At least this weekend I would not need to travel until the afternoon, but still, it had meant giving up a large portion of Sunday. Again.
But before then, I had the football to watch, coffee to drink and cats to cuddle. As you do. Outside, it was cold and frosty, but nothing better than sitting on the sofa with Molly whilst watching the footy and the birds out in the garden.
At ten, Jools went to see Nan, and I got to packing and generally getting ready for the traveling in the afternoon. I throw some clean clothes in my case, check in for the flight in the morning, check my work bag, and I’m done. We listened to Sarah Millican on Desert Island Discs, which was rather splendid I have to say, time then to dash to Witfield to see the old folks, do the dutiful thing and formally decline the offer of Christmas dinner.
Somehow the morning had passed, and it was lunchtime already. Black pudding flavoured Scotch Eggs and a huge brew.
Three o’clock came round, and it was time to leave for the station. As ever, no idea where the time went, other than it did go, and now it was time to leave. Rain was falling, as predicted, but that did not improve my mood. I get my ticket and board the train, 15 minutes to wait, so I check my mails and see who else is working at the weekend.
No one. Apparently.
We glide off, into the late afternoon which turns to dusk and night before I arrive in London. From Statford I catch the Tube to Waterloo, and then it was a short walk to the UJC. My booking is good, so I dump my cases in the room, grab my camera and go back down and out into the naked city.
I catch the tube back to London Bridge, go up the escalators and into the throng. The building work being done means I am a little disorientated, but I see the entrance to Hays Galleria, knowing that the river could be found through there.
I am never sure what Hays Galleria is supposed to be, the open ended end facing the river meaning it is no warmer than an open space, but hey, it looks festive with a huge Christmas tree in the middle, with the backdrop of the City behind.
A quick walk along the riverside walk to London Bridge, and over looking back to the grand vista that opened up, all illuminated by a million office lights that never go out.
Inside the City, there are very few people about. I walk up to Fenchurch Street, so I can snap the Walkie Talkie towering over me and all of London. Nearby I see the welcoming lights of Leadenhall Market. It is also empty, save for another large Christmas Tree at the main intersection of the market. One side passageway is decorated with flying books, a reference to Harry Potter I guess. I think it works anyway.
From there I walk onto Lloyds, still looking so futuristic, even after 25 years or more. It is illuminated by blue light, which works well. Opposite the new Leadenhall Building reaches for the sky. Since I started coming up to London with Jools, we have seen the old building demolished, new foundations dug, and this monster built.
From there I walk down Cornhill, past luxurious shops selling trinkets with people with more money than sense. Back at the Bank of England, there is traffic and people again, I walk on towards St Pauls, which I thought might look good at night. It did, it looked wonderful in fact.
I walk round the outside, crossing the street to take the Millennium Bridge, so I could take shots looking back towards the cathedral. Everyone else were using a tripod, but with the 6D I did not need one. Or so I thought. Correctly.
My thoughts now turned towards food, but the south bank was full of tourists, and had eateries either full or so expensive, even with the company credit card. In the end I find a place in Clink Street, beside the prison, I have a beer and order some kind of grilled spiced chicken. It was good, and just enough for me. With the second beer anyway.
I walk back to London Bridge, take the tube back to Waterloo and the club. I settle back to watch some TV, but is it me or are shows really dumbing down now. What could have been a 15 minute segment on the casts from Pompeii was turned into an hour long show, endlessly repeating itself. At least I did not shout at the TV.
I watch the football, before turning in, the sounds of the city leaking in around the curtains, it is an exciting place, but I’m pooped.
Monday.
The alarm went off at quarter to six, I have nearly four hours before my flight, but even I should be able to get to Heathrow in that time.
I pack, well, put my toothpaste back in the case, I check out and walk up to the taxi ranks and say to the driver, can you take me to Waterloo? I paused, and said, aren’t we already there? Oh yes, make that Paddington.
Off to go, into the early rush hour traffic. We pass all sorts of famous places, including Buckingham Palace, no one seems to be up, we head on.
I buy the ticket for the train, even though the company is picking up the tab, £34 for a return trip to the airport seems very steep. But there really is little alternative, as the tube would take over an hour. So, into the dark morning we zoom, past commuter stations full of the bleary-eyed, and onto the airport.
Flying with BA means Terminal 5, so I hoped it would be painless. It was even better than that. I drop my case off at a desk with no queue, I wait ten minutes to get through security, and am now in the departure lounge, and I have over two hours to pass before flight time. I find a place for breakfast, and order a fry up: why not?
In WH Smith I bump into Tricky, are you Tricky I ask. He said he was. I told him I loved his music, which I do. He seems happy with that.
The flight is rammed, and people are thronging to get on once it is called. I realize I am now a business traveler, and can get on via the fast track lane. I flash the card and walk on. Or shuffle on, as people now seem to be able to bring as much baggage as they want on board. One woman I counted had 5 bags in the cabin. Is this fair?
I slump in my seat at the back of the plane, whilst others file in, trying to find space for their bags. I close my eyes. I feel the plane move off, taxiing to the other side of the airport, but without waiting we are on the runway, the engines roar, and off we leap.
Into the blue sky, climbing as the skirt south London and then along the Thames, this time climbing higher and higher. The north Kent coast passes below us, over Whitstable, Herne Bay, and finally Thanet lays below, looking very crowded, but picturesque in the bright sunshine.
Cloud covers the view now, but less than an hour later we are descending towards Dusseldorf. It is gray, overcast and raining. Oh this is lovely. And I have a two hour wait for Anni, so after collecting my case I find a coffee shop by a large coffee and settle down to wait, spending my time people watching, as you do.
Anni arrives and we go to find the hire car, I have already programmed in the address of the hotel, so we set off for Witten, heading down various motorways, sorry autobahns, taking exit after exit, but we seemed to be on the right road.
Witten is wet and dark, we find the hotel by the main railways station: I hope I have a room overlooking the station I say. I do, so I spend a few minutes watching the comings and goings before I meet Anni at the rooftop café for coffee. And cake. Or waffle.
A bit daft at four, just a couple of hours before dinner, but the cakes looks so good, or the waffle with cherries and cream sounded so good. And it was.
We meet for dinner at half six, I have sauerkraut soup(!) followed by potato pasta or something with vegetables, which was mostly tinned carrots. It was OK, but not sensational.
Back in my room I get the computer working, and listen to the radio whilst outside freight trains rattle by.
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