An early visitor

At Dorking Deepdene station on Wednesday, I spent a happy few minutes watching a pudgy little robin basking in a sunny corner of the rather tatty shelter. Clearly used to people, he hopped closer and closer, driven away only the vibrations of the arriving train.

Kind of Blue - the great Miles Davis

It's astonishing how music can lighten the mood. Here was I, knackered, disillusioned and sore of foot and back - and all it took to sort me out was a spot of the incomparable Miles Davis. Kind of Blue, to be precise - the album that introduced me to him, more years ago than I care to remember. And I never forget how privileged I was to hear him live.

Small bottles of wine - why are they so vile?

When it comes to drinking, I am very much of the 'quality over quantity' school - these days, at any rate. And as the only white wine drinker in the house, if I buy a bottle of decent vino (Gruner Veltliner being my tipple of choice) it rarely gets finished, tending instead to get chucked out at the end of the week.

So in the Guildford M&S today - a relatively large branch - I decided to treat myself to a small bottle of something white and easy on the palette. At first glance it looked as if they had a fairly comprehensive range. Not so. Despite not being a fan of Chardonnay (scarred for life by Footballers' Wives, perhaps), that's what I ended up with. And as soon as I opened it, I knew it would end in tears.

Why, why, why, particularly when the government is always banging on about people in the UK drinking too much, can't they make it easier for us to drink less but better? Surely it's not too much to ask?

Swimming caps - old school glamour

Just back from a few days visiting my brother in San Sebastian, and noticing that most of my photos are of shop windows. I'm not a huge fan of shopping, but I love colour and appreciate good layout. Whoever thought a rubber swimming cap could look so glamorous?

Why is crapness ok?

That title makes this sound like the start of a Carrie Bradshaw stream of consciousness, but it isn't - I promise.

But what really pi**es me off about this country - and I realise it's at least as bad in plenty of other countries, not least my own - crapness seems to be acceptable.

Thanks to some mysterious 'signal failure' (aka 'feeble excuse no 795') today, what would normally have involved a 20 minute train journey (from Guildford to Dorking) took the best part of three hours, via Clapham Junction. At no point did any staff brave the platform and risk the ire - or even the polite questioning - of the small band of weary would-be travellers. No, they hid in their office and cowered behind the tannoy. But, to be fair, the LED screen did say 'sorry' ... That make it all ok, then.

Goslings in Dorking

Finally back online after the move to Dorking - yippee! (On both counts). One of the best things about living in this lovely town is the walk to the station, through the park. Look at these goslings!

Ring of Brodgar, Orkney

Up to Orkney last week, to see the sister and her family. Thanks to volcanic ash, the journey there was somewhat more epic than planned, involving a total of five trains (Leatherhead to Thurso, done in a mere 13 hours, not counting time spend in stations), one overnight stay and a ferry - 29 hours between leaving and arriving. But there were adventures along the way, and scenery to gladden even the most travel-weary heart. And it was all worth it when I got there. Family fun aside, Orkney has a charm all of its own, demonstrated not least by the Ring of Brodgar. A neolithic stone circle on a gentle plain, there's a real magic to it that I will never be able to put into words.