It's official

Let's face it, it was only a matter of time before I began banging on about how there is always so much to do in retirement and wondering how I ever found the time for real work. But it's true.

My motto is never put off until tomorrow, what you can do the day after that. In this way small tasks such as washing the dog are postponed until absolutely necessary. Thus, over the space of a year, reducing the number of times they are carried out and freeing up time for more important things like playing Tiger Woods' PGA Tour on the Nintendo Wii.

The larger tasks - usually those that involve painting, a tool of any kind or a visit to the tip - await the arrival of a mythical spare day. This is usually one of those meaningless days that occur between Christmas and New Year.

At present I am in a two week gap between jaunts. That's a whole 14 mythical spare days, one after the other. And yet, as I near the end of the first week I haven't managed to tick off one of the many tasks I had optimistically foreseen me tackling this week. Mainly this is because the nature of time has changed. Or, more correctly, my attitude towards it has changed.

For example. Yesterday I had an appointment with my optician in order to agree whether or not I was going to switch to a new type of contact lens that I've been test driving for a month. My optician likes to talk a lot and normally I use the 'my car is on a meter' excuse to escape and get back to work before my lunch hour expires. But now there are no such pressures so I sat back and listened for a change. I also prefaced my appointment with a visit to the Hull City shop to buy this season's shirt (horrible, but I still bought it because I don't want to commit social suicide by being caught on Match of the Day in last season's) and an M&S lunch on a park bench. And after the consultation I ventured to the nearby tattoo studio for tattoo number 2 (a very tasteful pair of cat paw prints that symbolise freedom and my love of wild animals, or at least they will be when they stop oozing blood).

Before I knew it I was on the sofa enjoying a cup of tea and piece of Grasmere gingerbread and the entire afternoon had gone.

This is not how I thought retirement would be. For a start I foresaw a summer filled with endless book reading. Not so. I am still reading a book I began in Italy - The Time Traveller's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger (excellent and I notice it is released as a movie on August 14th). Not only is my pile of books to be read not diminishing, it is growing and threatens to topple over and engulf the dog.

My final year on the creative writing course at university begins at the end of September and I have persuaded the lofty academics to allow me to study travel writing and to submit a 10,000 word extract from a book about a year in the life of a middle aged gapper - sound familiar? I love to read travel books and in my opinion it is a market that is not yet saturated. And when it comes to middle aged men, books about the angst and growing pains of teenage/young/middle age/any age women exist in their thousands, whilst there are surprisingly few books about their male counterparts. By this time next year I'll be a millionaire.

To help my studies I have ordered some travel books I have not yet read, spread across a range of genres from serious to humourous. These include: The Ghost Train to the Eastern Star by Paul Theroux, Round Ireland with a Fridge by Tony Hawkes (how can I have gone so long without reading this?), Three Ways to Capsize a Boat by Chris Stewart and Adventures on the High Teas by Stuart Maconie.

So many things to do, so little time.

On the subject of my personal travelogue I have realised that whilst lugging Wainwright up mountains and across borders is quirky it is not going to be enough. What the reader needs is some tension. Will he, won't he? To this end I need some challenges to fulfil. A fairly straightforward one is to visit 10 countries I have never been to before. But you may have more fiendish ones in mind. If so, then please feel free to use the comment box below to suggest them to me. Challenges that involve East Africa, Vietnam or New Zealand are particularly welcome. Anything that may lead to my imprisonment or serious injury will only be considered if it will sell more copies.

Another challenge might be to appear as a film or TV Extra. My interview is on Friday afternoon in Leeds. This is a bit unfortunate as it coincides with Hull City in the final of the Asia Cup in Beijing. Although, judging by today's game against the home team I won't be missing much.

It is nearly 4 weeks since I left work and until now I have been on holiday. Today is my last day of leave and as of tomorrow I officially become a pensioner. I promise to celebrate by painting something or going to the tip.

Live long and prosper.

Lights, Camera, Action!

Wainwright summits Great Gable

The war memorial (just in case you thought he was stood on any old pile of rocks)

A rare picture of Wainwright and the author together.

Calories! That is how I would describe our week in the Lake District. Calories burned and consumed.

Grasmere can be described as the up-market part of the Lakes. It is a village tucked in beside the main road between Ambleside and Keswick, which are both more commercial.

I gained the impression that Grasmere is a village in conflict. The reception I got when I ventured into the village newsagent/toy shop/bookshop/tourist-crap shop was somewhat muted. I checked my shoes, but no, I hadn't trodden in anything. There is this sense that the tourist hordes, whilst bringing welcome pounds, yen and dollars into the local economy, are a blight on what could be an idyllic rural lifestyle. Something that most of us only dream about and hence we flock towards the area in our thousands and fantasise about a better life.

But what the residents of Grasmere may lack in warmth they make up for in their sense of humour. Nowhere is this more evident than in the cost of everything. I drew funny looks as I wandered round the only supermarket, looking at the price of the goods on display and shaking my head whilst muttering: 'You're shitting me!'

There are no traditional village pubs in Grasmere, only gastro pubs. When my eldest son arrived he wanted to take his brother and me out for a meal. We ended up eating in a bistro because it was cheaper than going to any of the pubs. The village motto is: Want fast food at reasonable prices? Sod off to Keswick then.

But, like most things in life, you get what you pay for. All the meals we had were excellent and our lodge was very comfortable with a range of stunning walks from the doorstep. The lodge was situated slightly away from the village. It was quiet and peaceful. I was woken a few times though by the local wildlife - a passing barn owl and on one occasion I swear I heard a coyote.

A year ago I went camping near Keswick with my two sons and set off on the Newland Round, a walk I had wanted to do for ages. It is about 10 miles long and takes in 4 peaks. The casual way I embarked upon such a bloody gruelling experience is proof that in my head I am still 20, whilst my body occasionally suggests I am nearly 80. Constantly lagging behind my boys at every ascent and my knees complaining at every descent was a humiliating experience. Even my dog was ashamed to be seen with me.

So this year I trained hard prior to going to the Lakes, and it was worth it. Four mile runs around the lake before breakfast, swimming and gyming at the leisure centre and a variety of walks were the pay-off for my hard work. Even our Nintendo Wii is proud of me - awarding me a fitness age of 28. Luckily it can't see me.

The toughest walk was up Great Gable. My poor little Westie dog had to be manhandled up some of the early climb as the steps between rocks were too big for her short legs. The views from the top are among the best in the Lakes. I can't confirm this though as the last 1000 feet of ascent was in thick cloud, so we could barely see each other when we got there.

There is a war memorial at the summit and every Remembrance Sunday people trek up there with wreaths. Remarkable. It humbled me into committing to the effort of walking half a mile to the local cenotaph next November.

On my return home I delved into the pleasure and the pain of my accumulated mail, both real and electronic. Going through my email I had a nice surprise - I had been offered a part in a film! A low budget film is being made locally. It centres on three former schoolmates in their 30's meeting up again. A chap playing the father of one of the leads had fallen ill and could I play the part? Sadly, no. An immediate response was needed in order to film on the weekend of my return. Being away, with no internet access I was unable to respond in time so they had to cast someone else.

I'm not downcast though. I'm amazed that I should get such an offer. It's still very early days but what my gap year is showing me already is that adventure isn't just something you find on safari in Africa, it is all around once you open yourself to the opportunities.

And on a further positive note I have been invited to an interview with a casting agency in Leeds with a view to being lined up for some Extras work. It might turn out to be a con, but I'll let you know what happens.

Until then - Live long and prosper.

Postcards from Grasmere

Grasmere, from Alcock Tarn
Alcock Tarn

Jemima and her offspring

The Lakes

Wainwright is excited again, being all tucked up as he is in my holdall ready for his next adventure.

This one doesn't involve trains or planes, just the automobile. Tomorrow morning Wainwright, my youngest son, Mike, our dog, Tessa, and I will be driving to the Lake District where I have rented a property on the outskirts of Grasmere.

I think that of all my trips this one has the most difficult to organise. The two bedroomed lodge was recommended by my friend Ian and as it is very popular I booked it a year in advance. The trouble was I had no idea who would be staying there. Would 2 bedrooms be enough? Would it just be me and the dog?

It was only a few minutes ago that I was able to get final confirmation from my daughter, Jess, of her and her boyfriend's plans. The bottom line is that all three of my children will be joining me at some point (eldest son, Chris, is fortuitously on leave and is coming over from Germany), although they will not all be there at the same time. This is good news indeed.

Trying to ensure that we have the equipment to cater for all kinds of weather and eventuality means that there are still a few tasks to be sorted. I'll be glad when I've got my feet up tomorrow night with a glass of the nice Chianti I brought back from Italy in my mit.

Yet more good news. My friend Peter has been granted a pass of three to four weeks duration by his understanding wife and will be joining me for an extended Boy's Weekend away in New Zealand in January/February of next year.

I am very excited about this. I would have gone on my own but wasn't sure that I'd be all that happy being away from home so long. Now the planning can begin. And thanks to my kind former work collagues I have a copy of The Rough Guide to New Zealand to start thumbing through.

Finally, a friend of mine, Lisa, has kindly mentioned my blog on her blog so it is only fair to return the favour. Try http://foodiefashionista.blog.co.uk/ . The blog is mainly about food (and drink), laced with good humour and clever observations. An excellent read.

Right, it's time to feed the snakes. Here's a good food tip of my own, but it's only for snakes. Always defrost the nice, cute mice in warm water before consuming. Never microwave the mice as it makes the legs too crispy.

There isn't an internet connection at our holiday lodge so you can have a week's break from Wainwright and me. Until then....

Live long and prosper.

Never put off until tomorrow....

There's good news and bad news. The bad news is that once more this website has defeated me. Having written my blog entry it need re-formatting as it ignores all the hard breaks between paragraphs. Whilst highlighting the text I must have touched the wrong key as it all then deleted and there does not appear to be a way to retrieve it. Aaarrrgggh!

The good news is that whilst trying to recover my blog I discovered that it is possible to edit old blogs. Hence I have managed to recover the text from 'A Tale of Two Cities'.

So, apologies for the loss of today's entry. The picture above is your only clue as to what it as about. Meanwhile, if you would be kind enough to scroll down here's one I prepared earlier.

Live long and prosper.

Arrivederci Montecatini

The Spa, Montecatini

My time in Italy is almost at an end. I have used the weekend for idling, loafing and thinking about the months ahead.

Mostly I have eaten at the hotel as the veggie food here is excellent. But last night I put on some decent threads and splashed out on a meal at a very good restaurant. The bottle of mature Chianti I washed it down with was particularly nice.

Afterwards I strolled through the centre of Montecatini. Even though it was getting on for midnight many shops were open and the streets were busy with people. It was a very different atmosphere to what you might experience in English towns and cities at that time of night.

I have completed reading Blood River by Tim Butcher - his account of a harrowing journey through the modern day Congo, in the footsteps of Henry Morton Stanley. It is a very well written and well researched book that I recommend to anyone who is interested in Africa. It is not the Bill Bryson type of travel writing though - no funny anecdotes here, just many awful stories that will break your heart because of the massive potential of the Congo that goes undeveloped whilst the majority of its people suffer horrific and numerous cruelties.

I also sat down with myself and went over next near's appraisal - setting goals and performance objectives for the coming year.

One of my aims is to 'seek out odd ways of making money'. I have considered being a male gigolo but at a pound a go I'm not going to keep the wolf from the door.

A few weeks ago I had my local photographer take a few shots of me and to provide them as digital images. This was partly for posterity but mainly so I could register on an 'Extras' web site.

This morning I duly set about the process. I was a bit dubious about it as there is a charge of £5.99 per month for creating your profile and making it available on the website. I signed up for 6 months to see what happens.

Once everything is set up the site links you up with a variety of opportunities - for acting, TV gameshows, writing, singing etc.

So, I have applied for the following:

To audition for any of a number of parts in 'City of Hell', a 'gritty film noir that is intended for the Cannes film festival'. In my application I stated that I had worked in the City of Hull and was therefore suitably qualified for the parts.

To join a Leeds based agency requiring actors and walk-ons.

To work for a company that stages murder mysteries.

Being realistic, I don't imagine that my £36 will lead to much. On the negative side, most of the work is around London. But on the plus side most of the 'actors' listed are young people and in my area there are only 2 of us available - and the other one is a lady. So you never know.

The point is I am doing what I have long wanted to do - looking for life's more exciting opportunities as an alternative to living a hum drum existence just because it pays well.

In my experience when you seize opportunities that at first sight seem to be daunting and challenge your self-doubt, then they have a habit of taking you on a journey that you didn't expect. One thing is for sure, you always learn something, usually about yourself.

If I can successfully complete my three train journeys back to the airport tomorrow without suffering the ire of Italian train officials and if, more importantly, the trains run to schedule (they tend not to) then Wainwright and I will see you back in good old Blighty.

Live long and prosper.

Just the ticket!

I hope this blog publishes more successfully than my last one as I have a few 'lost' hours to report on and a stern telling off by an Italian official.

Let's go back to the lost blog first though, shall we?

Had my blog published correctly you would have heard how I took a guided coach trip to Siena as it is too difficult to reach by train. As a result of being guided I learned a lot more than I did during my previous day's amble around Florence. And in my blog I shared some of the many things I learned. If you have a microscope handy you may wish to read it.

The tour of Siena included a brief stop for a wine tasting and a chance to buy some Chianti and Super Tuscan wines.

I enjoyed my trip and readily signed up for another on Thursday, this time for a full on visit to a vineyard and also to Vinchi, birthplace of Leonardo.

Our 'guide' for this trip was the very amiable Roberto, a self employed chauffer who turned up in an imaculate suit to ferry the 6 of us around on behalf of the tour company. Roberto reminded me of an Italian Tony Robinson of Black Adder and Time Team fame. He was utterly professional and had a cheeky twinkle in his eye.

Our previous wine tasting was just that - small amounts of 3 wines with the chance to purchase any we liked.

The vineyard was different altogether. After a cursory tour around the stuff they make wine with we were seated on the terrace, overlooking the glorious Tuscan countryside and served with lavish plates of bruchetta, olives, melon and meats. Roberto was left in charge of dishing out the vino. No small samples with Roberto, just big glasses full and when we had sampled 4 bottles he insisted that we should have 2 more bottles of the good stuff. All fine and good. 6 people who didn't know each other very well all suddenly became best mates for life. Roberto, I must say, stuck to the water.

Then, out came the big guns. 4 orange flavoured liquors into which you dipped ameretto biscuits. Wow! I wrote down their names as Mandarino, Arancello, Nespole and Vicente. They were all 40 per cent proof apparently. The sort of drinks that taste great sat on a Tuscan hillside but have a habit of tasting bloody awful on a cold night in Wakefield.

Our final drink was grappa. The firewater.

It was a brilliant way to pass an afternoon - good company with fine food and drink under a Tuscan sky. I'll never forget it, which is more than I can say for the remainder of the afternoon, which I can barely remember.

Roberto dutifully took us to old Leo's birthplace, but quite frankly by then I couldn't give a toss where the bugger was born.

I wandered down one street, back along a higher street and I visited a chapel. That's all I can tell you about Vinchi.

I was drunk but gratefully I wasn't ill. This was not true of a poor Scottish chap in the group who took to Roberto's generous measures with more gusto than most and ended up not very well at all. Luckily, he was unwell outside of Roberto's pristine Mercedes people carrier.

Having eaten back at the hotel I duly went to bed early and woke up 11 hours later as fresh as a daisy.

This morning it was back to the train station and a journey to Pisa. On the journey I was musing how confident I had become with the Italian train system and how I had travelled much further on this holiday than I thought I would. Quite the seasoned traveller. What's that saying about pride and a fall?

Once at Pisa I expected the leaning tower to be like the Eiffel Tower, visible everywhere. Not so. I set off in it's general direction and at one point even began to tail a family with a map, thinking they'd be headed for Pisa's most famous landmark. I think they sussed me as they stopped to read a menu and I had to pass by.

Eventually I reached an area where people appeared to be engaged in some some form of tai chi - posing with their flat palms in mock support of something unseen and smiling broadly. It took me a while to twig they were posing for photos, which would show them holding up the leaning tower. Oh, how the folks back home will laugh when they see!

Sadly, Wainwright wouldn't oblige by posing for the silly photo.

The fact that there were no queues waiting to climb the tower encouraged me to seek out the ticket office and cough up the 15 Euro for the privelege. But tours are strictly regulated and there wasn't one available until about 6 pm. I visited the Cathedral instead - only 2 Euro.

After a quiet kip on the grass (I think I've already gotten out of the rhythm of working all day long) I went back to the station.

In Italy train tickets are bought by distance, not destination. For example from here to Florence is a 50 km ticket and to Pisa it is a 60 km ticket. Each ticket is validated by popping it into a small yellow machine on the platform of the departing station.

On the homeward journey I forgot to validate my ticket. But no matter, there is hardly ever a guard to check them. Ooops! Wrong.

The dour guard inspected my ticket and launched into a lengthy lecture. I knew what I'd done wrong but I wasn't sure what the outcome was going to be. A fine maybe? I shrugged my shoulders and uttered the only words I could think of that might be suitable - mia culpa! (twice).
It must have been obvious that I didn't understand a bloody word this bloke was saying but still he droned on. Eventually he gave me a look that said 'imbecile' and stomped off down the carriage. I think he enjoyed it more than I did. Although to be honest even though I was getting a good telling off I was actually thinking - ooo, at least I'll have something interesting to write in my blog.

There, job done.

Live long and prosper.

A Tale of Two Cities

Wainwright at the feet of the master
Are you looking at me?

A friend of mine, Steve, who is in the legal profession, advised that I should visit Siena before visiting Florence (Firenze). He didn't say why and very kindly didn't charge for the advice, which is a first for a lawyer. My intention was to follow this advice, but that is not how it worked out.


I set off yesterday to visit the medieval walled town of Lucca. But, if I understood the chap at the station correctly, there was a strike and uncertainty whether or not the train would run. So, I took the next train to leave, which happened to go to Florence.

I don't recall ever visiting such a beautiful city. My pictures don't do it justice. Unfortunately, I had come dressed for the weather but not the occasion. I was wearing a nice vest which showed off my new tattoo admirably. In Italy, as in other countries, it is considered disrespectful to visit holy sites when not covered up properly. Thus I could not have gained access to the Duomo or similar places. No problem, I was happy to buy a map and walk round with Wainwright.

This approach meant that I saw a lot but learned very little.

Siena is Florence's rival. In fact they were at war for about 300 years. Although Siena is due south of Montecatini there is no direct rail link. To overcome this I booked a coach tour for today and this included tour guides. So I saw a lot AND learned a lot.

Our first stop was a medieval town called San Gimignano. I loved it there, it was so beautiful and very clean and the views from the hilltop fantastic.

We then had time to stop for a little wine tasting en route to Siena.

Here then are some facts I gleaned that you may not know about Tuscany:

The word 'malaria' originates from the Italian for bad air. This was usually prevalent in low lying areas, hence a reason why towns were built on hills (the main reason being defensive, of course).

8 minutes of the latest James Bond film, Quantum of Solace, were filmed in the main piazza at Siena. 1,800 extras were used and the scene cost $1m.

The predominant colour of the central Duomo in Siena is - Siena!

Chainti wine comes from a small traingle of Tuscany. In order to be classed as Chianti, it must have a content which is made up of 80% of San Giovese grapes.

The Palio is a horse race around the central piazza in Siena. The horses are ridden bareback and represent different districts in Siena. There are 17 districts but only room for 10 horses. There are 2 races a year - on 2 July and 14 August.

The Basilica at Siena actually contains the skull of Saint Catherine (I know, I saw her and she's not looking too good). In medieval times it was common to retain relics of the saints and these were a very important source of income for the churches who attracted the pilgrims.

Pistolia is both an area and a town in Tuscany. Visible from both the train and road are 20 Kilometres of market gardens growing shrubs like bay trees for export to your local garden centre.

I can't tell you which I liked best, Siena or Florence but I do understand why you should visit them in the correct order. Siena is a very well preserved city that contains mainly medieval architecture. Whereas in Florence the architecture is mainly Renaissance. There is a definate progression between the two.

On reflection, maybe I prefer Florence best, because it has streets named after the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Live long and prosper.

Postcards from Siena

Siena's Duomo - shame about the crane.

Shell shaped central piazza where the Palio is raced

And again

The Basilica

Postcards from San Giimignano

Main Street
Quiet side street

Mmm, not a bad view.

Postcards from Firenze

Ponte Vecchio
The man himself, outside the Uffizi

Medusa gets stoned then loses her head
Douomo
Duomo facade

More water

Having described the local spa water as tasting like something from your neighbourhood swimming pool, I set out this morning and actually swam in the stuff to prove my point.

By this I mean that I spent about 45 minutes relaxing in the thermal spa, a 20 metre swimming pool full of hot spa waters. Clearly, this is the source of the water I drank yesterday and once people have swum in it, presumeably to add a bit more flavour, it is piped down the road to the very elegant spa centre. They're not fooling anyone. I looked for separate feeds to the sinks I saw yesterday but they were cunningly hidden.

I certainly enjoyed being in the water more than drinking it and was very careful to keep my mouth closed at all times. For reasons I cannot fathom, the very stern looking female attendant insisted that I wear a plastic shower cap at all times. What's all that about? I think they just enjoy making you look silly - swimming up and down with a plastic bag on your head.

After a very relaxing time in the pool I went up in the world, via a funicular (I love that word) railway to Montecatini Alto. This is the old town of Montecatini and as the name implies, it is high up on a hillside.

Lunch there was bliss. Fantastic food, exceptional local wine, all taken outdoors while the world and his dog gently made their way through the medieval street.

The 13th century church was the best part. It housed the odd piece of renaissance artwork, but what I liked about it was the feeling it gave of total peace. Here was a place where the locals have made their devotions for hundreds of years and I always find that buildings like that have something very calming and graceful woven into their fabric or absorbed over the years.

When I chose this holiday I opted for 9 days instead of 7 as I always find the first 2 days of being somewhere new is about getting orientated and falling into its rhythm. Well, I'm well and truely settled now, so time to venture further. Let's see what tomorrow brings.

Live long and prosper.

Taking the waters

Part One

The town I am staying in, Montecatini, is a spa town. No fewer than 9 spas come to the surface here. The place to find them is a large park that is about 5 minutes from my hotel.

I sauntered along there this morning and having meandered aimlessly through the park I came to an interesting building that I would describe as mock renaissance - all columns and ornate plasterwork set above a cool marble floor.

On trying to gain entry I discovered there was an entrance fee, but this also allowed me to take the waters. Intrigued I paid my 13 Euro and asked the very attractive lady at the entrance what I did next. I was to take a glass and then along one wall there were the spa waters flowing endlessly into numerous sinks.

What followed was interesting to say the least. The very large auditorium was open to the sky but there was shade around the sides where there were numerous tables to sit at and relax. People sat with their half pint mugs of water reading the Sunday papers or listening to the music. On a raised stage were a piano player and guitarist in suits and ties, playing along to yet another very attractive lady who was dressed in an off one shoulder chiffon dress whilst singing in a very accomplished and soothing manner. All in all it seemed like a brilliant way to while away a Sunday morning. I took out my holiday reading (Dan Brown, Deception Point), found a shaded table and made myself at home. All I needed now was a refreshing glass of water and I was set.

I took my glass to the spas and began my sampling. I can only describe it thus: imagine someone taking a hosepipe and trailing it from the local swimming pool to the above mentioned area of tranquillity. The water already has an unnatural, chemical taste. On its journey between pool and sink various things are added to the water. These appear to consist mainly of rotten eggs and salt. Now take a sip. Sorry, I forgot to mention, the water is also bloody hot!

As I said people were actually drinking this stuff from half pint glasses! The waters are reputed to bring long life. I drank to enough to barely add another 3 minutes to mine. It was horrible.

On further inspection I realised that the spas had different labels: Leopoldina; Regina; and Tettvccio. Presumably from different sources. The pipes the waters flowed from were also marked red and blue - hot and not so hot.

I looked for a spa marked 'Tetleys', but no such luck. So, in the interests of good reporting I started at the left and worked my way along the spas. I discovered that the above words stand for: Ghastly; disgusting; and tolerable in tiny amounts. I took a small amount of the latter and returned to Dan Brown.

What followed was a very pleasant, yet slightly surreal, hour being serenaded by a blonde beauty whilst sipping a mild fart dissolved in warm salt water.

Part Two

In the early afternoon I again took the waters. Only this time they were not so warm and fell in huge bucketfuls from the sky. A massive thunderstorm erupted and with it came a deluge I have not witnessed since the floods of 2007.

Despite the change in the weather I was very smug as when the first heavy drops fell I was secure under the canvas awning of a pleasant bistro, sipping the house Chianti and nibbling at Queen olives. I raised my glass to my lips and sat back to enjoy the show.

But the show went on too long. Suddenly the awning lost its protective powers and I retreated further and further inside to get away from the all pervading rain that had now caused a small river to run down the pavement just yards from my feet.

There was nothing I could do but to order another drink and get back to Dan Brown.

After an hour of heavy rain I set myself a deadline and reconciled myself to getting wet. But as he deadline approached so did some blue sky and 5 minutes later I was able to return to my hotel dry on the outside and awash with Chianti on the inside.

An early night now beckons in preparation for an early morning run around the spa park. One thing's for sure, no matter how thirsty I get I won't be stopping to take the water.

Live long and prosper.

Buenosera!

After a hectic day of travelling Wainwright and I are safely ensconced in our hotel in Montecatini, Tuscany. The day has not been without its traumas though!

The flight was fantastic. I had paid an extra 12 quid for additional leg-room on the plane. This seemed to afford me First Class status as far as Jet2 are concerned as there were spare seats with leg room and I was offered a move away from the guy falling asleep on my shoulder to have three whole seats to myself, all at the front and with loads of room. I've never had so much space on a plane.

My problems started when I switched to travelling by train as I had three of the damn things to catch. The first one was the shuttle from the airport to Pisa Centrali. The ticket machine was out of order so I borded the train without a ticket. This prompted me to reach for my phrase book and learn the Italian for 'the machine is broken' (la machinno a rotto, in case you are wondering), as I was sure I would be challenged by some official or other. I wasn't.

I got off the train and made my way down the ramp to the main station. Suddenly, I realised I had left my laptop on the overhead luggage rack. Lugging my heavy bag I hurried back and found with relief that the train as still there. I went back to my seat but the laptop was nowhere to be seen. Ahh, panic! Frantically I searched the train and found the driver to ask if it had been handed in. No time for phrase books so I said 'Do you speak English?, to which he replied 'No!'. Clearly all train staff are taught to the same standard of unhelpfulness so I looked again. There was my seat, but no laptop.

There were two choices. Either someone had nicked it and I could rush through the station and try to find the swine. Or, I could calm down and try to be rational.

Italian trains must park overnight at a place where kids with spray paint roam at will, for all the trains I saw had bright graffitti, or tags on them. I had noticed that my window was a virulent purple because of the paint outside. When I checked it now, it was clean. Clearly the computer thief had cleaned the bloody window to throw me off the scent. How dastardly can you get?

Then I noticed a purple window on the opposite side of the train, in a seat very similar to the one I had travelled in. And just above it was a familar black laptop case.

Hot and sweaty I clambered of the train to the relief of a group of watching Italians who were clearly wondering what the hell I was up to rushing up and down the train. 'Ah, computer!' they said as one as understanding dawned. Another word learned.

My next train took me to Lucca, where I had to change and catch the Florence (Firenze) train.

Getting the hang of things I soon bought a ticket and worked out that the next train was not for another 40 minutes. Outside the station I found a very small bar where I was able to learn another word, this time the Italian for beer - beera. I'll soon be speaking the lingo like a native.

With lots of time to spare I made my way to the allotted platform. There was a very nice train there and clearly it isn't left overnight in a skatepark as it was almost tag free. The trouble was there was no illuminated sign to tell if this was the Firenze train and nothing on the front indicate where it was going either. Should I get on and risk it leaving suddenly for destination unknown?

I sat down for a think. My reasoning was:

If this is the wrong train it will go soon to make way for the right train.
Or, it could just stay where it is and I will witness a huge crash when the right train appears.
Or, I could wait until the last minute and then if it leaves at the allotted time it was the right train after all. I chose the latter option.

You may have thought of a fourth option - check the timetable and if no other train is due to depart from this platform then it must be the right train. But this would have entailed a long, hot journey under the platforms and up and downstairs with my heavy bag to find the answer. Wheelchair access is not due in Italian stations until the next century.

Not only was this the right train, it was air conditioned and I arrived at Montecatini Terme quite fresh. Unfortunately, the 25 minute search for the bloody hotel in the raging afternoon heat soon changed that to a state of being soaked in sweat once more.

To end then there is good news and bad news. The good news is the hotel is fantastic. My room has a huge balcony attached and very nice air con. The food is exquisite. Probably the best vegetarian food I have ever eaten. And everyone here is nice and most of the staff speak English.
It's a brilliant place.

The bad news is I didn't quite think to pack everything. You know those little wire cables that connect your camera to the computer so you can download pictures? Well, mine is still at home so although Wainwright is looking very dapper in his Hull City shirt and sitting on my windowsill
right now, I can't actually show you him. Sorry.

Tomorrow is Sunday and officially a chill out and get orientated day. Let's see what it brings.

Live long and prosper.

A new chapter

If this blog was a book then I would say that I have just reached the end of a chapter and I'm about to begin a new one. The big day finally dawned and I have had my last day at work.

I awoke very early this morning with a mixture of excitement and nerves that I haven't felt since I was a child at Christmas. My journey into work was leisurely. I took the train and savoured the walk to the building from the station.

At work itself it was a succession of goodbyes, handshakes and good wishes.

I was heartened to see my good friend Ian again as he has been off work for 2 months following an operation.

Wainwright gained quite a few mentions today and his fame has obviously reached the highest levels of the organisation.

Finally, my good friend and fellow blogger Rare Lesser Spotted, gave me a lift to the restaurant and 30 of us sat down to a very good meal.

I have enjoyed every minute of the day and I hope I managed to convey my thanks adequately to those who shared it with me. My thanks to Pat for his kind speech.

I'm not sure when the finality of knowing that I won't be going back to work will hit me. Around about Sunday I expect, or maybe Monday morning when I sit smugly drinking a capuccino whilst everyone else is at work.

Maybe then I will have some words of wisdom to impart, instead of stuccato sentences.

For now though I am going to do the last of my packing and get an early night in readiness for my journey to Tuscany tomorrow.

I think it was Confucius who said that 'a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step'. Tomorrow, I take that first step.

Live long and prosper.

Almost there

Both Wainwright and I are getting excited. Wainwright is excited about going to Italy on Saturday and with me it is more about my last few hours at work.

In many ways this week seems to be passing by too quickly as I have looked forward to it for so long and really want to savour it. My work is effectively done now - I wrote my last report today, which is for a meeting that I will not be attending. My desk is just about cleared and all my drawers are empty.

Already a succession of goodbye handshakes have taken place and my way of coping with this is to simply refuse to believe that I will never see these people again. Some of my colleagues are also leaving. These are people who have been around the organisation for as long as me and hence I have known them for a long time. I imagine myself seeing them again in some far flung corner of the world. The thought that will never see them again is too painful to bear.

I am more hopeful that I will see my regular work colleagues, particularly if they can bear to invite me back for the odd coffee. I may even return to undertake some small bits of work to help keep the bailiffs at bay.

Meanwhile, Wainwright has insisted on being packed up nice and snugly for his impending trip. It is a trip that I have not done a lot of planning for. My first task is to get from the airport at Pisa to my hotel in Montecatini. A trip that should take 45 minutes to an hour. Once there I intend to chill out for a couple of days and allow myself to absorb the fact that at the end of this holiday I will not be going back to work. This is it. A new life.

At some point during my 9 day stay I will take the train back to Pisa to see the leaning tower and whatever else is on offer. I will also make a trip to Florence.

In my mind's eye I see myself sitting in a pleasant piazza, sipping something cold, with a book in front of me and watching the world go by. With the weather we're having at the moment though I could do all of that right here. I'm not being cruel, but I do hope England gets lots of rain next week.

Live long and prosper.