cryospace

It turned out that the hotel had a cryospace suite. They call it The Longevity Suite, built into a wall of the hillside. I was too much of a chicken to try it, but the idea was to sit in a Polish deigned, German TUV-certified freezer and be taken down to -195 Celsius for around 4 minutes.

It is supposed to be jolly healthy, but I decided that jumping into the Mediterranean's cool waters was more my thing.

And yes, there were actual sardines swimming around in the clear blue Sardinian waters, an altogether more pleasant temperature.

clio

We'd ordered a little Fiat 500 to get around the island, but instead were given a Renault Clio. I'm already familiar with the 500, but didn't know anything about the Renault. So here's some impressions. Firstly, I should not be coloured by the time we were awarded a Citroen C something in Norway, which was automatic but fairly hard work.

This Renault came as a pleasant surprise. I knew we'd have been able to get the luggage into the 500, having previously stashed a complete drum kit into one, but the Clio took the 2x 23k bags with ease. The rear seats folded and swallowed the bags without drama.

Then for the getaway. A manual shift, so always more of a challenge for a normal automatic-driving Brit, what with the gear stick being on the wrong side and all that. Actually, it all worked out quite well, and although a somewhat noisy car to drive (diesel) it was also quite frugal and sipped the fuel rather than guzzled it.

I've no idea what model we were given but we had start-stop and a curious key fob with a separate button to start the car. I'm not entirely convinced by this system, which meant I still had to fiddle to find the card and put it into a slot before firing up the engine. What's the point, except brochureware?

It also failed a couple of times when I wanted to switch the engine off, and I had to eject/reset the card and then press stop again. Flaky software?

Then quite a good surprise was the built-in satnav, which booted up in English and was quite helpful at sticking to routes. It got confused around the airport, where a number of new roads and roundabouts had been built, but that's just par for the course.

The rental car's diesel engine was pretty solid and managed to salvage a couple of my duffer hill starts that I attempted in third gear. That's just a mix of being used to an automatic and left-handed gearstick. But oh, that engine was noisy. "Listen to the engine note" might be a Top Gear line, but in this case it wasn't an option.

That was until the great stall. I was heading through a little town when the engine simply died. Peep-peep and similar expressions from the cars behind me. I couldn't get it to restart until I'd removed the key, counted to five and reset everything.

I empathise with the Italian hand-waving expressionism.

The stall only happened once, although there was the time I was trying to reverse out of a space and the whole engine appeared to lock up.

And the time I had to coast into a roadside cafe, when the engine cut out. I managed to "bump start" the engine on this occasion to park respectably.

I'll put these occasions down to something to do with the driver, but I can't help thinking that the start-stop (and its inscrutable options buried in the menu system) was somehow a factor.

And yes, the little car had all around beepers to help parking and a reversing camera with guide-lines to help reverse park.

The prevailing impression was positive from this little car; four door practicality, usable space, zippy enough and with decent telemetry. Clearly built to a price point, it even had admirable clip-on fake alloy wheels. I wonder about the stop-start, which was perhaps a gimmick that could have been avoided.

italia

I've worked in Italy and visited it many times. This time we're off to an island, so I wondered if the shaken up impression would be greater or smaller than in the old days.

Sure enough, we arrived and were bundled onto the bus to the terminal. I felt the surge of adrenalin.

My history of Italy goes back to the days of Lire, when the bars used to keep chewing gum in the cash tills to give as change for small amounts. Then there would be the craziness of Milan during the fashion week, when the whole city would turn over to the shows.

It is where I'd visit a quiet bar with a friend, we'd sip grappa and nibble grana and at random intervals there's be a flurry as a group of fashionistas arrived for a break.

My observation of Italian traffic that it was never parked, just momentarily at rest, like some giant arcade game. Arriving in Venice train station on the day of the Grand Regatta, with furious oarsmen rowing along the Grand Canal.

This time it is altogether more sedate; a chance to relax by the pool, or on the beach. Pass the sun creme.

poolside

If I position the sunshade just right it will edit the sun from the picture. The only thing that is missing from this scene is the cool beer.

Sunday's wash adds no mud to my boots

After last Sunday's photo of my feet in the Atlantic at Key West, I thought I'd do another seaside picture now that I'm back in England.

Let's just say that when I was strolling about on the south side beaches in Key West, it was about 33C and very sunny.

Back here on Sunday it was 'dramatic' and the sea also seemed to have gone out a very long way. I was around the area of England known as 'The Wash' which is that little notch at the top of East Anglia, around where it joins to Lincolnshire.

I decided not to attempt to dip into the water which was probably a little colder than that in Florida. It was also a fairly long hike across the mudflats. King John lost the Crown Jewels attempting a similar trip back in 1216. Admittedly I did have my Wellington boots in the car, but they were still clean from not being used at Saturday's music concert.

I decided they could stay that way.

statutory feet shot

Here's a regulation feet shot from just before we returned to the UK. It's the same water that laps the shores of the South Coast of England, except this is the warm bit looking out towards Havana. It might look slightly shallow though, and there's a reason.

A day of contrasts having breakfast on a Hot Tin Roof accompanied by those cooling ceiling fans, looking out to the Gulf of Mexico and then much later a British cuppa back at home.

We jumped into our blue convertible to drive from the Southern edge of America back along the Florida Keys to Miami, before heading for the airport.

A kind man offered us seat upgrades for $50 each, then it was a movie, a nap, breakfast and back ahead of schedule to Heathrow.

Then the contrast...It was almost laugh out loud weather, with grey skies and bucketing rain. The shallowness of the morning's Atlantic could be explained by the quantity of water currently in transit from the sky to the ground.

But you know what? I think I'll post the sunset instead.

altitude check

Up before dawn so that I could travel to Germany. The BBC World Service was telling of the new smoke from the Icelandic volcano, so as I chipped the frost from my car before heading for the airport I wondered if I'd be stuck somewhere random in Europe by the end of the day.

Taxis, meeting people in lobbies, conference rooms until I was swept back to the airport to return at a similar time to the setting sun.

"There'll be some bumpiness for the first 20 minutes" explained the pilot. We were in one of those smaller planes that is only three seats across. The type where they worry about the load profile to ensure that the plane flies level.

Up through the clouds and I could see the distant sun setting slowly as we travelled towards it at 450mph and below it a notable orange haze. I know there's often something like this, but with the volcano stories I felt compelled to watch and wonder if it was the usual thing or something special created by the ash. There were certainly magical swirls as we approached the UK again.

Amusingly, I did at one point check whether the rather small plane flew at a normal cruising "above ash" altitude or would for some reason be lower. Sure enough, 37,000 feet, it said on the specification.

I'm back in England now and when I looked up, the night sky was clear and I could start to count the stars.

in which my woolly thinking makes me listless

It's supposed to be a long weekend, but I had a rather late Saturday start. I suspect the efforts of the week had somehow piled up and forced me to take it easy.

That's good in some ways, but also means my 'down time' isn't being spent doing 'my' stuff.

In addition, there's an increasing pile of domestic paperwork to ripple through and sort out. Sometimes it's like there is a conspiracy around Bank Holiday weekends which become extended rainy domestic administration times instead of fun style decompression.

Well, I suppose I this afternoon managed to cycle over a few hills to look lambs frolicking in the fields in keeping with today's new report that says even five minutes of exercise in green spaces is beneficial. Part way along a mad rain soaked my underprepared clothing and I had to shelter under a tree until a big brown dog told me to move on.

It was the second tree that had a good view of the sheep, followed by the reappearance of the sun.

This could all have been a tick in the right box if I'd planned it; what's the old saying, "No lists make me listless"...?

London Hot Weather Warning Level 3

I didn't know we had such a thing as a hot weather warning level 3 until today, but that's what the weather people were saying this morning.

Plenty of advice about using sun screen and being sure to hydrate.

As I strolled to my meeting in Canary Wharf, I initially noticed the lack of people on the streets - were they taking heed of the 90% risk level? Of course, Canary Wharf has many tunnels which people habitually use to go between the buildings in this area, so maybe everyone was out of sight.

But then, I turned a corner to cut across one of the tree-lined squares and sure enough, it was filled with office workers watching the news on the big screen telly. Encamped on the grass without the aid of any portable furniture (forbidden), but with the aid of many sandwiches, salads and wraps from the subterranean shops.

Amber status heatwave in action.

supersaturated colour before the thunderstorms

A slight oops today because I should really have taken my own advice at the weekend.

If I'd remembered to wear the strange headgear that I'd packed, then perhaps I wouldn't look quite such an interesting colour this morning.

Its all very well having stage artists throwing water around to help us stay cool, but two or three days in a field in the sun, even with SPF30, has left a few marks on the complexion.

Today I was in various client meetings in a spiffy high-rise hotel and despite everyone's studied politeness, I could tell by those short flickering looks that people were assessing my general brightness.

I even hesitated at one point mid afternoon when I had a brief escape to the great outdoors. Suddenly the sun came out and I looked for shelter fearing I may get a further top up of supersaturation.