130 hours and I am flagging. The driver proceeds to tell me that we have to wait for the Madrid flight to come in, due at 2200 hours, as he has two more people to pick up. I look at the board. Oh yes, due at 2200 hrs normally but delayed to 2217hrs tonight. 17 minutes may not sound much but, as I said, I was flagging. I walk up and down the concourse to find some food. The only place is a McFranchise and I refuse to buy from there so I go hungry. Finally at 2230 the other two arrive and we have the hour long drive to the hotel.

There is a choice of two hotels in B******, at one you are kept awake all night by the bells in the clock tower next door, the other you are kept awake by the railway line next door. Now the hotel I generally stay I choose because it reminds me of Fawlty Towers. But they also do good food. So being greeted by wafts of good cooking as we walk through the door but knowing the kitchen was closed and the only thing waiting for me was a packet of peanuts in the room did not help.