Clockwork Motorboats

When Made in Chelsea comes on, it's time to vacate the room and find something else to do. So I move to the conservatory, if that's what it is, and look out at the wintry conditions. It's been raining all day and the weather people on the television and radio are saying that two months of rain will fall in just one day, possibly two. I can't remember. Either way it's been coming down all day; it was raining cats and dogs, as they say, for over 12 hours. It was raining as I made my way to the office, as I left the Pop Inn and headed back to the office, when I walked to the station this evening. We were allowed to leave the office early because of the rain and as a result I was home early, at 6pm instead of my usual 7pm, sometimes a little later. Right this minute the rain is hammering down. The annoying thing, of course, is that it's not the winter, it's June. June 10th to be precise, it's the summer time. It goes without saying that I was planning to cyc

I had planned to write 1,000 words last night, part of a plan (perhaps a stupid one) to write daily. It all came about because of Monday night’s writing. But I was distracted. Rory Stewart, a Conservative Party leadership candidate, was putting forward his plans should he become the next Prime Minister. I’m following his Twitter feed and he uploaded the whole performance. It lasted for one hour and 17 minutes. There was nothing worth watching on television. In fact, last night was pretty boring. I didn’t start watching TV until 10 o’clock and hit the sack around an hour later. I slept well until the early hours, waking around 0330hrs and then trying to get back to sleep. I managed it because I remember a dream, that a couple of dissident republicans in a pick-up truck, the sort of truck capable of towing away automobiles, turned up at my doorstep and stole my car. They then drove past, my car in tow, and I had the opportunity to respond in some way. I think I said ‘thanks, guys’ in a s

The problem with the summer months is light. There’s so much of it. From around 0400hrs the light burns through the curtains and when I awake, I’m awake, and there’s no getting back to sleep. I remember being in Alaska in the late 90s during the summer months when there’s hardly any darkness and it’s light all day long. After a long flight from London via Minneapolis I remember sitting somewhere in the Anchorage Hilton, it might have been my room or a rooftop bar, or both, but it was gone 11pm and it was broad daylight. The hotel had black-out blinds and once they’re pulled down it might as well be December, that’s how dark it gets. They had black-out blinds when we reached Seattle too and I’m thinking back to that trip and how amazing it was. I remember whale watching and flying in a light aircraft to reach a more remote part of Alaska, the state the Alaskans call the 49th as they’re always referring to the ‘lower 48’. Because parts of Alaska are land-locked, light aircraft is the onl

My weekends invariably start with exercise: a ride on the bike, heading out into Northern Kent through Surrey. I write extensively online about my cycling, but I don’t consider myself to be anything special. I ride twice a week, Saturday and Sunday, and while there are various destinations, these days we’ve honed it down to what we call ‘the slow way to the bus stop’. Our recent lack of imagination in terms of final destination has its reasons, the main one being time. While my cycling pal, Andy, and I could happily ride off for miles and miles and return later in the day, we both have responsibilities back home and they limit the amount of time we can devote to our sport.  I leave the house around 0700hrs on most Saturdays and Sundays, I meet Andy at 0730hrs and off we go; we tend to get home before 1000hrs, which is normally acceptable. Sometimes, if we head for Godstone or Flower’s Farm or even Westerham, we might be out until 1030hrs or 1100hrs, but that’s about it.  I’ve been blog

  Grooming. It’s a word that always reminds me of pets - and for good reason: there are pet grooming shops springing up everywhere, places where dogs can go for a haircut and a shampoo and set. I think dogs are the most popular customers of these establishments, cats wouldn’t tolerate such nonsense and besides, they groom themselves and cover up their mess after they’ve taken a dump. Unlike dogs. Although, that said, I once looked after somebody else’s cat, going by the name of Biscuit (it was the colour of a ginger nut). It managed to dump all over my bedroom, leaving little piles of unmentionable things dotted across the floor. After that he was banned, no longer wanted, and we returned him to his rightful owner double quick. But enough about animals. I’ve never kept a pet, apart from that disastrous week with Biscuit. I mean, it’s not as if he was grateful. When we went to see him a few weeks later, he ignored us. They say cats go where the milk is, and we were no longer providing i

  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 someth

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