Quick Stop Over in London

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Quick Stop-Over in London
Monday 7th - Thursday 10th October 2024.

Summary: 

Back y. 

First Night in Brentford. (Monday, 7th October)

In Schiphol airport in Amsterdam I was making my way back to blighty again to meet up with Leb and then continue our adventure into new territories.

Once through customs and security, I had a maccers and caught up on the interweb until it was time to board my "easy" jet flight back to blighty. That all went well and I arrived at sunny Gatwick where it was quite warm and pleasant.

I was pleased to discover my new senior rail card gave me a significant discount on the price of my ticket and before I knew it I was getting off at Brentford.

First priority... find a chippy. I noticed one near my 88th accommodation which was also close to the old site of Griffin Park (thanks Klax!), Brentford FC's historic home ground. It always saddens me to see the site of an ex-football ground. A bit like going to a cemetery.

The Albany Fish Bar looked a bit neglected and its two Chinese staff overworked and underpaid... but never mind.. The promise of proper fish and chips must be fulfilled.

The portions were big for the price and I did like the chips even if the ratio of thin over fried ones to big thick ones was a bit too high for me. The mushy peas were standard and the fish (cod) was well fried but I must say it wasn't very fresh. Altogether 7/10.

It was then a matter of walking four minutes by a nice looking pub, The Black Dog, to the Premier Inn and checking in.

After a bit of chilling, I popped out to the pub for a couple of pints and then went back to my room, missing Leb, but looking forward to a good night's sleep.

So, where was Leb? She was spending some quality time with her dear, poorly, friend, Toots, near Woodstock.

Tourist Destination #88 - Crawkley. (Tuesday, 8th October)

Day 214 (28 to go) Having arrived at Gatwick yesterday the plan was for me to stay close by, for as cheaply as possible, while Leb saw a couple of friends in and around London.

I found a single room in a house in Crawley with a 40m bus ride to the airport, that seemed to tick the most important boxes.

First, I had to check out from the Premier Inn in Brentford and find the train station. I headed into the town center and bought a big pork pie from Morrison's as the rain started to come down. I caught the train to Crawley via Clapham Junction, again using my seniors rail card, arriving about 1pm with no pie left in my pocket.

Immediately upon arrival in Crawley, you are greeted with an overwhelming sense of bland ordinariness. As I walked towards the town center there was nothing interesting or unusual architecturally. Everything looked from the 60s and rather dull. I spotted a sports shop and managed to find a new pair of cheap swimming trunks, which I think I might need in Morocco.

You could almost sense ChatGPT struggling to answer the question: What should I do or see if I have a day in Crawley? When you throw in... and it's raining, the three "go to park x, y, z" recommendations disappear. I helped it a lot when I said "I like old pubs, fish and chips, and football."

It recommended going to the White Hart pub which is on the High Street, the only part of Crawley that seems to be older than 1945.

I had a nice pint and worked out the bus route to get to my accommodation. The #10 took me almost to the front door... and the next it took me straight to Gatwick airport.

The local bus service is very good and was packed with people going from school or work or whatever. Everyone seemed very friendly and I couldn't help earwiging on a few conversations. The word "bless" seemed to figure prominently.

"I've been with Terry five years now. He has his trains and I have my tely. He usually drives me wherever I want."

"Aw. Bless him."

"I was a single mum. The first had ADHD, the second diabetes, and the third, I just can't stand him."

"Aw, bless 'em."

My place for the night was just a bedroom in a terraced house but it did me. After dumping my bag, I told my host I was off to "explore Crawley". She didn't seem to sense any irony when I said it.

I walked towards my destination for later in the evening... Broadfield Stadium, home of Crawley Town Football Club. Now ChatGPT did recommend I visited this (when I told it I was a football fan) but I was way ahead of it. I'd spotted their EFL trophy, Southern Group B, fixture at home to Wimbledon weeks ago and it had long become my planned compensation for staying a night... in Crawley.

For an owd bugger like me it's still difficult to think of Crawley as actually being a league club - and a third tier one at that. For the vast majority of my football filled life they were not even on the radar.

When I completed the 92 (having been to a game on all 92 English football league grounds) in 2000, the idea I might need to go to Crawley Town to top up my number (back to 67 after this) would have been a joke. They finished 12th in the Southern League alongside Halesowen Town and Havant & Waterlooville having been put into administration with huge debts a few months before. The club's recent history is, in fact, full of dodgy deals but they amazingly rose to the Conference (5th tier) in 2004 and then, seven years later, won promotion to the football league for the first time in their history. They got promoted again immediately to the third tier and stayed there a few years before getting relegated again. And to complete this fascinating history, they won promotion again earlier in the year. In fact I saw some of their Wembley (Crawley's first appearance there) play off win against Crewe when we came to blighty for the first time on the trip back in May. Among the famous names vaguely and/or very transiently associated with "The Red Devils" are Harry Kewell, Sean O'Driscoll, Dougie Freedman, Steve Evans and Steve Coppell.

They still have a dodgy reputation today, being owned by a cryptocurrency broker.

Anyway, their ground was only about 18 minutes walk away from my room (no coincidence there) but as I had plenty time I carried on back into town, past a chippy ChatGPT also recommended, but that was, unfortunately, closed.

So, I walked back to the High Street and into The Brewery Shades where I had a very adequate pint of Timothy Taylor's Landlord. Again, unfortunately, their kitchen was closed so I had to grab a burger from the nearby McDonald's.

Scoffing as I went I soon approached the ground and took my place in the East Stand near the half way line.

There was a decent turn out for a match on a cold, wet evening in a cup competition that few know about and even less care. 1,428 was far more than I was expecting and they got an absolute treat.

The game started in a high tempo with the reds of Crawley on top in the early stages. Their lively winger Russian Hepburn-Murphy caught the eye with a dazzling run that almost ended in a goal but Wimbledon settled down and started to press for a goal themselves. As the half wore on they looked ever more likely to score and it inevitably came just before the break.

I had a hot Bovril at half time for the first time in decades. It certainly warms you up.

Wimbledon carried on where they left off and within 15 minutes of the restart seemed to have killed the game off with two goals in two minutes.

The partisan local support kept backing their side though, and urged them forward. With only about twenty minutes to go a lapse in the Wimbledon defence led to a penalty being rightly given. It was blasted in. Now Crawley had hope and within minutes seemed to have made it 2-3 but the goal was ruled out for offside.

The reds kept surging forward though and with ten minutes remaining, Hepburn-Murphy rose in the box to head home and clinch his man-of-the-match award. The atmosphere was great now as the rain lashed down and thunder and lightning was seen in the distance. The vocal Crawley fans were ecstatic when Flint scrambled home the equaliser in the 87th minute. Could they now even go and get the winner?

As the game went into injury time both teams decided to go for it. It was end to end stuff.

Then, in the 6th minute of injury time, Wimbledon sub Joe Pigott found he had the ball at his feet on the edge of the box and unleashed a beauty which crashed in off the underside of the bar. 4-3 to Wimbledon.

What a game!

The fans trudged away into the rain and I eventually found a bus stop that would take me in the right direction too.

So a very dull wet day was turned into a sparkling one ... only through football.

Glum grind at Gatwick. (Wednesday, 9th October)

Day 215 (27 to go) Glum grind at Gatwick.

Right now, I'd go home in a flash but instead I have to wait another seven hours here at Gatwick for another flight. With the benefit of hindsight (and to be honest it's not behind me yet, there's still about 1/3 of this to go) It perhaps wasn't such a good idea to save money by crashing at the airport instead of booking some sort of hotel.

Last time we were here we noticed the comfy sofas in the departure lounge. "We could get some sleep on one of those" was the idea. The flight tomorrow morning was the cheapest available because it left at 5am (only fools would get on a plane that early) and what was the point of booking a room for the night if you had to leave it in the middle of that night.

Actually, thinking about it, perhaps it's not such a bad idea after all. At least I'm having a pint of real ale in Wetherspoons.

Anyway, I woke up in deepest Crawley in my rather cold bedroom and did some interwebbing. I was desperate to go for a pee but it was nice and warm under the duvet so I delayed until... shit... someone else went in. I tapped away on my phone checking in to our flight but there was no noise from the bathroom. After a a while I got up and tried the bathroom door. No good. Someone was still in there. Back to my computer. I had to update my English league grounds visited chart... 67 now.

Still no noise from the corridor outside. Maybe he/she had fallen asleep in the bath. What to do? I tried the door handle again... a bit more forcibly so as to make some noise this time. Still occupied.

By now the thought "sod it" entered my mind and I got up, got dressed and started to pack. I wouldn't bother with a shower but I really needed a pee. By the time I'd packed, the person had vacated the bathroom so that was a relief in more senses than one.

I left the house with little regret and walked 4 minutes to the #20 bus stop. One came immediately and I was able to have a long relaxing bus journey back past the Crawley Football Ground, through Crawley Town Center and on to Gatwick.

The flight is from the south terminal but, of course, I didn't check that until I got off the bus at the north terminal stop. Good job I wasn't in a hurry. In fact I had 19 hours to wait.

There didn't seem to be much to do or see in the North terminal so I caught the shuttle to the South and immediately bought a pork pie. (What else?)

You can tell, from this narrative, how exciting the day was. With the boarding pass handy I went upstairs to departures but first, why not have breakfast at Wetherspoons? Sod's law meant I missed it by a minute but of course they do an all-day brunch which is pretty much the same thing. Refillable tea and coffee too.

So, finally time to go through security. I wafted my boarding pass at the machine with confidence but I was immediately rejected. "Wrong Day. Seek assistance" it said. So I did.

The lady almost laughed when I told her our cunning plan. They won't let you through until about three hours before the flight. You might be lucky if you try again after midnight but I wouldn't bet on it.

So that was it. I've just spent the last nine hours rotating between the recharge zone, the loos and Wetherspoon's either to plug in my laptop to their power sockets or not, but three times to have a pint.

I've listened to music, podcasts, Christopher Hitchens' "God is not Great", read books, surfed the web. I've also walked up and down the corridor here like a zombie. What I'd really like to do is have a kip but I can't do that till Leb joins me. AND HURRAY!! I've just learned that she's on her way. Wonderful. I hope it all went well there.

Only 3-4 more hours and we'll be able to go through to departures.

Back to Africa. (Thursday, 10th October)

Day 216 (26 to go)

Hello Morocco (Country 69)

مرحبا بالمغرب

The night at Gatwick Airport was pretty rough. We had assumed that the departure area would be busy all night and so we'd be able to go through and doze off there. In fact it closes every night and only re-opened at 3am, just a couple of hours before our flight to Marrakech was due to leave. So we spent three hours or so trying to get some "shut eye" on the airport side of security on uncomfortable wooden benches or on the floor.

The slight consolation was that when they finally did open up the departures area, we were ready and were the first ones through. As we already had our boarding passes it gave us another hour to get a few more winks (even it was much less than 40).

Then it was time to board our Wizzair flight to Morocco... and that is much easier than doing so with "easy" jet. This was our 25th flight and it took me to my 69th country (4 over par on the Jodie curve... I've been to four more counties than my age.

Despite Leb sitting next to a right bloody chatter box and in front of a row of loud, rude and precocious teenagers, I was out like a light... only to be woken by a glorious sun rise over Morocco.

It was nice to land at 8am and feel warm already. Any wishing this holiday was over - and I definitely have done that a few times in the last three days or so - evaporated in the dry sunshine of Marrakech. Even a ridiculously long queue (I reckon it took about two hours to get through) to pass immigration didn't put us off. The problem was clear to us: it was only at the very last minute, when you were about to be interviewed by the border guard, that you were told to get your flight boarding pass out again and have the address of the hotel you were staying at ready. If they'd have made this clear at some point earlier, during the two hours of queuing, everyone would have been prepared. Instead pretty much every passenger going through the system fumbled and struggled to find the things they needed. The accumulation of these two extra minutes for each visitor must have slowed the whole thing down unnecessarily.

Anyway, once through we picked up some more cash ($10 aud = 60 Moroccan Diram) and booked a taxi to take us to our 90th accommodation: O'Loft. The taxi driver was great and proudly told us how Morocco will partly host the 2030 (centenary) World Cup.

It was a 15 minute or so ride to our very nice quiet hotel in the southern outskirts of Marrakech. We had Moroccan tea by the pool while we waited for our room to be made ready.

The temperature apparently reached the high 20s but it felt much cooler than that. I had a nice swim in my new trunks anyway. It's a very pleasant pool.

Then we ordered a dinner for later: Tagine beef with plums, and set off for a walk across a very busy main road to the nearby village of Lagouassem. There, we stopped at a café for a tea and a coffee before popping into a shop to buy a bag of crisps and a bottle of water and then returning.

The dinner by the lit up pool was truly wonderful. I had a vegetable soup starter, Leb had a salad. Lovely, soft, freshly baked bread too. For afters we had a selection of Moroccan biscuits. I'm off the booze this week so I had a banana juice. Very nice.

Back in the room, I booked our buses for the next leg of our Moroccan adventure to the coast on Saturday.

In the world of football, I was pleased Tony Popovic got off to a wining start in Australia's Asia Championship qualifier against China. 3-1 was pretty emphatic. But I was shocked that England screwed up at home to Greece, losing 2-1. This puts their promotion back to tier A in serious jeopardy.

Anyway... we're truly back in holiday mood again now. Woohoo!!

Cruise Down the Rhine to Amsterdam

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From Basel to Amsterdam via a Cruise down the Rhine
Friday 27th September - Saturday, 5th October 2024.

Summary: 

As we planned our trip around the world we obviously wanted to visit many countries over several continents but we also wanted to experience various modes of travel. We'd flown a lot, of course, hired cars, been on many bus and train rides, trams, ferries. Hired bikes and cycled. One way of travelling that had been earmarked for inclusion from the beginning was a river cruise and quite early in the planning stage a cruise down the Rhine formed and became solidified quite early. It didn't take much research to find that some were not too expensive and yet still offered a lot of pampering and a relaxed place to sleep as Europe floated by.

For our purposes this fitted in like a big jigsaw piece - cliping in between Switzerland and the UK. It effectively gave us a ride form Basel to Amsterdam. Providing the perfect sequel to out cycling tour around Lake Constance and the perfect prequel to our trip to Morocco to chase some late summer sunshine.

The cruise itself was enjoyable enough and the lovely, friendly staff provided endless delicious food and drink to keep us happy for days on end. The only problem (and I admit, only really for me) was that we were allocated a table with the same people three meals a day for five days and once we'd discovered the other two couples were both God-fearing MAGA supporters - one couple in particular loved Trump (JD Vance even more) and hated Biden - it made a big chunk of the trip decidedly less enjoyable for me. In fact I got quite depressed at times at the thought of having to make polite conversation with them - over and over again. It was always looming on the horizon and was literally a nightmare for me.

Anyway, thanks to the wonderful human being who is my life and travel partner I coped well enough in the end.

First Night in Basel. (Friday, 27th September)

Having been corrected about our incorrect (and what would have been a very expensive) choice of train from Konstanz to Basel to the cheaper, German one, we were off to our next destination.

And once we'd arrived in Basel and got off the train, we caught the #1 tram into the city center and then the #11 to the *other* station Basel Hbf, where I'd assumed we'd be coming into, hence our hotel booking which was close by.

Upon arrival at the Ibis Hotel I told my sob story about our Booking.com fraud to the young man at reception and he tried to be sympathetic (probably thinking "stupid old man!") but as expected he took our money anyway.

After settling in we went for a walk into the city center. My plan was to go to an old traditional beer/wine house/restaurant recommended by the interweb: Brasserie Zum Braunen Mutz. It looks lovely from the outside and inside but the prices on the menu were outrageous.

What is it with the Swiss? It seems everything is at least twice as expensive as anywhere else. They didn't even have the traditional vegetable soup with bone marrow I'd been promised.

So, we upped and left and popped in next door for a maccers. Even here it was 8.50 CH ($17 AUD) for a burger. No chips. No drink.

After a quick look at the Rhine... our home for the next week, we returned here on the #11 tram feeling just a bit ripped off.

All Aboard in Basel. (Saturday, 28th September)

Day 204 (38 to go) All aboard!!

We woke up in our tiny twin / bunk bed hybrid and had a quick video call with birthday girl, Žemyna.

She'd just watched the AFL grand final (Brisbane Lions thrashed Sydney Swans 120-60) and was about to go into Melbourne for drinks.

We took advantage of the hotel's relatively cheap breakfast option and went down the lift for the last hour of that.

Then we packed our bags, checked out and we were out of there. $600 it cost us, including the scam. I feel sick about it, especially that Booking.com still haven't even acknowledged there was a problem, offer no way of even reporting such things and so are therefore probably going to be in denial of any responsibility.

We caught the #11 tram again to go to our next room for the week, on board the Crucavita, our boat to take us down the Rhine to Amsterdam. The boat was much easier to find than the last cruise ship we went on, on the river Duoro, and dropping the bags off was too easy - literally too easy. They didn't ask for ours names or anything.

We then walked up the left bank of the Rhine and back into the city to do some sight seeing.

First stop was the Spalentor Basel, a huge arch and apparently the remains of the ancient walls of the city. It has a portcullis in the middle of it that is pretty impressive.

Next we walked through the lovely old town, with its thoughtfully flattened cobbles to make waking easier, to the big cathedral, Basler Münster. Beautiful but... another church showing off the human obsession to the God theory.

From there we walked down to take another, better, look at the Rathaus in broad daylight and its splendid ochre looking exterior.

Time was ticking along and I was conscious that today, being a Saturday, there was a full program of football matches about to start. Forest would be playing Fulham in three hours and although I'd resigned myself to missing that one, I might at least get to watch some of Newcastle versus Manchester City. I located a sports bar not far from the boat and we caught the #11 tram again to get within walking distance of it.

The Nordetangente Sportsbar was pretty much empty so they were happy to put the game on for me, with English commentary, straight away. They had great WiFi too so Leb could catch up with the latest family and friends stuff and I managed to book a train ticket from Gatwick to Darlington when we return to the Uk for the final time in a few weeks. The game ended in a draw and it was time to head back to the boat for check-in.

Of course, the moment we stepped outside the heavens opened up and there was a downpour. It was only a ten minute walk but we both got soaked.

Upon arrival we were asked to take a seat in the quite plush, if a little dated, lounge where we were served a nice roll and a bowl of consumé.

I slurped mine down in no time, so I took our passports and checked us in. The room is surprisingly spacious and it's quite ingenious the way the beds fold up to create even more space should you want it.

I thanked the Bulgarian porter for bringing our bags down and then went off to collect Leb.

It was a nice luxury to be able to unpack thinking we're actually going to be in this room for a whole week but the realisation that we no longer had access to free WiFi began to sink in. Hold on. So no contact with the outside world? Unless we pay €10 each every day? I've been posting my daily diary with thousands of photos and videos for over 200 days on the trot and now... I can't?

Besides all that, and more urgently... how was I going to even keep track of Forest v Fulham which had already started?

With the benefit of hindsight I should have just trundled back to the Nordetangente Sportsbar and watched it there. The boat is not going anywhere until tomorrow evening. I bet they'd have put the game on for me. Instead, I paid €10 for 24 hrs/ 1Gb of WiFi on the boat and sat on my bed reading the sporadic texts being reported from the City Ground. It wasn't good news either. It seems Forest had the worst of a handful of marginal refereeing decisions and got on the wrong end of a 1-0 defeat. So endeth their unbeaten start to the season.

At 6:30 it was happy hour on the boat and we didn't want to miss out on that. €3 for 250ml of red wine wasn't bad at all and Julia, the cruise company's representative, did a marvellous job in telling us the rules and plans for the week, switching effortlessly between English and Spanish.

Then it was time to go down to the dining room and meet our fellow traveller assigned to us as dining partners for the week.

I must admit I wasn't looking forward to this much. I like meeting new people but the thought that, whoever they are, we're kind of stuck with them for the whole week is always a bit daunting. I changed from my Ukrainian flag shirt to a more neutral navy T just to make sure there'd be no obvious red rags to any bulls from the start.

Already sat at table 15 were two couples from the USA. (Don't mention the Trump!) Two were younger, of Vietnamese origin, now living in Dallas, Texas. Lina and Twon... and two were our age and from Michigan, Christie and Jim. They are all lovely and we enjoyed a nice evening with a pretty substantial three course meal with them. Leb and I both had the fish.

Around 9:30 it was time to vacate the dining area and we decided not to go to the bar but head back to our room for an early night - the first in our new cozy cabin.

I woke up at 3am with thoughts of panic and being trapped. No internet and having to make polite conversation three times a day with four American Christians struck dread into my heart. All this was compounded by the thought that just a metre from my head was a vast torent of water rushing downstream toward the North Sea. Leb and I had earlier joked that the lounge area and spiral staircase down to the long corridor leading to our rooms did remind us just a little of... The Titanic. If we hit anything, let alone a massive iceberg, this thing is going to the bottom of the Rhine in seconds.

Unlike on every flight I've ever been on, where the attendants go to great lengths to tell you about "safety features" and the inflatable jacket you're supposed to remember about in case of an emergency and that bloody silly whistle to draw attention -- even when the flight is from Perth to the Iron mines in the north west (almost no chance of the plane fkying over water)... here, nothing. Don't ask where the lifeboats are.

Thinking such thoughts, I tried - and eventually suceeded - to get some more "shut eye".

Still in Basel. (Saturday, 28th September)

Day 205 (37 to go). Finding the clitoris, then...On the wine on the Rhine.

Our first night on board was pretty comfortable despite my now usual 3am wake up in a panic spell.

Leb quite rightly cajoled me into getting up so we wouldn't miss breakfast. The options were very impressive. Everything from German style wurst through Scandinavian style herring to Swiss style muesli. I realised this was not going to do my waist line any good. I imagined being as fat as a pig by the time we would reach Amsterdam. At least if the boat sank, it'd be no problem. I'd float like a blob of lard.

After brekkie it was time for another walk. The bad weather had abated and although it was hardly balmy, at least there was blue sky and sunshine.

Yesterday, walking around with the now indispensable Google Maps and its GPS tracker, I'd noticed Basel had an Anatomical Museum but it was closed. Today Leb noticed it was open, so we headed off to find it.

Easy, right. Google maps showed us where it was and where we were. All we had to do is make the blue pointy thing move over the red rain drop thing. But when we got to the block, a whole side had windows boarded up. Round the corner and the entrance said "University of Basel Physik" A bit further on, another entrance "University of Basel Chemie". Round the corner again and this was looking like a lost cause. Then we noticed an unsigned path into the center of the block we'd just walked around. Inside was another building but again the entrance indicated Physical Chemistry, not my thing (if it can be said I HAD a "thing") human anatomy.

One more try, then we'll give up, we said as we went round one more corner of the inner building. And there it was... Anatomische Museum Basel. Nestled right in the middle of the block of other University buildings. We went in and agreed to pay the €8 entrance fee which also gave us access to the Pharmacology Museum in the City Center. We'd visit that later in the afternoon.

The museum is a hidden gem. Everyone should go and spend some time in these places. As I always say to my students at the start of semester at UWA (and this is the first year for the past twenty years I've not said it) "what a fascinating privilege it is to be able to learn more about this thing we're all walking around in."

The museum is relatively small but it's packed with amazing exhibits. Downstairs it is more focused on the history of anatomical studies generally, with a lot of stuff about Vesallius, the father of modern anatomy. He rewrote the book on the subject "De Humani Corporis Fabrica Libri Septem" (or 'fabrica' for short) after centuries of following Gallen. I did not know that the first edition of the beautifully illustrated book was published right there in Basel.

The museum also promoted some of the latest methods and techniques used to visualise anatomical features.

I spent a few minutes watching an amazing video (I think using CT scanning) of a sagittal section of a person talking. Watching how the tongue distorts itself into the most bizarre shapes at subsecond speeds but in perfect coordination with the lips and the jaw without ever getting chewed by the teeth is an amazing sight I haven't seen before. I was totally engrossed and hadn't noticed Leb had come stand next to me but looking at the next exhibit. I focused on the larynx and its bizarre descended position in human adults (but not infants or our ape cousins) and remembered how we humans risk choking to death every time we swallow. And how talking and eating at the same time puts ridiculous extra pressure on the mouth and especially the tongue to move with precise speedy perfection.

So, I was thinking of the larynx and a lovely plastic model of it we have at UWA when I shuffled across to join Leb looking at the next exhibit. The first image on the top left of that reminded me of a model we have at UWA and thinking it was the same thing, I blurted "the larynx. Isn't it amazing?"

"No it's not" replied Leb. "It's a clitoris!"

I'm still not sure why the museum placed an exhibit on this particular part of the female genitalia right next to one about movements of the mouth but it certainly made me feel daft as a brush, (not an usual feeling for me!)

It seems that the scientists at Basel University are among the leaders of world research into the clitoris and they have several 3D printed models of it... none of which, I have to admit, look anything like the larynx.

Anyway, I could have spent all day there but we had to get back to the boat for our next over-indulgent lunch. I had perfectly cooked chicken breast slices in a lovely creamy sauce with roast potatoes. Leb, for once, made a poor choice. Her spring rolls were a little too dry, she thought.

After filling our stomachs to bursting point again, we needed to "walk some it off" (if only!) and we strolled back to the ochre coloured rathaus again, close to which we were told was the pharmacy museum. It certainly wasn't as difficult to find as the anatomical museum but it was also a little hidden away.

Now you can't beat human anatomy as a subject for a museum in my humble opinion and there's not much you can do to make drugs look interesting, but on display were several beautiful old pharmacopoeias. They also had lots of strange looking medical equipment and paintings of the earliest alchemists who allegedly had encyclopaedic knowledge of which plants and animals to combine in which ratios to produce the right magical potion for the appropriate ailment. No double blind trials in those days though - a bit of a lottery.

Soon it was time to head back. We didn't want to miss the boat and Julia had made it pretty clear on day one that they couldn't wait long if you missed the boarding time.

We made it easily, even after spending time outside a cafe to tap into their free WiFi to catch up with our latest social media stuff. It did annoy me to remember that no such service was freely available on board. Over 65 different places we've stayed in in over 200 days and EVERY ONE offered free WiFi as standard... but not our cruise.

One of my messages from good old Jakey told me about an eSim that might help, but when I tried to download it I got an error message telling me my phone was too old. When you get past 65 you accept set backs like this with a shrug.

We made it back so easily, in fact, that we had time to go to the lounge for afternoon tea and cake. Yes. Three big meals a day isn't enough. "Needed cake" as my dad might have said.

As we reboarded the boat we passed Christie and Jim (our table companions from Michigan) who were going in the opposite direction, presumably for a quick walk to "burn off" the cake they'd just had.

Back in our room we watched the good old BBC to try to keep up with world events. There was also an in depth interview with John Major about the state of Britain today. I love his honesty about Brexit and he does seem to be one of the last decent Tories...perhaps along with Ken Clark.

Now... What was that rumbling I felt?

At about 6:20 I headed for the bar with happy thoughts of happy hour.

"No happy hour today sir" the barmaid said "but there will be welcome drinks at 7pm"

It's a hard life. So I had to pay €6 for a third of a bottle of wine instead of €3.

I sat near the front of the lounge to get a view of the first of many locks we would be passing through. (For some stupid reason I had imagined there wouldn't be any locks until we reached Holland.)

I was joined by Donna from Christchurch, New Zealand and it didn't take long before I asked her about that terrible earthquake of 2011, She had been pretty much at the epicentre of it and described those amazing moments so vividly.

Then, I noticed Leb had come to the bar looking very elegant. She hadn't noticed me at the end of the lounge and so had sat in the seats we'd used the night before. I went to get her and bring her over to meet Donna. I had warned her that when Leb came she'd have to repeat her heroic tale of the earthquake... and she did so I got to hear it twice.

Donna said it wasn't a "side to side" type earthquake but an "up and down" one. It felt like you were being repeatedly thrown to the ground. As she told us all this our boat and two others were gradually lowered about 20m to the next level of the Rhine.

Leb had bought me another big glass of red wine and soon it was "welcome drinks" and we were handed a glass of bubbles.

Oh well. Someone's got to do it. I gave up alcohol once for two years but, I must admit, I prefer being a bit of a drinker.

The official welcome on board was more like a stand up comedy show.

Julie introduced the very young and striking looking captain to take us through some health and safety recommendations. He was a right laugh, expressing the German sense of humour in that inimitable dead pan way that Henning Wehn does on WILTY so brilliantly.

He gave his advice in English like...

"If there is a man, or woman, overboard please feel free to throw a lifebuoy to them but do not hit them on the head or we will have no one to save." or

"In case of an emergency head up to the sun lounge. Please do not bring your baggage or personal belongings. Perhaps wear your trousers."

... and then Julia translated into Spanish and a third cool guy translated them again into French.

It was amusing to see how much of the original dry German humour survived in Spanish and French.

The senior crew managers introduced themselves too and then we were ready for dinner.. again!

Yes. We were finally leaving the dock in Basel and starting on our cruise down the Rhine. I went on deck to video our pulling away, reversing downstream and then the 180° turn to head north. It was amazing to follow that manoeuvre on Google maps. Almost immediately we were leaving Switzerland with France now to our left and Germany to the right.

We all trooped down to the dining area, Leb and I returning to table 15 where Lina and Twon were already sat.

But where were Christie and Jim?

Lina was immediately concerned and went off to check and, sure enough, they'd missed the boat.

Oops. They will have to find somewhere to sleep tonight and then make their own way to Strasbourg to catch up.

The four of us had a great evening nevertheless. I must say, I'm loving it at the moment.

Strasbourg (Sunday, 29th October)

Day 206 (36 to go) Trip to Strasbourg.

After a pretty rough night with little sleep (the engine, close to our cabin, is pretty noisy) I woke up at 8:30. Leb was already up and bright and chirpy as always.

"You've got twenty minutes if you want breakfast" she said. "I'm going to skip it today."

The pressure. What to do?

I threw on my Forest T shirt and shorts and slippers and headed down the corridor to the restaurant.

I was greeted by one of the very cheerful staff who, without a moment's hesitation, beamed "Good morning Sir! I like your hair!"

I said "yeah thanks. I've been working on it all night!"

I had a small plate of sausage, scrambled egg and herring, washed down with a nice cup of coffee.

"Are you a Forest fan" asked my smily waiter, much to my delight. He follows Manchester United so I couldn't resist mentioning the great 3-0 win by Spurs at Old Trafford yesterday with Brenan Johnson scoring for the fourth game in a row.

I ordered the dishes for the rest of the day: Healthy options for Leb, greedy fat pig unhealthy options for me.

The lovely Lina (the young lady from Vietnam) was the only one still at table 15 but she was just finishing. "Are you going on the trip?" She asked.

Wow. More pressure. I hadn't looked at the itinerary for the day yet and didn't realise the bus left at 9:15. I mumbled something non-committal and wolfed down my brekkie.

Back in the room, Leb had showered and was looking as beautiful and radiant as ever while I looked (and felt) like a badger's arse.

"We should go, shouldn't we?" I grunted as I popped into the shower.

15 minutes later we were on deck with Lina and Twon waiting for the English language bus to take us from our docking by the Rhine to Strasbourg City center. The Spanish language bus was first to arrive. Soon ours came and we got on.

"There's Christie and Jim!" Lina exclaimed as the bus pulled away. The other couple from Michigan on table 15 who missed the boat last night had somehow made it to Strasbourg and caught up with the cruise but had now just missed the bus trip.

The local guide gave us an interesting commentary as we made our way into the city. Our boat was docked right by the Foreign Legion headquarters, of all places.

"If anyone wants a change of job" she said "maybe pay a visit this afternoon".

The bus also passed the European Parliament building and the European Court of Justice before dropping us off near the center.

After a few teething problems with our audio sets we were off on a walking tour, following Claudette (I have no memory of her real name but that was the girl's name in Longman's Audio Visual French, Stage 1, so it'll do.)

It was a case of "ecoutez" but not "repetez"... "suivez".

She gave a potted history of this fascinating city how, after its Roman origins, it has switched between French rule and German rule continually. She showed us a lovely fountain that had been designed to summarise this.

I had spent a day in Strasbourg before, during the Euros in 2016, but my tour was more random and "bar focused" than Claudette's. I didn't recognise a thing until we reached the gargantuan cathedral in the center of the city. I did remember that.

We joined a very long queue to go inside but as Claudette predicted, it moved quickly and soon we were inside marvelling at the beautiful stained glass, the gold pulpit and just the sheer bloody size of the thing. All in the name of God.

Perhaps 200 tourists gathered gathered around the astronomocal clock just before 11 O' clock to witness a little marionette appear and strike a bell. Like the one in Marienplatz in Munich, it's a big crowd puller but somehow... a bit of an anticlimax.

After that, we walked through "Petit France" and its canals and cute old buildings originally built in the Middle Ages.

As we strolled through the streets packed with tourists, Leb and I kept our eye open for shops selling SIMs and areas of the city where we could connect to free WiFi. There was a good one near the cathedral and we both managed to upload photos and catch up with our globe trotting kids... Kes in Hong Kong and Roz and Lenny in Singapore.

We got back on the bus in a different place quite a way from where we had been dropped off and at about 1:30 we returned to the boat for lunch back on a full table 15.

Christie and Jim regailed us with their tale of how they missed the boat, tried to get on at the first lock, and then paid several hundred dollars for a taxi ride to Strasbourg where they found a hotel to stay in overnight. It sounded like a nightmare but we all agreed it could have been worse and at least it'll make a good story to tell the grandchildren.

After lunch I felt that I just wanted to lie down and snooze but I soon had the urge to reconnect to Social Media. Facebook junkies need their daily fix and I was getting anxious.

Leb talked me out of going upstairs and forking out another €10 for another 1Gb of connectivity so I went on a quest to look for somewhere to buy a SIM. The first shop I came across, typically for France, was a Tabac which sells all sorts of stuff as well as cigarettes... but no SIMs.

The guy pointed me along the street to a shop "a gauche" and I set off to find it.

On the way, I glanced at my phone and found, to my surprise, it was now connected. The free Strasbourg WiFi near the cathedral must have several hot spots and I happened to have wandered into one of them.

So, stood on the pavement of a random street near the Foreign Legion, I caught up with the world wide web.

After doing so it felt silly and pointless buying a new SIM, so I headed back to the boat resolved not to spend a single cent more on their ridiculously expensive connectivity options.

Soon it was happy hour again and I took full advantage of that before we gathered again on table 15 to scoff more food. I (now regretfully) opted for sea bass instead of a meaty sauerkraut dish. Leb liked the vegetable curry I'd ordered for her at breakfast.

The lovely Lena is clearly a wannabe actress/singer/performer and her partner, Twon, proudly showed us clips from a movie or TV series where she could be seen as an extra playing the role of a forensic scientist taking photos at a murder scene. She said she'd been practising a song in French that she was going to sing later. ("As we are in France, right?")

I must say she has a sweet voice but karaoke is not really my scene and after three songs from Lena and one Irish folk song from some British bloke, I bade my farewells and headed for bed.

As I tap away at this, it's 5 am in the morning and I can hear the loud humming of the engine propelling us downstream towards Mannheim. I wonder if Lena will sing a song in German tomorrow.

Must get more sleep.

Heidelberg. (Monday, 1st October)

Day 207 (35 to go). Homo heidelbergensis, religion and politics.

It was another rough night with the boat's loud engines reverberating through our room again, but somehow I did manage to get some sleep. In any case by the time morning came and the engines finally stopped, I was mentally prepared to get up relatively early for breakfast and be ready for the next excursion... to Heidelberg, a name that invokes images of European ancestry in the mind of anyone interested in human evolution.

We actually docked at Mannheim, a good 45 minute bus ride away from the first destination of the day. The English speakers got on one bus, Spanish on another, and at 9am they both set off for Heidelberg. It was a comfortable bus with good features... apart from WiFi and soon enough we arrived at the castle overlooking the town and we got off to meet our wonderfully enthusiastic local tour guide... let's call her Gertrude. She was so animated and passionate about the history of the city, we Immediately warmed to her. Gertrude has this slightly unnerving way of looking at you straight in the eye as she delivers her historical anecdotes but it certainly grabs your attention.

First stop was the castle wall high above the city of Heidelberg below. Next we were off to the half-restored ruins of the castle itself. When we entered the big square we heard this rather fine singing voice reciting some traditional drinking song. It turned out the tour guide ahead of us was some kind of professional singer. Not to be outdone, Gertrude then sang a song of her own. It was very lovely too but a rather unexpected start to the tour.

As we walked around the castle, Gertrude's enthusiasm and knowledge of her subject was clear to all of us. But one guy, a Brit from Worcestershire, seemed to see her presence as some sort of a challenge and started finishing her sentences with details about various monarchs that he seemed to just know, again and again. (I asked him later "are you a history professor or something?" "No, a history *nerd*" he replied.)

Gertrude's patience with every teacher's nightmare was admirable and I was happy to ask her a rather dumb question to let her reassert her authority. "That blue and yellow flag flying atop the castle there, that's not a Ukrainian flag, is it?"

"No, it's our state flag.. of Baden Würtenberg"

We then went down to the wine cellar to see the biggest barrel... ever.

Once down there I noticed my mobile was detecting an open WiFi option so I connected and started catching up on the interweb. Leb did too, and for a few moments we were both frantically tapping away, not really listening to Gertrude... another teacher's nightmare. Rather too quickly for my liking, she started leading our group away to the next point of interest. I must have been on the web ten more seconds at the most when I looked up and everyone had gone, including my dear partner in her bright pink coat.

I put my phone away and tried to catch up with them. I could still hear Gertrude's classic German accent in my right lug hole so I knew I wasn't far behind them. But back in the square... there was no-one in our group to be seen, not even the effervescent Leb. I'd later realise, she was with the rest of the group who had gone outside to get another panoramic view of the town.

I heard Gertrude say something about going back to the bus so I headed in that direction. I trundled through the crowd of tourists, back out of the castle grounds towards where the bus had dropped us off. As I did so, though, the reception on my audio suddenly got weaker and then disappeared completely.

Clearly they hadn't come this far yet, so I headed back to the castle. The security guys were reluctant to let me back in without a ticket but now I could hear the crackly sound of Gertrude leading the group back to the bus. That was definitely what she was saying but there was still no sight of them anywhere. Maybe they were walking there by a different route. So I made my way back to the bus stop again but there was still no sign of them and again the reception on my ear phones went dead.

I was now getting a bit anxious. What was the address of the pick up location? Maybe I should just head straight for that. Maybe I should find a cafe with WiFi and call Julia on Whatsapp.

Then, a bit like the scene in Apollo 13 when everyone is waiting to find out if the entry module's parachutes had opened and if the three astronauts on board had survived re-entry... I heard a crackle and Gertrude's voice.

She was not talking about 'mission control' though, but about missing one of the group... another teacher's nightmare.

"Can you not just phone him?" Asked Gertrude.

Then I heard the loveliest voice "I would but we have no SIM."

Leb was with them. That was good to know, at least. Until that point I'd imagined she'd been cut off from the rest of the group too, and her sense of direction is ... worse than mine.

I headed back to the castle once again and the reception clearly got better.

Then I saw them... well I saw Leb in her pink coat, and walked quickly towards them until she spotted me too and all was well.

"Bloody idiot" was not greeting I was hoping for and, almost crying, I got back on the bus so we could all be driven down into town. Apparently the group had taken a sharp left when coming out of the cellar and not gone back the way we came.

The bus dropped us off near the river Neckar and we followed Gertrude a bit further before we decided to peel off from the group and see if we could find a patch with free WiFi access. (We had already told her we'd find our own way back as we knew where to meet up.)

Sure enough, just at the north end of the big long shopping street, we found such a spot and must have spent over half an hour standing there uploading photos and catching up with the interweb.

Eventually we decided we should actuality do a bit of sightseeing ourselves.

It was at this point that I had an embarrassing realisation... I'd spent almost a week in Heidelberg before, in 2006, but I'd never seen any of these sights before.

Together with Steve, Merlin, Gerry and our dear friend Rory, I had stayed in this town for at least five or six nights during the World Cup hosted by Germany. The England team's hotel was around here somewhere. We'd spent a week in this beautiful city and we'd never visited the castle or the big famous bridge over the Neckar or the cathedrals or the university or the famously long pedestrianised shopping street. At least, if we did I had zero memory of them.

All I could remember us doing was drinking in bars that were showing the football. And I couldn't even remember anything about any of the games I saw either.

My two abiding memories of our time in the city in 2006 are...

1) Spending an entire evening on the Heidelberg tram system with Rory. We got on, hoping to get back to our accommodation only to fall asleep and get thrown off at the end of the line. Then we'd catch the next tram back the other way, only for this to be repeated over and over again.

2) One night, it was getting late, close to the bar's closing time. We were seeking some place where we could continue drinking. The others pursued their lines of enquiry, and I did mine. I was chatting with a German guy about our predicament and was trying to be friendly.

"Aw it must be so hard for you Germans to have to confront the guilt of what your parents did in the war" (or words to that effect).

He seemed to appreciate the sentiment and said he knew a bar that was open till late just around the corner. I gleefully reported this to Rory and the 'boys' but they were close to securing a different venue for us. I said I'd investigate this guy's suggestion and then report back in ten minutes.

I followed the guy to the bar he knew, as promised, but as I descended the spiral staircase into the bar itself I quickly got the signal that this wasn't quite right for me. It was a gay bar and certainty not what we were l looking for. So I apologised to the guy and rushed back to the others.

These two events could have both happened on the same night for all I know.

Anyway, 18 years on, Leb and I got back to the bus on time and soon, after passing by a local Arena, we were driven back to our boat.

During a very nice relaxing afternoon the boat started to sail downstream towards Mainz and I went up to the deck to watch the captain skillfully guide us into dock rather like a teenager playing on his X-Box.

We had drinks with a nice group of Aussies and Kiwis before heading down for the evening meal.

The six of us on table 15 had been getting along just fine for the first three days of the cruise making polite conversation and I'd just been telling them how Leb and I met through Lithuanian dancing when Jim commented on my badge.

"Is that a Lithuanian flag?" He asked.

"No, Ukrainian." I then told him how both in Gloucester and Nottingham the Ukrainian community had always kindly supported the Lithuanians and how I thought they now deserved my full support in their existential war against Putin's invasion.

"They just want to be able to have their own country and be left in peace."

Everyone expressed sympathy but it didn't take long before the question came up as to whether Ukraine deserved a blank unending cheque of support from America.

Following this question, the subject of corruption came up and before we knew it our four American friends were accusing Obama, Clinton, Biden and all the Democrats of being corrupt.

I couldn't leave this unchallenged and soon we were arguing about Trump being a crooktraitor and a Putin poodle. Jim retorted that as a Christian he was most concerned with the abortion issue. Leb asked why a woman should not be left to make her own decisions about her own body. Jim's answer:it says so in the bible.

I blurted something like "but that's just a collection of bronze age myths."

Although this clearly wasn't going well, it did feel good that a boil had been lanced at last so we could have an honest conversation that was actually interesting and mattered, rather than endless chit chat about the size of your boat or house or what qualifications your son or daughter had.

Soon the topic had turned to eternal damnation and Jim said something like I'd be going to hell unless I heeded his warnings. That's when we decided it was time to end the dinner, quite amicably, with the line: " ... to be continued."

Later, after watching a great virtuoso performance by a very talented violinist, the lovely Lena sat next to us to try to console and soothe the waters. She asked what I felt about our conversation.

"It just depresses me" I said. "I'm worried Americans are about to vote in another Hitler".

Turning the (German) corner in Koblenz. (Wedesday, 2nd October)

Day 208 (34 to go)

As Leb will tell you, I'm sometimes a moody old bastard, and I definitely woke up with the grump on today. "He's in a bad mood" isn't exactly the right way to describe it though. "He's depressed" would be closer.

After our tête-a-tête with the Trumpsters on table 15 at the evening meal last night, the thought of five or six more meals with them hung over me like a thick dark thunder storm cloud. The trouble with these cruises, and the way the dining arrangements are made, is you have to be committed to being kind of friends with people who have been semi randomly assigned to you for the whole week.

It would have been nice to have had the option, perhaps, to be able to rotate your dinning table guests a few times at least. But no, somehow I had to swallow my principles and make polite conversation with people I really have a problem with... Bible bashing Trump supporters who will, in November, proudly and boastfully, be voting to end democracy in the US (and hence maybe much of the rest of the world) and Make America Gormless Again.

We skipped breakfast, so that was one less potential flash point to worry about. We also skipped the scheduled morning tour to some musical thing in Ruedesheim, a small village on the Rhine... so that was another.

Instead Leb and I went for a walk into the village on our daily trek to find free WiFi hotspots, and... get this... to see if we could find a recommended fancy dress shop to buy some pirate costumes!

Fortunately, we didn't have time to find the shop because ordering a coffee at a Cafe that offered free WiFi and catching up with our Social Media commitments took too long. But as we headed back on board the boat, the next scheduled encounters with our MAGA mates loomed ever closer like hurricane Helene.

"Do we really have to dress up like pirates?" I pleaded. "Yes. It'll be fun." Leb insisted.

As my mum would have said "Gott in himmel, bleib (or schtäh as we'd say in 'Lenyish") uns bei!"

That trauma would come later though.

First we had a German themed barbecue on the sun lounge on deck. On a hot summer's day this would have been perfect and although it was quite a cold day, at least it was sunny with blue skies.

The scenery on the banks of the Rhine was stunning: A V-shaped valley reminiscent of the Douro in Portugal lined with vineyards and castle after castle. The food was pretty good too. Although there was, very disappointingly, no sauerkraut, there was a big buffet with lots of salad options, several wurst options, a semf oder ketchup option, beer or wine or alcoholic coffee drink option but no realistic option about who to sit with. We had to sit with our friends from table 15, right?

Leb is brilliant in these situations. Making polite small talk with people, asking endless questions about them and theirs to keep them chatting and the mood jolly.

Now me, I know why religion and politics are best avoided in social situations but I still want to do it. I feel the need to get the big issues out on the table and argue about them honestly and openly. It just seems a shame to miss the opportunity to do so when you can. I wanted to ask Jim "... now following on from last night, even taking the bible as our moral compass, how can you vote for Trump? He's a crook. He paid off a prostitute to keep his affair with her quiet from his wife and the whole nation. He's never disclosed his taxes. ..." and so on. But I knew I couldn't. Instead I just listened to him and the other people in the group talk about their favourite subject... themselves. Their pets. Their allergies and ailments. Their previous cruises (which of course, were all so much better than this one.) The places they've visited. On and on...

I had to keep getting up to take another photo of another castle... just to stop myself from exploding... or bursting into tears.

At one point, whilst admiring the magical scene passing us by I started chatting to Ray, another American on board, but unusually, one under 60 years old. He and his three friends are all in their late 20s/early 30s and from Atlanta Georgia.

Then, an amazing thing happened... he asked about me. Why did we move to Perth? What was my PhD about? What is the wading hypothesis?

I get nervous being the focus of attention for long when this happens and I had to find a way to get the subject back onto something more mutually interesting and important.

I know... Trump.

"I'm a bit nervous asking you this, but can I ask you what you think about the forthcoming US election?"

His reply was a Ray of conversational sunshine. Hates Trump. Has two science degrees. Physiotherapist. Knows human anatomy like the back his hand. Has studied the comparative anatomy of humans and chimpanzees. Obviously we evolved from a great ape common ancestor, like they did. Thinks bible thumping creationists are crazy and brainwashed

Joy, at last!

Leb came to join us and she asked him if his friends thiought the same way. "Sure they do. Most young educated people do."

So there is hope.

Rather than return to the Bregenz (rhymes with 'dreg ends', get it?) of conversation I stood on deck at the front of the ship for half an hour or so, taking in the spectacular unfolding Valley, before heading back to the room to do a clothes wash. Yup. That's right... I'd rather clean the skid marks off my pants than try to make polite conversation with a MAGA God Squad for the sixth time.

After a bit of a snooze, the ship sailed into the city of Koblenz, around the Deutsch Eck (German corner) where the Rhine is joined by the Mosel, past the splendid monument to Wilhelm I and docked.

We had two hours to explore so Leb and I went by the Eck (by eck we did!) and found a lovely old square where we could sit without even having to buy a coffee and use the local free and speedy WiFi.

Leb managed to book a train journey in England and I managed to get in touch with my old mate from Kirkby, Paul Stevenson. I owe Paul so much. I was the laziest 6th former at Ashfield Comprehensive in 1976 until Paul's family moved south from Guisborough to work at Annesley Post Office, near us, and he joined me in my A level maths class.

"What? You actually do homework? You try to get them all right?" This was a revelation to me. I thought the cool thing to do was the absolute minimum amount of work but just, somehow, try to scrape a pass.

I'd never have got to university if it wasn't for Paul.

Another gift he gave me... I was a racist before Paul set me straight. After twenty years of my dad's nationalist bigotry I was, shall we say, a bit confused. Bloody Poles! Bloody Jews! Bloody Russians! Bloody [insert national/racial label here] ... was pretty much my education on these matters. I remember sitting with Paul on a train journey somewhere. I think it was on our way to Matlock in the Peak District in Derbyshire. We were talking about race.

"But Paul" I asked "... what if England became flooded with African immigrants? What if they had more children than white people? Wouldn't you have a problem if your street was full of blacks?"

"Nope. No problem at all. They're humans just like us" he replied (or words to that affect.)

Oh yeah. I thought. Of course. We are all the same really.

This planted a seed that really only bore fruit twenty years later when I studied anthropology and human evolution. Every human on the planet is much much more closely related than any two chimps randomly picked from the same tribe. Any skin colour difference is coded in a tiny number of genes. I didn't know that in 1976 but it was Paul who wiped away dad's prejudice on the matter.

And today, Paul also gifted me with another nugget which lifted me out of Trump gloom and up into misty clouds of happiness. Mist rolling in from the Trent, to be precise.

I'd been trying to get in touch with him to meet up over some beers and football in the ten days or so we'll be back in blighty in a few weeks. Paul replied that he'd got a ticket for the Forest v Crystal Palace game in Nottingham but couldn't get two as he wasn't a season ticket holder and numbers were limited. But if I went to the Forest web site I could get one if I did x y and z.

Sure enough. It all worked a treat and I now have my seat in the Brian Clough stand.

Non-football fans might not understand but this simple act transformed my mood instantly. To add icing to the cake, I browsed the forthcoming fixtures and noticed Forest's game at in-form Chelsea this weekend is scheduled for Sunday, which means I'll be able to watch it in a bar in Amsterdam.

Woohoo!

With half an hour spare, more mood uplift as we then found the oldest pub in Koblenz and had "ein kleine bier" there. We shared a table with a lovely chap who spoke to us in perfect English. We asked him stuff and, imagine this... he asked us stuff too.

Then it was back to the cruise and our dreaded next appointment with table 15 and the "dress up like a prat, sorry PIRATE" party.

Good old Leb. She always comes up with the perfect solution in these awkward situations.

Rather than go to a bloody fancy dress shop and buy silly gimmicky piratey things, she'd improvise.

Sensing my, shall we say, less than 100% enthusiasm for dressing up like a pirate, she made a simple black paper eye patch to blu tak to the left lens of my glasses. Perfect! I was getting into the spirit of the thing without looking too much like a dick head.

Also, it meant we weren't letting lovely Vietnamese Lena down. She is the sort of girl that loves this kind of thing. A true extrovert, she got dressed up in full-on pirate mode and had even bought a cheap plastic axe from the fancy dress shop for extra effect. She also got her husband Twon looking like Jonny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean.

See, there was a prize for the best table and Lena wanted us to win it.

The staff really got into the spirit of the event too and dressed up with skull & cross bone hats and placed similar flags everywhere. The tables were set deliberately scruffily.

Even I have to admit it was all very sweet.

Leb then had another brilliant idea. After talking about Pirates of the Caribbean she got everyone to talk about their favourite films. Always a great subject and nothing to do with religion or politics.

Of course, with Lena's leadership, table 15 did win... a nice bottle of champagne.

So we all went upstairs to the lounge to share the bubbles whilst watching Lena perform a sweet song for an old couple who were celebrating their wedding anniversary.

No more depression here, then. Thanks to Leb, Lena , Paul and Ray.

Donald Who?

Kalt in Köln. (Thursday, 3rd October)

Day 209 (33 to go)

We were sailing towards the end of this Rhine cruise phase of the journey now and woke to find the boat approaching Köln (or Cologne).

Embarrassingly, I was certain the big dark cathedral, Kölsch Dom, would be on the right bank as we arrived... but it was on the left. It's Bizarre the way memory plays tricks on you. I'd been here three times before: one on the train, passing through with mum in 1974, on the bus, with Forest fans in 1979 to watch our glorious 1-0 win there in the European Cup semi-final second leg (the one where Cloughie famously looked in the camera in the interview after the first leg in Nottingham ended 3-3 and said "I hope nobody's stupid enough to write us off") and the last time, driving there in 2006 for the World Cup. Somehow the image of crossing over the railway bridge and seeing the big cathedral on the other side had lodged in my brain. It was also much smaller than I had remembered it.

Anyway, we had a nice breakfast and got off the boat to meet our guide, Claas. The tour guides have been really good and, again, he spoke perfect English with a lovely subtle German accent. He walked us back up the left bank under the railway bridge and then right into the old town. It had turned pretty cold (8°C or so) and Leb and I both regretted not putting more layers on.

Claas gave us a potted history of the city and its origins as a Roman colony (hence the name.) He took us past the Sion brauhaus, the oldest pub in the city (but oddly didn't mention this during the tour, I only found out later through ChatGPT) and up to the oldest perfume house, where Eau de Cologne originated.

The tour ended at the Kölsch Dom, another obscenely large monument to the great omniscient being in the sky. The allies bombed 95% of the city to oblivion during WW2 but they didn't dare touch the cathedral.

Leb was shivering in the shade so we went inside a cafe and had hot chocolate and coffee to warm up while connecting to the WiFi to catch up.

Then, we went back to the Sion brauhaus for a couple of glasses of Kolsch beer served in the ridiculously small glasses typical of the region. It was lovely to catch up with Roz, Joey and Lenny Banjo via a video call.

Back on the boat we chilled a bit before a very nice lunch and later heading north past Düsseldorf and Duisburg as the sun set and towards the Netherlands.

The crew put on a bit of a show for the farewell evening. Every crew member was introduced to the passengers, giving us an opportunity to show our appreciation.

We then sat down to another fine meal on table 15. Twon told us about his father's terrible experience of five years in "re-education camps" in Vietnam after the communist victory there before being allowed to emigrate to the USA. That was the conversational highlight of the evening for me.

The rest was more a case of bragging about how many fridges and other kitchen gadgets you owned, how many deer, turkeys and polar bears you or your relatives had hunted down and other polite exchanges of no real importance. I mostly kept quiet and tried not to look too bored.

Don't mention the Trump.

We were set to arrive in Amsterdam the next day. That would be our last night on board, after which we had bookied two more nights in Holland before this phase of the trip would be over.

Stll on Board and ambling around with Anna-Marie in Amsterdam. (Friday, 4th October)

Day 210 (32 to go)

We woke up to a very bright and sunny last day on the cruise. After a hearty and, I have to say, very pleasant, breakfast on table 15, we went up to the (for once appropriately named) sun deck to take in the view.

The Crucivita had left the Rhine way behind some time in the night and was now following one of the many canals that criss-cross the Netherlands. Unexpectedly, we approached Amsterdam from the east and soon were passing just 2km from our next accomodation and within sight of the city's prominent railway station, next to which one of those huge ocean cruise liner monstrosities was docked. It had at least ten stories of rooms. I'm guessing it had a capacity of three or four thousand passengers. An Australian couple behind us were discussing it with admiration.

"We went on one like that. It was amazing. So many restaurants. And it was all free. You could eat a much as you want. "

Mmm... not for us.

We were still feeling full from breakfast Even though we'd just had two courses of brekkie a couple of hours earlier, it was time to head back down to the dining area for more.

Sat stuffing my face, yet again, on table 15, I could sense the black dog on my shoulder returning. I sat and listened to our American friends competing to describe all the different dishes they like to

prepare. The food they like to eat... Blaa Blaa Blaa.

Don't mention The Trump.

Then, it was time to get off the boat and catch a bus to Amsterdam.

Our boat had sailed right by the centre of Amsterdam but then continued onto the canals for miles to Zaandam, on the north side of the city.

Julia had mumbled some kind of apology for why we were not able to dock centrally the night before. I have no idea what the reason actually was, because she said she had no idea either.

Anyway the bus took a good half an hour to get us back to the monstrous mega cruise liner in the city centre, where our next tour guide was waiting.

Anna-Marie was a jolly soul with a dirty laugh and took just six of us on a windy route through the old town by the endless canals. She gave us lots of the usual historical information one comes to expect on these things but it was also very personalised.

We visited her favourite restaurant, her favourite art gallery/cafe, her favourite ice cream store and, most bizarrely, her favourite Chinese food store.

She seemed to keep changing her mind. One minute it was "Ve vill go to de flea market vhere you can haf some free time, yeah?' But then, when we got there, after quickly looking at two or three stalls, it was "ok. Ve go dis way next." One minute it was "ve shall take a quick walk troo de red light district", next, holding her tour guide ID, "as a guide am, I am not allowed to show it to you."

All the time, I kept an eye on my mobile phone to see if we had walked into a free WiFi hotspot to do some precious uploading. There was one immediately after getting off the bus but they were elusive in the old town as we traipsed around Amsterdam towards Anne-Marie's work place where she promised us a great view of the city. I had been quite looking forward to that earlier on, but now the tour was starting to get on my nerves. A Canadian guy was asking Anna-Marie endless detailed questions ("how much does your son make? How much tax does he pay? How much does his appartment cost? etc) and then rattled on about comparative Canadian metrics. We heard the conversation in all its tedious detail through our radios as we walked towards her office.

Leb and I were getting desperate to have some rare interweb time so eventually just apologised and broke off from the group.

We Immediately found a café which provided WiFi without needing any password, so we hung about outside catching up with our worlds of social media.

It was pretty obvious where we had to go to get back to the bus pick up point, but Leb was, understandably, getting anxious that we might get lost and be late at the rendezvous. So we marched back through the very busy streets full of pedestrians and crazy cyclists going far too fast in far too little space. One very nearly crashed into me at one point. We've never seen so many cyclists... and not one was wearing a helmet.

Back at the bus stop, the WiFi hotspot I'd joined earlier was there for a moment... and then it wasn't. For half an hour I tried, and failed, to reconnect to complete my photo upload. Very frustrating.

Never mind. Julia eventually returned to the bus, did a head count, and then we set off back to the boat through thick rush hour traffic.

We got back just in time for happy hour and I was determined to be happy for the last evening meal on table 15. A bottle of wine (3 × 250ml glass fulls) over an hour and a half is just about the right amount of brain alcohol to get me tipsy enough to wipe out any conversational shyness or reluctance. I hope (and do think) I didn't overdo it.

Then, it was time to pay for a week's worth if booze and go to bed.

2nd Night in Amsterdam. Crucivita disembarkation. Hotel accommodation # 87. (Saturday, 5th October)

Day 211 (31 to go) Accommodation # 87 (2.43 nights per stay).

So this was it. The last hours on our Rhine cruise ship, the Crucivita and our last meal on table 15.

[Looking at Twon, Lena, Christie and Jim]

"Well, it's been an absolute pleasure sharing your company this week. It's been so lovely to meet you all. You're such nice people.

***

I am so sorry it got a bit heated on Wednesday but I am just really worried about what will happen if Trump wins the election. I honestly think if he does, it will be America's last.

This will be bad not only for the people of the USA but the whole World. In particular, and most immediately, for Ukrainians and the people of the Baltic States.

My mother's family were lovely, God fearing people like you. There were millions like them across Germany and in 1933 enough of them voted for the big mouthed, popular, tough-guy to bring Hitler to power. We all know what happened next."

That's what I had planned to say at breakfast as a kind of goodbye speech but, of course, I didn't. I stopped at the asterisks.

They really are nice people but it depresses me to see how they've been taken in so much by MAGA's (and let's be honest, that means Putin's) lies.

There's the Trump-Putin thing, and it's by far the most important, but there's also the bible thumping thing.

Ever since I became an atheist at the age of EIGHT I've had this admittedly rather smug and arrogant view that all the religious people in the world have just naively missed the point and that it's only a matter of time before the penny drops and the whole world will join me in rejecting any notion of this mystical "God" thing.

It frustrates the hell out of me that in 56 years I don't think I've persuaded a single person to think again on this and, of course, I had zero expectation that our four American friends would be any different. But I do feel I should try.

On Thursday, Jim from Michigan told me he had started reading a new book "on theology". I was kind of hoping he'd decided to do that to "bone up" for an argument with me. So I did the same. I downloaded and re-listened to the brilliant, cutting, analytical Christopher Hitchens book "God is Not Great."

Seriously. Everybody should have read this book or even better listened to the man himself read it to them.

If Jim ever comes across this post. Go on Jim! I challenge you.

Anyway, it all ended very amicably with genuine hugs and hand shakes.

Goodbye Crucivita. That was an experience we'll never forget.

We grabbed our bags and trundled off the boat to Zaandam station where we caught the next train to Amsterdam Central.

Once we'd figured the way out to the city, we walked down one of the many canal-lined streets of the old town to a café Anna-Marie had recommended. There, we caught up with Social Media, had a nice coffee and then continued past the Van Goch house and museum, onto our next accomodation, our 87th, on the east side of the city near the zoo.

Of course, we arrived far too early to check in, so we dumped our bags and set off to explore the local area.

We balked at paying €26 each to go into the zoo but found a nearby park to stroll around and, for me, to have a bit of a lie down on a park bench. There were a few pairs of fit looking people practising their boxing.

We had a couple of beers at a Café near the hotel before it was time to check in.

Amsterdam is, of course, a very expensive city so our stay here is not, shall we say, of the highest quality. Sharing a bathroom and toilet is below our usual threshold but sometimes you have to compromise to stay within budget.

After settling in we set off again to explore more of Amsterdam and headed to Coco's Outback, an Australian sportsbar, where all but one (strangely not Leicester v Bournemouth) of the Premier League games were being shown. Manchester City were lucky to beat Fulham. (Deflected equaliser after Fulham missed a sitter and should have gone 2-0 up). I was pleased Arsenal got three late goals to beat Southampton so the top three are, yet again, Liverpool, Man City and Arsenal.

I must admit, yesterday my first impressions of Amsterdam, after a 42 year absence, were largely negative. Too busy. Too shabby looking. A bit dodgy. But today, walking around the east side and then the Grachtengorde area, it all looked beautiful.

Anyway, then we then walked past the flower market onto one of Amsterdam's several really old and characterful pubs, Hoppe, established in 1670.

After a pint of Amstel (Leb had a nice alcohol free Jopen Non) we headed back to the hotel.

We both decided that hunger was now our friend and, after pigging out on board for a whole week, deliberately chose not to eat any more today.

We went to bed with me excited about seeing Chelsea v Forest the next day followed by (hopefully) a sneek peek at the Johan Cruyff Area, home of Ajax Amsterdam.

Leb had much more important things to think about.

Final Day in Amsterdam. (Sunday, 6th October)

Day 212 (30 to go). Two trips from Amsterdam.

Leb left in the middle of the night to fly back to blighty a day early to be with her special friend, Toots, who was gravely ill.

Consequently, I made a self-indulgent plan for the day knowing I'd be on my own. So... pubs, football in pub, Johan Cruyff Arena, pubs, and then, finally, perhaps... a first time visit to a "coffee shop".

By using ChatGTP, along with Google maps (as ChatGPT is useless at route planning) I conjured up a route that took me around Amsterdam via old pubs, arriving at the Satellite Sports Bar, where the most important event was Chelsea v Forest, kick off 3pm local time.

It turned out to be a really great trip and a great match with few disappointments but plenty of bonus material.

First, just up the road from where I'm staying, was one of (if not THE) oldest café/bars in Amsterdam, Café de Druif.

I ordered a coffee and a set of bitterballen. Apparently this is the Dutch entry into the "try our street food" competition. They're very much like Spanish croquetas we had in Zamplona, Logroño, Pamplona and San Sebastian. I was told it's contentious, but many claim it's the oldest café/pub in Amsterdam, dated at 1588. I couldn't resist mentioning Ye Olde Trippe to Jerusalem, 1179.

After that it was a short bimble past the very beautiful replica of the 'VOC Ship 'Amsterdam' and the NEMO science museum. I did go in, and was tempted, but decided I didn't have time today.

Next, I know its a totally useless gesture, but I wanted to pay my disrespect to the head office of Booking.com - to show my frustration at their web site asking for examples of fraud and then giving nowhere to put it. And about the fact the you can never actually talk to a human. My fantasy was that Glen Fogel (CEO I think) would just be popping in on a Sunday to do something really important and then have five minutes spare to hear my rant about my Basel Ibis fraud victim frustration. He'd say "my dear Algis. I'm so sorry you have had a frustrating experience with our web site. Please accept, as a token of our appreciation of your business for many years, unlimited life membership to www.Booking.com."

Still at least I got one of my silly selfies. Me looking grumpy in front of their HQ. - hah! THAT"LL show 'em!

Next on the list was supposed to be Café Kapenhoek across from the station but there were big road works outside (or perhaps tram works, or canal bridge works, cycle path works ... but probably not pedestrian works) so I just popped in for a photo.

I had more luck at The Papeneiland Café where I had a small beer, WiFi connectivity and completed my target of going to the four oldest pubs in Amsterdam. All started serving before 1700.

Time was a ticking and I had about an hour till kick off. For once the Google God was on my side and the quickest route was quicker than I was anticipating, pretty much a straight line along the big canal street, past the famous and elusive Anne Frank House.

This, perhaps disappointingly, did not look much from the outside, but of course, why should it?

So I finally made it to the Satellite Sportsbar. First thing to check... will they actually be showing the Chelsea v Forest game?

While I was waiting to be seen to at the bar, I was stood right next to a big group of big "lads" obviously from England, and... what was that accent? Oh no...

They were all discussing what matches would be on and which one to watch.

"Forest? Who they playin', Chelsea? Away?... ooh luvely. Be great to see them get battered."

It was my turn at the bar and the barman asked me which match I was interested in.

The fan closest to me, the one looking forward to a Forest battering, was listening. His attention must have peaked when he heard my accent.

He guessed correctly.

"You're not! You a Forest fan?

Lads, we've got a bloody Forest fan here."

After a bit of the usual banter with Derby fans, which tends to end with... " 'ope y'ger daan" and me showing them my Forest T shirt, so inviting an attack, it was all very amicable.

Time to sit down and watch the match, which I have to say, was brilliant. The score was 1-1 but it could easily have been 6-6!

Chelsea are the form team at the moment and in particular their midfield wizard Cole Palmer looks better every week.

Forest are made of stronger stuff these days though, and withstood most of the Chelsea pressure really well. It was 0-0 at half time and I had a nice chat with a young West Ham fan, Matt, mainly about James Ward-Prowse. We laughed at the free kick he had at the Kop end towards the end of the half which was was one of the worst I'd seen for a while.

Forest came out with renewed 'Gusto' in the 2nd half and created a few great chances before Chris Wood tapped in another goal for us. Forest were looking pretty good. They could win this. (And I could win $60 from $5 bet I put on them.)

Alas Chelsea equalised quickly when Palmer found Madueke in space. The game then seemed to explode. Ward-Prowse was shown a second yellow so Forest were down to ten men up against eleven very good and in-form players pounding at the goal in front of the shed. It was end to end stuff with both goalkeepers performing heroics to keep the scores level. There were fights, sendings off and some brilliant football.

So yes, I was pleased with draw in the big match and so, chuffed, I went to tick off my next stop of the day: The Johan Cruyff Arena, the stadium of Ajax Amsterdam. Jake Holloway and I must have trecked out here when visited in the early eightees but the ground, and its impressively adjacent railway station, have completely changed the scene these days, so that nothing remains from before.

It's hard, but possible, to get matchday tickets from the Ajax web site but I must admit I didn't try very hard as I was always going to watch Forest so the most I'd get to see was half a game.

Anyway, it was a bit surreal turning up at a ground where there might have been 50,000 fans inside (watching Ajax v Groningen) but outside it was like a ghost town. In fact, judging by the lack of noise coming from inside the ground, I wondered if anyone was actually there for a while.

I went down to ask a whole team of police officers if I might, eeansy-weency please, be allowed in just to look at the stadium at the end.

"No sorry. Ve can not do dat. Once out no way back."

I expected it of course.

So I took my selfies and headed back to the city. Stood at the train station was a couple in Ajax paraphernalia but speaking in Italian. The guy wasa big Torino fan and loves his football. He happened to be Amsterdam for work so he picked up a ticket to come and watch. I love hearing stories like this as it makes me feel less crazy. It's apparently the sort of thing David Knowles (he of "Ukraine the Latest" fame) would have done.

Then it was back to Coco's for Brighton v Spurs. The second half had begun and Spurs were winning 2-1 with Brennan Johnson scoring yet again. (6 on the trot now?)

It was all looking in the bag but in the second half Brighton raised their intensity to a level Spurs couldn't match and ran out 3-2 winners.

So that was my great trip around the city but there was one Amsterdam experience I'd always fancied but never done before ... visit a "coffee shop" for you know what.

I didn't want any smoking aspect, so I bought what they call an edible... I think because you can eat it. After some good advice from. Individuals whose names I will not share, I bought a slice of space cake and took it back to my room.

Once back there I was ready. This felt a bit like the time I was 11 and I recorded my first deliberate act of getting drunk. Mum & Dad had gone out for their annual night out at Bentinck Miners' Welfare Christmas do and I was home alone. Well not quite. I'd invited my pal Tim Yeomans round to explore alcohol with me.

I had one of those old fairly small, mobile, Phillips reel to reel tape recorders and I recorded before and after commentary in my squeaky voice for each of about 4 for five large glasses of rum. I wish I'd transcribed that tape before throwing it away, although it would be very embarrassing to listen to today. After a while Tim cycled home (despite my recorded pleas that he shouldn't.

It didn't end well. Mum & dad returned to find me asleep, lying in one of several pools of vomit in the living room. I've not been able to touch any rum (apart from Vana Tallinn) ever since.

I attempted nothing quite so scientific this time but I was fascinated by what affect it would have. Why do so many people use it? I'd only had a very few puffs of cannabis loaded cigarettes in my younger days. I had a bar of cannabis chocolate that had no affect in Prague but never a cookie or space cake. So this was going to be an adventure at 65.

Actually I've always thought drugs and alcohol are waisted on the young. I mean, in the sense that at 15 your whole perception of their importance can be blown out of all proportion at far too young an age, causing cultural or even physical dependence on them. Too many escalate to the hard drugs too quickly to ruin, or shorten, their lives. An owd bugger in his/her seventies though, perhaps in some pain... why not let them have as much heroin as they like?

Here's to legalising heroin for pensioners!

Anyway, as I was advised, I had about a third of the cake and then waited an hour. Like the Prague chocolate, this wasn't doing anything to me so I ate the rest and went to sleep thinking I've spend €10 for nothing.

In the middle of the night though (maybe 2am,) I woke up from a very lucid dream. It was the first of several in the next few hours and although I can't remember the details, they were all full on. My head was spinning a bit and I didn't feel too good. My mouth was so dry but I daren't get up immediately to fill the glass with water as I was too dizzy. Eventually I did drink some water and went back to sleep.

The cycle continued a few times before I was physically sick in the tiny bedroom sink. (twice)

It reminded my of our magic mushrooms (psylocibin) experiments in Sherwood Hall in the early 80s. I hated that too.

I wasn't enjoying this supposedly much milder, "trip" at all, although I have to say the dreams I had

were pretty amazing and every once in a while, for a few moments, I'd get this amazing feeling of clarity about the most complicated things. It felt like being a genius, but not a very stable one.

At other times, in the dark of night, I could sense brilliant colours all around me, as if my brain was putting on a fancy laser show.

Anyway, sleep did eventually find me again and I woke up at around 6am, relieved that I'd lost the dizziness and the buzz, but in return had a bloody awful hangover.

I find the feeling of being out of control of your own perceptions, but still having a fully conscious mind (unlike when you drink too much when it all goes!) very confronting, and a bit scary. I quickly became anxious about how long it was going to take to pass.

Never again! I'm definitely too old for this drug taking lark. Except maybe heroin at 80!

Leaving Schengen for Blighty again. (Monday, 7th October)

Day 213 (29 to go). End of the Schengen Shenanigans.

Today it was time to leave the EU zone for the last time on the trip and return to blighty again (3rd time) for the flight to Morocco on Thursday.

We'd clocked up 89 days in the Schengen zone since 21st April (with several weeks spent outside in between) so any more days in an EU country would send us over the limit.

On 18th October, 180 days would have passed since we entered Portugal and the Schengen zone so, in theory, we could have returned to any country in the zone after that. We'd toyed with the idea of going to Romania, Bulgaria, Greece, Slovenia but in the end we decided: enough! Instead we'd return to blighty one more time and spend our last spell in Europe with loved ones.

So anyway, this was one of those drudge travel days. I woke up in Amsterdam still feeling rough from my "space cake" ("vomit cake" more like) encounter. I got up. Packed. Checked out.

I walked back to the city center passing by the places that sold me the dodgy "space cake" the night before. Eventually I was back at the central station again and, after some confusion, caught the direct line to Rotterdam stopping only at Schiphol airport.

Once through customs and security, I had a maccers and caught up on the interweb until it was time to board my "easy" jet flight back to blighty.

Auf wiedersehen, Schengen!

Financial Summary

The cruise was the second most expensive phase of the trip (per day) but we had paid for it well in advance so the expenditure during the cruise itself was mainly on booze. The odd thing about the budget here is that the fee for the cruise is a combined fee for travel, accommodation, eating out as well as excursions. The main exception was extra booze and a few coffees and other snacks in various cafes we visited along the way.

Mood Summary

This was a mixed phase of the journey overall, with some happy and sad times but, to be honest, for me, the MAGA factor definitely pulled me towards depression. There weren't many really low times but it just put a bit of dampener on the whole trip. I must also say that not having free WiFi access avialable was also a bit of a "downer".

Holiday Summary

More than 75% through the trip now and visiting the Netherlands chalked up our 24th country visited so far on the trip.