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.

Another evening in Wales

East coast to west coast in a day. Me arriving late, just as the nearby clubs were getting going.

It had quietened down again by about 3 a.m.

midnight diamonds

It's way after midnight and too late to expect new tyre tracks in the fresh snow.

I've cleared the pans of courgettes, tomatoes and some kind of garlic kicker.

Nearby I hear an argument about money or alimony but doubt that George can beat Catherine.

There's red wine threatening me in the glass, but I've already decided clarity will assist the morning's early start.

I look back to the diamond glitter and wonder whether the route north will be clear in time.

prepared, for once

It's slightly unusual to be prepared to travel several days in advance. It's usually the night before, chucking a few items into a well used bag with wheels.

This time there's already a little heap of clothes and bits ready for tomorrow's departure and I may even put some into the car tonight to save time in the morning.

But for now, it's work.

EuroTunnel, Ferries, Weather, Motorways Updates for Xmas Travel

Countdown for the holiday season is well and truly under way. As I'm trying to get to France at the moment and the tunnel information on the Eurotunnel site is singularly useless, I thought I'd improvise a few links.

1 BBC Motorway information (M20) is the key one to watch Click Here

2 BBC Eurostar update Click Here

3 SE Weather forecast from the Met Office Click Here

4 Highways Agency Motorway Traffic Flow - select M20 Click Here

5 BBC Five Day Calais Weather Click Here

6 Traffic Master National live traffic jam reporting Click Here

7 meteofrance French weather shows orange alert for North France Click Here (Thanks, maximumbob)

8 Eurotunnel phone line (UK) 08444 63 00 00 (Thanks, Catherine)

There - that took all of ten twelve minutes to assemble.

Shame that Eurotunnel couldn't do something similar.

I've switched to the Ferry.

payant

Unusual for me, but I've reached that point where I'm planning when I can get the next decent sleep.

Normally, I can get by with just a modest amount, but I've got that slightly fuzzy head feeling that is not quite a headache but could so easily become one.

I know its not intake related but more a function of continued output. Even with my gappy travel plans today, the downtime won't be long enough to fix it.

I'm observing that it seems strange to be planning the next sleep, rather than the next party. Checks and balances, I suppose.

as I continue to elude your vigilant ways, the light is almost here again

Back to London on an early flight. I could already hear the violin chase music in my head. My part of the airport didn't have any windows, so the day/night thing was lost on me. It felt as if it should have been an evening rather than the crack of dawn that I was travelling.

Las Vegas lighting without the gambling.

Then a full day of office meetings during the bit where the really loud tympani kick in. Finally, home accompanied by a phone conference.

I decided to go to bed early on Thursday to let my head unscramble.

And now I must demystify the uncommon dreams; stranger things have come true.

Southwark breakfast, Edinburgh lunch, Hampshire supper

Walking alongside the Thames in Southwark this morning at six a.m. Sunshine blended with mainly quiet streets. Another 30 minutes before most people stirred, but I would already be on my way to my meeting.

In Edinburgh.

Nine fifteen and I'm in fog waiting for a black Nissan Patrol to meet me. Then off to a hideaway house with two buzzards circling over a nearby field.

And by the evening I'm on the M3 amongst other traffic which has the decidedly Glastonbury look with bags packed untidily in the back and passengers with unusual hats and sunglasses.

time to leave this foreign city

03:44 am. I just woke up. The windows are open. Its already getting light. Across to the left there's a slash in the sky where early red sunlight is cutting over the horizon. White and orange bursts against a receding night.

I hear a gull's scree, from the nearby waterside.

Dim light several floors below me bathe communal areas in safety. From the other side of the building there's shouts from revellers, whose voices I have become accustomed to in this foreign town.

In the full morning I will pack. Leave this place. Next time I will be here as a visitor.

juiced

Sitting in the Giraffe Bar at airport rejigging computers.

One of us charging a PC from a nearby power socket and the other stamping out unexpected side effects of a recent software install. Half expecting dark clothed people with baseball caps to swing in on ropes through the windows because the recharging PC is about 3 metres from our table. In direct line of sight though.

The juice tastes good.