12:15 Yesterday. Inefficiently pack before leaving my Sussex apartment and traversing the 75 miles to Berkshire. I arrive at 13:35. Spent the afternoon preparing for today.

17:00 I left the office, jumped back into my car, headed towards Heathrow and the long stay car park. At 17:45 I parked up and walked the short distance to the bus stop. The sun is brilliant in the cloudless sky. Everything is either bathed in long shadows or a glorious orange glow.

A few minutes and the green bus has arrived and soon I am at terminal one. I fumble unsuccessfully with a 'quick' check in computer. I am handed an orange priority ticket by an attendant hovering in apparent expectation of my failure. The check in queue is short and with boarding pass firmly gripped in hand, am soon in the departures security queue. This one slightly longer. I can only imagine the purpose of the priority token was to allay any random outburst of anger. Departure security was traversed, those home boys in 737's have a lot to answer for.

I spend some time casting about for underpants which it seems nobody sells despite an abundance of sock sellers. Instead I buy some whiskey in duty free, before heading to gate eight of terminal one.

Anyone that has spent any time at gate eight will know its the southern most border of Scotland, or so you would think from the cacophony of sounds heading in both directions.

19:35 we boarded and were away into the sky just past 19:50. 85 minutes later we landed in Aberdeen and were almost immediately herded off the plane and straight through the airport terminal which is no more than 20 metres from front to back.

Through the terminal, out the other side and across the road. It looks exactly like I remember, Edinburgh, from the outside but a quick check; 'BAA Aberdeen' on the trolleys allays my fears.

There is a long line of taxis and a short queue, so in no time I am placing my bag in the back of an open boot before realising there is something missing. A brief apology to the driver and I head back into the terminal, locate baggage reclaim and wait for no more than 10 minutes before my grey samsonite alike suitcase lurches past and is retrieved. Back out the door, across the road, into the still short queue and away we go in the taxi down the road.

We talk about the granite city, the declining amount of oil, the price of oil and the short journey staple of life as a taxi driver.

21:45 I am checked in at the Brittania and herding a lost Ukrainian to his room. His confusion caused by the main elevator being out of action and the green arrows only generally pointing in the direction of the other elevator, the other side of the hotel. He happens to be in the next room to me although I don't know that at the time. After dropping him off, I spend two minutes trying to get into the wrong room. I realise the last two digits are 20 and not 30 and hope I didn't scare anyone.

My room is huge, bigger even than the Savoy although a lot less pleasing on the eye, or the nostrils. Smoke and detergent, lovely.

I dump the bags on the bed and fire up the computer. I get a weak signal from an unsecure wireless router and get to the web, slowly. I think it must belong to one of the houses across the road so I cant really complain. A quick check of local superstore opening times indicates they all closed 5 minutes ago, my quest for pants is at an end for the day.

22:30 I head down stairs and into the Village Bar which is by far the best smelling and pleasing on the eye this hotel has to offer, save for the pool maybe.

“areyuseawayoafshurethemorrow?” Everyone seems determined to say whatever they have to say in under 1.5 seconds, no matter how much they have to say.

“Pardon?” I have just taken possession of my Guinness and am looking at a skinny geezer with a dark goaty and gold earings.

“AreYuseAwayOafShureTheMorrow?”

“Ahh! No I am here just for tomorrow”

“oahh!”

Everyone in the bar is not necessarily local but predominantly Scottish. Seems they are mostly all offshore the next day for a stint on the rigs. I have no idea why everyone is so friendly to this Englishman abroad, maybe its because they are unsure as to whether they will be cohabiting with me for the next few weeks or because everyone really is friendly. Regardless I spend the next hours in good company.

At midnight another geezer comes up to me. Older, thin, wizened and not much hair to speak of.

“yussenglishaye?”

“aye!” I also nod in the affirmative in case he no understands.

“yussknowwaynerooonie?”

I dont think this is meant as a question, but nod once again, more cautious.

“heesapooftaandshagsgranniees!”

“Pardon?”

“WayneRooooniee! HeesApooftaAndShaggsGranniees”

I consider the biological implications.

“ahhh! He's a boy alright”, I am beaming my best this is soo funny smile.

The geezer having said his piece grins as only a lifetime smoker can and turns back to his friends.

1:20 (ish) I sit on the sofa in my room watching Sky One. It occurs to me that Star Trek was rather better written than I ever gave it credit and that Stargate SG-1 most definitely was not.

8:15 this morning. I wake suddenly. Evidently the booked 8:00 wake up call didn't happen. A quick shower, 10 minutes pressing a warm lump of metal onto my shirt, packed and headed towards breakfast. This last cost me extra and the non wakeup call means I have 7 minutes to find the restaurant and eat before my lift arrives.

The waiter shows me to the table, he is eastern European with some certainty. As I am finishing my toast a girl across the way with a pronounced London dialect announces to said waiter she is Greek and is he from Naples? She repeats out load every first word for each sentence he replies. I'm confused but time is short.

In the car I am with CJ. CJ is a guy I worked with 13 years ago at Standard Life in Edinburgh. We have both been working at the bigOh for over two years but this is the first time we have actually worked, physically together in that time. I like CJ immensely. I think most people do. I enjoy this time, working together.

CJ and I arrive at the customer. The reason I am here is because things with their computers are causing some distress. Distress to 4,000 users to be precise. Well 4,000 users and one anxious director who signed the purchase order which resulted in all the above from 12:15 yesterday. I am charm personified, I think, it is not difficult these are nice people.

17:30 Problem sorted and director slaps my shoulder with gratitude and shakes my hand warmly. Ten minutes later I am in a taxi headed back to the airport. CJ left earlier, long drive. The sun is shining here, its beautiful in an open barren way.

17:55 I am mystified as to why I can check-in for the return journey on the outward journey if I then have to stand in the check-in queue to drop off my suitcase on the return. Apparently, so the girl at the desk said, its so those without bags don't have to queue. Ummn.

20:00 we take off, on time. I began writing this while waiting in the extremely compact waiting lounge and continue now surrounded by clouds and an ever darkening sky.

Heathrow appears below, a plethora of multi coloured lights. A young child behind asks her mum; “Is this Disney World?”.

The mother laughs and explains, while I smile but it is instantly tinged with sadness. I miss them so.

21:45 Baggage Reclaim. They are maybe mid to late twenties. He is bland. About my height, same mousy hair, over washed combats and a crumpled white shirt. She is petite, with straight ginger hair that passes her waistline. She is the antithesis to his bland, a mirage of colour through flared corduroy trousers and zipped up cardigan. She makes to move in close to him. Half way through wrapping her arms round his waist he steps out of the embrace, pointlessly to a motionless conveyor. So many moments, lost in time. I hope he realises before she grows out of it. I think I am tired.

Out into the world of jostling bodies moving in different directions and yellow signs pointing in directions I can't possibly go. Soon though out through the sliding doors and to the roadside. Waiting for the long Stay bus. The wait is short.

22:05 the barrier flips up and I ease my car after the signs marked, exit. These soon give way to signs for the M4.

22:50 I am a bit nervous. While I have been away a man should have been in my flat covering every floor surface with antique pine laminate. This could be the fulfilment of my vision but something has to have gone wrong, surely. Will I walk through the door and find all the laminate pointing in a direction I never imagined, will I be presented with concrete floors still unfinished or worse still not started. I turn the key in my front door, I hope.

23:58 I am sat on the floor, leaning against my living room wall, next to the fireplace. Legs are stretched out in front of me with my laptop balanced on my legs. Antique pine laminate stretches gloriously through the house. The guy has left a nice note, he hopes I will like the floor. I love it! I am so relieved. After I type these last few words I will close the laptop and go fetch my sleeping bag and sleep upon this floor, it will be as a feather mattress.