Well, they’ve always said holidays are stressful

Not a great first night: although the hotel was quiet - surprising, since it backs on to the station - we frequently woke each other up with our snoring.  After breakfast we had a stroll round and into the amazingly lofty cathedral, and wandered down to the Hohenzollern bridge.  We hadn’t realised that it had a pedestrian and cycle path as well as railway lines, and all along the bridge the fence is solid with memorial padlocks.  I think Paris’s Pont des Arts is getting the same treatment.  

It’s a distressing fact of modern life that the area around city railway stations is a gathering place for rough sleepers, druggies and beggars, and Cologne is no exception.  

We went back to the hotel to finish packing, and Martyn had a look on line to find the status of our train. Delayed around 55 minutes.  After many platform changes, it eventually left an hour late.  The ride up the scenic part of the Rhine was the centrepiece of our planning, and it was no disappointment.  We could have done without the conceited young man in the seats across from ours (he had actually nicked our seats, but the two we grabbed were actually better).  Anyway, young hot-shot spent the journey on one or other of his mobile phones doing boastful video calls to his underlings.

Thereafter things went progressively tits-up.  When the train stopped at Karlsruhe, we were told it would go no further, and that we had to transfer to the ICE train at the next platform.  We stood in the bellows between carriages as far as Offenburg, where we were told it wouldn’t move for about another eighty minutes, and then possibly only as far as Freiburg im Breisgau.  The prospect of travelling like sardines again was bad: the lack of coherent information was appalling.  

Anyway, at this point, Martyn spotted a local train heading for Freiburg, and it had lots of empty seats, so we opted for certainty and comfort, even if the packed ICE would probably overtake us.  At Freiburg there were further announcements about delayed trains to Basel, and the platform was packed with refugees from the train that had stopped at Karlsruhe, so we got into another local train to Basel’s Badischer Bahnhof, then a bus to the SBB station, where we only just caught a fast train to Zürich.  It ran pretty well, but arrived two minutes late, eating into the four minutes we had for the connexion to Bellinzona.  

Fortunately, they held the connexion for several minutes, so we made it.  It made good time to Bellinzona (indicating 229 km/h in the Gotthard base tunnel) where we arrived nearly on time.  Just as a torrential thunderstorm began to tip down.  Our flat is in a pedestrian street a 10-15 minute walk from the station, so we dug out the brollies and waited for it to abate a little.  So we arrived at the flat some time after 11 instead of the expected sixish, looking like drowned rats, with soaked shoes, clothes and luggage.

Good start.  Still, the flat is spacious and well equipped, with a spectacularly huge jacuzzi and a shower cabinet that would accommodate the opposing five-a-side rugby team.  We’ve checked out local shops this morning: a nearby Migros fixed us up with breakfast, and the Co-op at the station has provided a couple of ready meals - and some wine from a vineyard near Lagrasse!

Day 1 of our latest jaunt

As so often when we’re about to travel we both slept rather badly, so were good and ready to be rather grumpy.  So, when, at  08:20, our taxi (booked for 08:10) had not turned up, we were getting distinctly  scratchy.  Martyn had booked on line, and had a printed confirmation on his desk.  When he rang to enquire, they said they had no record of the booking, and had nothing available for us.  So nothing else for it: we’d to schlepp our bags crossly down to the bus stop.  The bus only just got us to our second choice train to London.  We’d to change to a very crowded Thameslink train (complete with the usual implacable, loudly complaining sprog, who mercifully got off at Blackfriars) to a very crowded St Pancras.  For the first time in decades, our passports were stamped by French border personnel at St Pancras.  As I write this paragraph, I’m hoping the worst part of the journey is over: we are comfortably installed in the Eurostar to Brussels.  I shall relax when we’re on the next train to Cologne: we have a tightish connexion in Brussels.

Later: we arrived in Brussels on time after a pleasant Eurostar ride, including a complimentary snack lunch, a glass of rosé and a cup of tea.  The change to the German high speed train was quick and easy, and the ride reasonably comfortable if rather noisy.  It was the first time I’d used the Belgian high speed line east of Brussels.  Our hotel in Cologne is expensive for what it offers, but it’s a short walk from the station.  Aperitifs in a popular bar nearby, then supper - excellent Schnitzel - at the noisy but welcoming Gaffel am Dom.  Early night!

The best laid plans…

 …gang aft agley.  Martyn checked yesterday on the weather forecast for central Switzerland on the dates we’d planned to be there: wet, wet, wet.  Cutting a long story short, we shall not be doing vastly expensive b&b in Luzern, but have booked a flat in Bellinzona, the sunny side (we hope) of the Alps, gaining more space, less cost and the ability to self-cater.  (So we can save up a bit for the winter fuel bills.)  It means that our journey home at the end of the trip will be a very long day, and our time with friends in Berne will be a touch curtailed: the last good train is around 20:00.  My current anxiety is about rail strikes hereabouts, but if need be we can spend a night in London before we leave.

As for the Tory leadership contest, I don’t think it’ll be the last of its kind in the foreseeable future.  The current head of the Untied Kingdom’s diplomatic service has refused to say whether she sees France as an ally or an enemy.  Even the current (largely absent) Rt Hon the First Lord of the Treasury isn’t that crass.  The correct answer, Madam Secretary of State, is ‘France is one of our most important allies, which of course doesn’t prevent us having robust dialogue in some areas of policy in which we differ, as is important in any durable relationship’.  My fees, on application, will be pretty reasonable - or comparable at least to the amount she has wasted on jetting off round the world to publicise herself.

Rain

At last, the weather has cooled down a bit, and we’re getting some rain water in the butts.  Too late for some of our plants: the usually resilient rudbeckias have returned in smaller numbers, and one of the daphne odoras has turned its toes up.  To be fair, it had probably reached the normal 7-8 year life expectancy of the variety, and it had certainly outgrown its place in the garden.  I can still see a few green shoots, so when I can muster the motivation I’ll cut them off and stick them in some compost.  A perennial rudbeckia is doing very well now that it has got its roots down into the clay.  It was an unintended present from former art teacher Pat aka Miss, who had labelled it ‘aubergine’.  I suspect her spirited grandchildren had been having fun swapping labels, but perhaps I do them an injustice!

The indoor tomatoes are now cropped and the plants disposed of (the fruit are ripening on the window ledge) but the outdoor lot are still going strong, despite having had to be watered with the revolting local tap water for a week or so at the height of the heatwave.  We are eating a lot ourselves, either in a ragout to have with pasta, our interpretation of bruschette, pizzas or the occasional salad with prosciutto and mozzarella.  But we’re also giving a lot away to selected neighbours, and I even sent a bag away yesterday with the friendly chap who came to clean the upholstery.

A propos heat, it was my turn to propose a text to read out and discuss in today’s old geezers’ German conversation group.  I found a couple of articles in Swiss on-line media about the heatwave, its causes and effects.  One piece was from the rather downmarket Blick, the other from Swissinfo.  The different styles of writing stood out: the former was pretty folksy though quite well researched, the latter altogether more erudite.  I had another piece about the princely house of Liechtenstein up my sleeve, but we didn’t need it: the heatwave stuff gave us enough to discuss.  (But when you get a chance, take a look at Wikipedia’s take on Prince Hans-Adam II.  Not a monarch I’d put on my Christmas card list.)

Martyn is very slowly getting better, but still has quite a way to go.  He had a first session of acupuncture on Saturday, and will continue with that.  The treatment happens at a private house on the edge of town, opposite a field where there was a pick-your-own flowers sign at the gate.  I wandered in to have a look, and came out with half a dozen stems of echinacea, which now adorn the window ledge, together with some flowering sprigs of mint and a few of our rudbeckias.  I sowed echinacea this year, but once again they have sulked.  Very friendly people at the PYO place: I think I met three generations, the older of which have a slight Germanic accent, with some transatlantic notes.  Maybe I’ll pop back next Saturday if I drive Martyn to his appointment, and unleash my nosiness.  

NHS

We’ve both had cause to visit the local pesthouse lately (routine: nothing sinister) and had differing experiences of their automated check in.  It wasn’t working at all when Martyn visited.  Today I scanned the bar code on my appointment letter, was told I’d successfully checked in, and smugly took a seat in reception as instructed.  Having not been sent for three quarters of an hour after the time of my appointment, I went and asked at reception, and was told by the fierce Glaswegian receptionist ‘och ye should’ve just went straight down’.  At outpatients’ reception I was told that the system had not in fact checked me in.  Well, I was seen (politely) about an hour later than planned, and sent on my way rejoicing.  The good news is that the car park system wasn’t working either, so I got a freebie.  I fear this is all too predictable in a cash-strapped NHS Trust (rated as being in need of improvement by the CQC).  I’ve asked to be discharged from the particular clinic, since they have far more important things to do with their time.  

We’re looking a bit more respectable today: Ben and Duncan have trimmed the hedge and weeded along the outside of the fence and at the front.  I can still do the dead-heading and watering of tomatoes and stuff in containers, but I’m convinced that having given up kneeling to get at the weeds accounts for the better attitude of my crap knees.  A propos, MRI at sparrowfart this Sunday down at Benenden, and a telephone follow-up next month.  I suppose it’s a factor of ageing that we seem to spend more time in dialogue with medics.

The garden is yielding well despite the drought.  We have more tomatoes than we can use, there are more spuds to come, and the first of our onions went in the bolognese the other day.  The runner beans, on the other hand, are a dead loss.  We may have some storms next week after the coming heatwave: if they fill the water butts, that’ll be more than welcome.

Ignominy

What must the world think of us?   The length of time it took to get rid of a corrupt, immoral, lying, self-serving, entitled, privileged idiot of a prime minister.  The execrable debating skills of the jokers looking to replace him.  The endless mud-slinging between the partisans of the remaining two mediocre candidates, and between the candidates themselves.  Right now, what is needed is statesmanship.  What we shall get is a feeble prime minister chosen by 160,000 elderly right-wing men on the basis of lying, undeliverable promises.  Discuss.

Good news, if trivial, is that my ancient teeth need nothing radical done to them for the time being.  I’d a pleasant drive up to the town where I used to prefer to practise the hobby, only these days the government no longer pays the mileage: I used to try to book dental appointments early on days when I had to be in court.  

Speaking of outgoings, the bathroom refit is almost paid for: we’re just waiting for the sparky’s bill.  It’s a whisker less, so far, than I’d feared, so we’re keeping the rest in the housekeeping account in preparation for our September trip to CH, which should drain it pretty damn quick.

And as for the really serious stuff, the rudbeckias are flowering fit to bust, we have daily crops of spuds and tomatoes, and we at last have enough in the water butts for the daily watering.  The runner beans are another story, however: crops are minimal thanks to blackfly and drought.  The latter seems to be discouraging the former, at least.  Onions grown from seed are outgrowing those planted as sets, though quite a lot are going to seed.  We’ll probably crop one of this year’s leeks soon to see what sort of flavour they offer.  Not the weather for blanquette or leek and potato soup - but then vichyssoise might be an option?

Half a gross on...

Yesterday was an enjoyable 72nd birthday.  Hardly an entertaining start to the day: a couple of (very hot) days earlier, the car had put up a 'loss of tyre pressure' warning.  I verified at the time that there was nothing the matter, but of course had to go round re-setting all the tyre pressures before I could reset the electronics.  That's the third or fourth time we've had false alarms on this and the previous car, but we've also had two real and timely ones, so they're not to be ignored.

The warning showed up on a very hot day when I was on the way home from Benenden Hospital, where I'd finally managed to get a consultation with an orthopaedic surgeon.  Meanwhile, of course, the knee has started behaving rather better - a bit like the toothache that goes away when you've finally steeled yourself for a visit to the dentist.  Anyway, I'm to have an MRI, and the very thorough and pleasant Mr Sawbones will telephone me when he's seen the pictures.  Benenden Hospital is very flash these days, which doubtless accounts for the rise in fees and the drastic reduction in services.  

The high temperatures have eased a little, thank goodness, but it's still warm and humid.  Yesterday evening was cooler and quite still, so I had a delightful birthday supper - Martyn's treat - in the back garden at the Hôtel du Vin in town.  Taxis there and back: we are trying to convince ourselves that we don't need to scrimp and save.  Or he is trying to convince me, but old habits die hard!  Nice meal, and we were on the way home before the town centre started to get rowdy.  Martyn coped very well with wearing a shirt for the first time in about six weeks.  He's starting to feel a little better, but shingles takes ages.  I managed the walk down to the taxi rank slowly but almost painlessly.

The tiler was here yesterday, and seems to have done a better job of cleaning off the grout residue (which, of course, he ought to have done before it dried).  I've washed off the residue of his residue remedy today, which also ought not to have been necessary, but as we end week 9 of the project, pragmatism starts to prevail.  But I shall be looking carefully at the bill.  

Back to the usual cooking, laundry and housework today. We had our favourite home-made salmon and prawn pizza for lunch, but the spinach crop was pretty small today, and the usual underlay was consequently a bit short of greenery.  We shall refer to the freezer for a low-effort supper, and will cook properly tomorrow.  Or so it says here, most days.