Clockwork Motorboats

  It’s early on Saturday morning. June 22nd. The day after the Summer Solstice. The longest day, making today the second longest day. I’m worried that life is simply passing me and my family by. It’s as if I’m sitting in a window seat on an express train and as I pass through stations I notice they have names I can briefly glimpse as the train whizzes past: Christmas, New Year, Easter, Summer Time, the Summer Solstice, Wimbledon, Summer Holidays, all things I allow to pass me by because they’re all things that other people do, especially holidays. There are ads on television depicting families splashing around in swimming pools and running hand-in-hand on the beach or enjoying an evening meal, but it’s not me and hasn’t been for a while. And it’s not because we can’t afford it, it’s because we’re unorganised and indecisive. We leave things to the last minute and I always hear myself saying: “Every year I say we must book it up in January, but we never do.” That’s because there’s so...

On leaving Brussels Midi on the 1727 Dortmund train, it takes a while for the WiFi to kick in and for the train to emerge into daylight. The train crawls its way along, but at least we’re moving. Outside there is sweltering heat, much hotter - a million times hotter - than in the UK. I’d been hanging around on the platform for a whole hour having disembarked from the 1258 EuroStar from London St. Pancras, an uneventful journey sitting in seat 21, coach 2 with a little old lady for company. Now I’m in seat 64, coach 21. Leaving the station behind, but still travelling at a snail’s pace, I look out at the overhead power lines, the trains parked up and others moving slowly into Brussels Midi. The city looks pleasant enough, the buildings daubed with graffiti. I’m on the train for just over two hours and when I reach my destination (Dusseldorf) I’m only a short walk from my hotel, the Novum Madison, and only a short hop from Da Bruno, arguably one of Europe’s best Italian restaurants. Now ...

When I woke up this morning it was only 57 degrees Fahrenheit. Most of the week it’s been in the high eighties. That’s not to say it won’t get hotter as the day progresses. I’m on board the 0817 train to Paris Nord, although I’m getting off at Brussels Midi. I’m sitting in seat 14, coach 22, right at the back of the train, but the carriage is virtually empty, the seat wide and I’m as happy as Larry looking out at the passing landscape. One thing I noticed on the journey from Brussels to Dusseldorf - and I’m now reminded of as the train slows down as we arrive in Cologne - is that the Germans really love their allotments. I’ve never seen such elaborate sheds, some sporting their own back gardens, most with net curtains; the Germans really make themselves at home and their sheds could easily double as houses, places where people could live. The train has stopped on a railway bridge over the Rhine, right in the middle. I remember walking over this bridge back in 2007, or thereabouts, but ...