On Wednesday Nicola and I actually made it as far as the cinema to see Wallace and Gromit - the Curse of the Were-Rabbit. It was very good.

Rich had sounded like he was a bit down recently, especially after splitting up with Emma, so I agreed to meet up for a chat over the weekend. He came up to the house last night, then Ian (from work) came round, and we watched Black Books. I found it hilarious, can't believe I missed it. Having resisted the temptation for a few hours, Rich gave in and helped Ian and I finish off the wine. Well, I do always say the spare room is there for the taking, so he didn't have to worry about driving home.

On Sunday I headed to Chester to meet Giles. When I was on holiday and went back to my old house in Enghien, I'd really regretted falling out of touch with him. I texted, he replied, we arranged to meet up.

His girlfriend Mel is now his fiancée, and they've moved back into the area because Giles' mum has been poorly. His brother Stuart is getting married next week up in Scotland. Kilts all round. We had a lovely meal and a fantastic catch up. It was great to see him again, and to reminisce about events that feel like they happened a lifetime ago.

Went for a pub tea with Nicola last Thursday, with the intention of going to see a film afterwards. We decided that it was too cold & windy & wet outside, and besides, we needed a catch-up. Chatted for hours - of course all about the holiday, and about Nicola's news, and stuff generally. Mentioned that I'd hung around after the workshoppy thing to meet Ian, which Nicola found a bit weird, but since she's met a few of the people I know through ATA at least she agrees that there are some lovely people out there in Internetland.

As with any new male acquaintance, suitability for potential boyfriend material was discussed, but I explained the problem with evaluating poor unsuspecting men. There are nice people, who I like being friends with, but who don't match up on enough levels to be possibilities. Then when I find someone who's very lovely in every way, I instantly start telling myself it would be unfair to pursue them - what if I succeeded, therefore trapping them with a single mother in a dead-end job (let's be honest)? So I pretty much shoot myself in the foot by categorising everyone as "not good enough" or "way too good to end up stuck with me". I think Nicola's given up on me.

So yeah, that was Thursday, deep meaningful discussions. Friday I got Euan back, Sunday Mum & Grandma came round.

Tonight was especially fun. Tesco.com delivered, which is always nice. Dan and Mum came round. Then I had two cockatiels, two yellow parakeets and one green parakeet delivered.

Long story. They needed a new home, so I provided it. No idea where the cages will go, but for nwo they're lined up in the front room by the radiator.

Then Karl came round and mentioned he's moving to Cardiff to live with Jane and her three kids (Jack - 13, Neil - 11, Amy - 8, I think...). Bit of a bombshell. He wanted to take Euan with him. I explained why it was impractical on so many levels. I felt quite sorry for Karl, because it looked like he'd discussed it with Jane and seen a rosy future, come back up North with "reasons why it would work" in his head, then had them smashed first by his parents and then by me. I'm not keen on the idea of being forced into being a full-time single mum, as I thought the half-and-half split was working quite well, but I accept that Karl wants to move in with Jane. It's a bit hypocritical, because when we first split up, the one thing Karl was afraid of was that I'd move away - back to France, or maybe Spain or Italy because he knows I've always wanted to speak a third language, and he wanted Euan to have both parents close by. I agreed. It was one factor in taking on this nice big crippling mortgage to buy him out, instead of selling up and going on a road trip with Euan, in a camper van, which was the other plan for my share of the equity.

Ah well, things change, perspectives change, and right now he wants to join his beloved. Who am I to stop him from following his heart? At least it alleviates my guilt at smashing it so utterly last year.

Back to reality. A very huggy snuggly reunion with Euan on Saturday, followed by a chilled-out weekend and lots of laundry. Oh and the boiler blowing up on Sunday, with lots of white smoke. Not very encouraging!

Pleasant chappy came round to take a look at it first thing Monday morning, and basically said it wasn't worth repairing, because it was falling apart in so many places it was only the rust holding it together. Oh dear. He was very kind and didn't charge me for the call out - I must have looked like a proper damsel in distress.

Work hasn't changed. It never does.

Had a Business Design Workshop out of the office today, which basically means our big executive-type bosses ask us what our opinions are, and tell us how this is a critical point for shaping the future of DMB within HMRC. There were lots of marker pens and flipcharts around. I'm sure I heard the word "brainstorming". The buffet was nice. Everyone else headed back on the train when it finished, I headed towards the shops.

I popped into John Lewis: Ryanair tore my nice new bag on the flight home, so I had to get a bit of paper saying "Yes, we sell those bags for x amount" to go with my credit card statement showing x amount paid to John Lewis on a certain date. Of course I didn't keep the receipt! Do I look organised?

Then I bought some books. I had a voucher from my birthday to spend.

Then I met up with Ian for coffee. Another ATA person, but today was the first time I'd met him. Had a very pleasant couple of hours. I'm not sure if I scared him, or amused him, or worried him, but I certainly enjoyed the chat. Went our separate ways as the place closed, me to the train, and him to a gig. Can't remember who. I know, my memory's feeble. I think it began with a T.

Where to start?

The beginning is probably the best place. Rewind all the way back to Monday 26th September.

I won't go into too much detail - three weeks of wandering around looking at stuff could take a long time to write about, and ultimately wouldn't be very interesting. The high and lowlights, then.

Amsterdam. Of course we wandered round the red light district, although Dan was too embarrassed to look at any of the scantily-clad ladies who were invitingly posing in their windows. Bless. I got mildly stoned, Dan had a glass of coke and managed to refrain from directing disapproving looks or comments my way. Ate pizza.

Then we had an argument, which we're quite good at, and went to sleep.

Breakfast looked vile, so we wandered off. Amsterdam is a strange place, and having munched on "appelflaps" served by an unnaturally beautiful woman (Dan remarked, "She shouldn't be allowed to say 'Would you like it warm?' in that accent..."), we paused by a canal and had a coffee. Having exhausted Amsterdam's supply of walking-distance landmarks, we headed off to the station for the train to Rotterdam through the grey drizzle.

Rotterdam is less touristy, but I actually liked it more than Amsterdam. The latter knows what is expected of it, and lives down to its own reputation so well that it ends up becoming a seedy parody of itself. In Rotterdam, the Euromast must win the prize for "Most Dull Way To Get Very High Up" - for panoramic views of the surrounding area. Next stop, Locus Publicus, a rather charming pub with hundreds of beers on offer, written on boards all around the walls.

Brussels surprised me. I don't know what I was expecting, but what I found was a city that felt a lot like Paris. I don't know why. The metro smell was there - warm air and boulangeries. The architecture was similar, of course the language was French, but with an unfamiliar accent to my Parisienne ears. Note: when Lonely Planet describes a place as "fun", "vibrant" or "welcoming", don't believe it. It rarely is. The Van Gogh hostel was very good though. Met a lad called John from Florida, who tagged along with us the next day. Wandered through the botanical gardens and strolled towards the Grand Place, where we bought a couple of proper Belgian chocolates to enjoy whilst staring at the pretty buildings. Checked out the Palais Royale and Parc de Bruxelles, then had a croque monsieur and a glass of Lipton Iced Tea. Well, it seemed fitting.

Onwards to Paris, to get an overnight train to Madrid. I never intended to go back to Paris on this trip, thank you very much, but geography dictates that long-distance routes often include it. I suggested going to see my friends in the South of the city, but Dan didn't fancy it. I also suggested going to the pub I spent many many hours in when I lived there, but by this point Dan and I were on the verge of another argument so a quiet pint would have been tense. Instead we headed out into the suburbs: Enghien-les-Bains. Also known as "home". As we got on the train I felt nervous. I don't know what it was about going home that filled me with trepidation, but it had been five years, and I didn't know how well I would remember it all. It turned out to be very much the same, but felt different. It didn't feel like it was mine any more. I took a few photos of the bits I remembered, and was shocked to see they're building a concrete & glass monstrosity between the Grand Hotel and Hotel du Lac, overlooking the promenade along the lake. Ah well. Not my problem.

It brought back good and bad memories. And made me realise I really ought to get back in touch with an old friend. He came to visit when I lived in Enghien, and I really regret having lost touch. Last I heard, he and his girlfriend were living in Coventry.

Anyway, back to Paris for the overnighter. The bunks on the train were cramped but adequate. I'm lucky enough to be able to sleep anywhere, and the rocking, purring motion of the train only helped. Woke up as we were about to arrive in Irún, on the border with Spain, several hundred miles on. The train from Irún to Madrid smelled of toilet cleaner, which is marginally better than smelling of toilets I suppose.

Madrid was disappointing. Having enquired about our next train and found that Lisbon was fully booked, we settled for another overnighter to Barcelona instead, giving ourselves several hours to explore Madrid. It was warm and quite sunny, and we wandered around wondering what was so great about a dusty traffic jam. Stopped for lunch, and our waiter was clearly in competition for the Rudest Service Awards. It was seriously so bad I was looking for the cameras, in case they were making Tourists Are So Stupid #7!!! or something. Plus it was stuffy, my bag was heavy, and the whole world seemed to be rhythmically swaying, as I'd spent about 20 hours on trains in 3 days. The food when it arrived, with a disdainful flick of the waiter's hand, was surprisingly edible though. Maybe he decided spit was too good for us. We were relieved to head back to the station, away from the unfriendly, unhelpful city of Madrid.

Our compartment was full, and we chatted to a lad called Gus from Brazil - also heading for Barcelona, also looking for accommodation on arrival. We agreed to team up. I was tired and went to sleep pretty much straight away, Dan stayed up and had a proper chat with Gus.

Barcelona was beautiful at 7am, with a pink sky and fresh feel to the air. We hopped on the metro, getting in the way of the rush hour commuters, and mooched along to the Gothic quarter. Found a clean, friendly hostel - with help from Gus, who spoke Spanish - and fought over the shower, emerging much refreshed and ready for breakfast. Being selfish, I opened my birthday cards first.

Well, it was my birthday, after all.

Explored the Royal Palace and the Olympic stadium, followed by a wander round the craft shops and workshops in Poble Espanyol, a sort of condensed version of Spanish architecture with nice cafés and craft shops. Amazing views from up on the hill. Gus carried on up to the castle, whilst Dan and I went to explore Las Ramblas and the waterfront. Chickens and budgies and chipmunks and all sorts in cages, all along the pedestrianised centre of the road. Meandered down to the beach and watched planes flying in formation.

We headed back to the hostel in the early evening, checking out possible eateries on the way. The basic problem was that I like to try new and interesting foods (with the exception of things like squid), whereas Dan eats only lasagne and spaghetti. I was determined to find a nice restaurant for my birthday meal though. After freshening up and changing clothes we ventured out into the evening - Las Ramblas was just as busy, but with a different atmosphere. Fewer chickens, more street performers.

Settled on a nice restaurant with pale stone walls, cosily-lit. Nicely busy, but airy enough that it didn't feel claustrophobic. I splashed out on three courses: a selection of Spanish cheeses to start, followed by duck in port sauce, and rounded off with ice cream. Dan opted for lasagne then chocolate crepes. I vaguely remember persuading him to taste a couple of the milder cheeses, but I might have dreamed that part. Got mildly tipsy, had a very nice evening's conversation, with not even the hint of an argument, and headed back to the hostel for a nice sleep.

The next morning was a Saturday, so we had a proper lie-in, and headed back down to the beach. I read my book whilst Dan gently fried in the sun, until I peeled him off the sand so we could buy fruit juice and snacks to take back to the hostel.

Having decided Barcelona was quite a funky place, we booked another couple of nights in the hostel - there seemed to be plenty to keep us amused, and we were both enjoying the warm weather and break from trains.

Then came the Saturday night pub crawl. It was fun. We made lots of friends. We lost each other. I phoned Dan at about 1am, and he slurred that he didn't know where he was, but he could see the sea. I told him to stay put, I would find him. Several hours and one minor assault later, I gave up (it was getting light) and went back to the hostel - to find Dan half-in-half-out of bed. Some kind soul must have helped him get home. Relief and anger fought for supremacy, until exhaustion won and I went to bed. Dan was noisily sick in the night, upsetting everyone in the room, so I didn't feel the need to shout at him the next morning - he felt bad enough already. He was suitably horrified by my bruises though. It would have been cruel to try and make him feel any worse about it, so I didn't.

Sunday we went to Port Aventura. Very nice theme park, gorgeous weather, short queues, fun rollercoasters.

Monday we moved on. The train to Montpellier meant changing at Cerbère, just over the border with France. Although it was one of the smaller places we visited, it made quite an impression. Realising we had several hours there between trains, we had planned to grab lunch and find a bookshop - I had run out of reading material already. Unfortunately, it turned out to be one of those places where you wander out of the station and stand there looking confused, because you appear to be on a small dusty road with no sign of life, surrounded by unexceptional buildings and no indication of which way the town centre is, if indeed it exists. Back inside the station the Proper Backpackers were lounging around on benches, and the information kiosk was the type that only opens on the third Tuesday of the month. Luckily, a crazy old man came to our rescue. He spoke a little English, and a little French, but I think he was Spanish. Either way, he led us down steep hills, along long concrete underground passageways and up smelly steps to the "town centre". Indicating with a shrug and a "Voilà" that this was it, he disappeared round a corner. We could see a car park, a gravelly beach, and a restaurant of the budget variety. We wandered into what appeared to be a town square, to find that the boulangerie closed for lunch between 12 and 3, and the other shops didn't open on Mondays, or in one case, had a sign indicating that family problems meant temporary closure. The place was deserted.

It was very odd, as if it should have been bustling, but everyone had suddenly decided to disappear. Dan made the best comment of the holiday as we bemusedly walked back to the unappealing restaurant: "What happened here?" in a spooky-zombie-movie voice. I don't think he understood why I laughed so much, but it was because he had just perfectly summed up the tense atmosphere the place had despite the pleasant breezy day. If we had been staying the night, I'd have wanted a crucifix. It's always the visitors who get werewolved or vampired.

Anyway, the restaurant turned out to be very nice, if a little bit crazily-themed. They'd gone for maritime, but clearly hadn't heard the saying "less is more". So there were two life-sized pirates leering over our shoulders, vying for space with stuffed fish, a big wheel from a steam ship, assorted brass trinkets, decorative ropes and a busty figurehead, which was behind Dan. I spotted it first and said, "Boobies."

Credit to Dan that despite the fact that I was smirking and looking at him when I said this, he deduced that I had seen something that I wished to bring to his attention, and replied, "Don't tell me. There's one of those carved woman things from the front of ships in here too?"
"Figureheads."
"If you say so."
"I do."
"Where?"
"Behind you."
He turned, observed, turned back, said "Yep," and went back to his spaghetti bolognaise.

For sheer nonchalance, he could be the next Bond. He can even raise one eyebrow quizzically.

Onwards to Montpellier. Lovely place. Clean, helpful, pretty. Compact enough to walk from one end to the other, but has trams too. Our hostel was nice and clean, but was the only one we encountered with segregated dorms for women and men. We headed out for tea in a restaurant - lasagne again for Dan, a traditional flammekueche for me. Very yummy, and washed down with the vin du mois, which was a nice red.

A good night's sleep followed, and a very French breakfast. Dan sat in the launderette, while I went off in search of reading material. Found a busy bookshop with several floors, and selected a couple of titles. I'd already read Atomised by Michel Houellebecq, translated into English, and it had that flowery phrasing that makes it obvious that it was originally written in French, so I'd wondered how exactly he'd intended it to be read. I didn't realise that he's something of a bestseller over there, but this fact enabled me to pick up a cheap boxset of three of his books: Plateforme, Extension du Domaine de la Lutte, and Les Particules Élémentaires. Wonder how long it'll take to make my head explode.

With fresh clothes and fresh literature we headed onwards to Nice. It was indeed, very nice. (Sorry.) A sarcastic receptionist at our hotel: a large converted house - parquet flooring and window shutters. Our room had two double beds and a single in it, and our room-mates turned out to be a very friendly Australian couple, and a soft-spoken American called Roger. I liked him immediately, as he was very friendly and down-to-earth. He was on his way to Italy to complete an exchange programme by working in one of their national parks. This sounds like a studenty thing to do, so I should specify that he was in his forties, very laid-back, and strikingly insightful. We left him with his jetlag and walked to Vieux Nice (literally "old Nice"), where the wide straight boulevards change suddenly to winding, sheltered, atmospheric alleyways, with restaurants on every corner. The change was so abrupt it was like wandering onto a film set. Had a very pleasant meal - I had something that sounded interesting but I can't remember what it was. Beef something. I know I was glad I tried something new though. Dan had lasagne, I think.

Next stop was Monaco. The large station is imbedded in the cliffs, and mostly underground. We got in a lift to go up to the surface, and found ourselves overlooking a confusing zig-zag of roads descending to the seafront. Dan recognised several landmarks from his enthusiastic-bordering-on-obsessive love of Formula 1, and we wondered whether to find another exit from the station, lower down the hill. I said I'd prefer to explore on foot, so we walked down instead. It took a while but was worth it for the labyrinthine hilly lanes we discovered. We found ourselves emerging next to an area that Dan confidently informed me was the pit lane when the F1 circus was in town.

Somewhat inevitably, we ended up walking around the "circuit", with Dan telling me where the cars went during the race, and how they must have to remove this or that, and "Omigod it's the tunnel! The tunnel, Gem! Look, the actual tunnel!"

When Dan's petrolheaded appetite had been sated, we grabbed a bite to eat overlooking the harbour. Lots of expensive yachts to look at. Alas, it seems wealth doesn't necessarily have any correlation with taste.

Anyway. Back to Nice, as there were better train connections from there. We booked onto the TGV (train à grande vitesse, roughly translated means "bugger me, that's speedy") to Paris, as it was the only way we could now get to Germany in time to meet Paul. Ah well, we thought, don't mind paying a little supplement, at least it should be nice and comfy.

It wasn't. It was packed and not particularly comfortable. We tried to block out the sounds and smells of so much humanity packed into a sardine can for six hours by playing battleships on meticulously-drawn grids.

We had a race across Paris to get from Gare de Lyon to Gare de l'Est in time for the overnighter to Frankfurt. Paris didn't feel so forbidding that time. Maybe I over-reacted the first time we passed through.

We had a day filled with trains - arriving in Frankfurt early in the morning, we headed onwards to Siegen, then Köln (Cologne), where we had time for a nice wander around, looking at the enormous cathedral. It's huge. You look up at it, then look up a bit more, then look up even further, then you start to feel dizzy. Very impressive. Had a very nice meal served by friendly people, whilst the owner of the restaurant whistled at his budgies and they whistled back.

Then on to the airport to meet Paul, and a lift back to Paul's sister's flat with her fiancé Milan. After nearly two weeks on trains and in hostels, it was pleasant to relax for a bit. Carly had cooked us a big dish of shepherd's pie, which all three of us tucked into with enthusiasm, going back for seconds as well.

We were staying in Neuss, which is over the river from Düsseldorf. Neuss was explored on the Friday, wandering up and down its quiet streets and avoiding the trams. It was nice to be in a smaller town after hopping between all the major cities and finding them all strikingly similar. Neuss has a nice park with bits of sculpture and fountains, and we spent a pleasant hour or two there before heading back to the flat.

On Saturday morning, Milan dropped us off in Düsseldorf, and we spent several hours exploring. It has a reputation as a good place for a night out, and there was certainly evidence of it being "the morning after" for a lot of establishments. The debris from a busy night was being swept away, and the benches were being wiped down and set up as we passed. I actually really like exploring places in the morning, they tend to have a different feel to them. It's like ringing the doorbell of your boss's house at 8am on a Sunday and finding them yawning, in a dishevelled state, without the carefully-maintained poise and authority they have in the office. Not that I've ever done this. Honest.

We hopped on a lunchtime train to Frankfurt, then onwards to Karlsruhe, then Offenburg and finally Ringsheim. This turned out to be two platforms, a plastic shelter, and... that was it. Clearly the shuttle bus service to and from Europa Park doesn't run in the evenings, but we expected some kind of sign or hint as to how we might get there. "We need to find a pub," I declared, and set off through the passageway under the railway, towards the side that didn't look like pitch black fields, but promisingly had a few lights dotted about.

Dan and Paul naturally assumed I had decided that instead of being lost and stranded, I wanted to be drunk and stranded. I had to explain that a pub would be bound to have taxi numbers (or in my experience, occasionally a friendly local or two who will sit and have a drink with you, and/or give you a lift to your destination, but admittedly a party of three was less likely to find this kind of offer.)

The pub was more of a restaurant, full of locals, and the owners were very kind. They phoned a taxi for us, and said we were welcome to wait inside by the bar, they would tell us when it arrived. See? Universal Law of Pubs. Not just the social heart of any half-decent village, but also a valuable mine of information and contacts.

We could see Europa Park from miles away, because the land was so flat. Oh, and all the tall rollercoasters helped. We checked onto our tepee and went in search of food, finding beer instead, and deciding that we didn't really mind that we'd arrived too late for food. Heading back to the tepee village, we wondered whether to sit by one of the two campfires blazing away, and went for the one that looked like there was room to spare. Somehow, an hour or so later, we were singing along with some Germans and playing a strange game where the aim seems to be to slap hands around the circle, and to avoid being the last one slapped when the song ends. It was confusing but fun. And they shared their beer with us. We decided to drag a bunch of friends back there next year, in the summer, take over a whole tepee, and take lots of booze.

We bid the Germans goodnight, and settled down in Old Safehands, our tepee, with the nine strangers who had been far more sensible and gone to sleep earlier.

The next morning was fresh. Actually it was freezing. Luckily I didn't notice this because I had lost all feeling in my extremities and my teeth had frozen together. Paul and I headed to the shower block in our pyjamas, leaving Dan to doze a bit longer. The showers were blissfully warm, so I spent a happy half hour defrosting gently.

We met up with John and his brother David, and spent the day on assorted rollercoasters. It was fun but I spent a large portion of the day getting intensely annoyed by all the thousands of pumpkins used as decoration around the place. Credit has to go to the park for excellent theming, but they really were everywhere. On every flat surface there were a few more pumpkins, and it seemed such a waste. It just really got to me, and made me feel guilty. Just general we-don't-know-how-lucky-we-are guilt at the excessive wastage of food, really. I was irritable with the others all day. I don't think they quite understood why. Very unfair of me to inflict my stroppiness on them all.

Unfortunately for Dan, he had insisted that I get him the larger breakfast option that morning, and had left completely untouched the ham, cheese and salami, scrambled egg and tomato. Instead he ate bread rolls with jam. I didn't rant because I didn't want to inflict another sibling row on the others, but I was furious with his wastefulness. Money-wise and food-wise.

We got the same trains back to Düsseldorf, arriving at some ridiculous time in the morning and going straight to sleep. Paul returned home the next day, and after we'd waved him off at the airport in the afternoon, we consulted the Lonely Planet and the Rail Timetables once again. It was now Monday, and we were due to fly home from Rome on Friday lunchtime. We decided we probably couldn't fit in all the places we wanted to, but would try anyway. Well, why not?

First we headed back to Frankfurt to hop on an overnight train to Prague. It felt strange to be on the move again, having spent a nice calm few days staying with Paul to catch our breath.

Prague was beautiful, and we enjoyed wandering around and exploring. Stopped for a very pleasant lunch, before heading back to the station. I preferred Prague earlier in the day, without all the groups of tourists getting in the way. Dan refused to get a tram or taxi, and we missed our train, which I then sulked about because the meticulously-planned route I had written down now couldn't work. I sulked shamelessly. I didn't actually say "I told you so" but I was thinking it so loud he must have heard. There's no satisfaction in being proven right if it means you have to miss out on extra destinations though.

To be fair to Dan, he then found a convoluted way we could still make it, which I grudgingly accepted. It meant more time on trains, and less time in cities, but at least I'd get to see them. So off to Vienna it was.

Vienna was pleasant, and had a good tram network. Found our hostel, then ventured out for tea. Found it difficult to find a restaurant that would cater for both of our tastes again, and not for the first time I was tempted to stuff a few Euros into Dan's hand and go and find something decent to eat on my own. Eventually found a bar with a pleasant atmosphere, ordered a local beer and started to feel better. Dan had lasagne or something, and I had a cabbagey bacony thing with four different types of dumplings in. Whatever it was, it would definitely win the prize of "stodgiest food consumed all month". It was yummy.

No messing about on Wednesday morning, straight onto the train to Zurich. This was definitely my favourite train journey - we'd been through the flat fields of France, the desert-like countryside of Spain and traced the Mediterranean coast, but between Austria and Switzerland you get the Transalpin - weaving its way through the Alps. It was gorgeous. We had to transfer to a coach for part of the route because apparently heavy rain had washed part of the tracks away. (Mildly worrying.) The weaving roads were just as pretty.

It took most of the day to get to Zurich, and we should have had several hours there before the overnighter to Venice. Unfortunately, the overnighter was fully booked, and the lady advised us to go to Lausanne and board the same train there instead. This seemed to make no sense at all, and would mean leaving in just an hour, but we decided to sacrifice Zurich for the sake of Venice. So all we saw of Zurich was the McDonalds opposite the station. By this point all the cities were starting to resemble each other anyway.

Grabbed bread, fruit and drinks, and headed to Lausanne. The lady who told us to try a diversion could also have mentioned that we would need cash to pay the supplement, because I was very lucky I had enough Euros on me. Just. Literally cleaned me out except for a few cents.

The train was run by Italians, and was the best of all the overnight services. Not only did the guard keep hold of our passports and tickets so we wouldn't need to be woken up every five minutes, but they also did a complimentary breakfast, with hot coffee! Bliss.

Venice was pleasantly warm, and we hopped on a waterbus down to the touristy bit. This was also a handy way to see a lot of the buildings lining the Grand Canal. Again, I was glad we were there early, before the hordes of people arrived, but even without the crowds St Mark's Place didn't really amaze me. I preferred the winding narrow streets with their telltale watermarks and sandbags, and hidden courtyards. Walked for ages trying to find the studio of Livio de Marchi, and it was definitely worth it. He has carved tables, chairs and even floating cars from wood, and with such amazing attention to detail I wandered round his little shop with my mouth hanging hopelessly open. Every time I saw another item, I said "Wow" for a different reason. Even better, the eccentric artist himself was in his workshop, and gave us friendly smiles and said "Ciao, buon giorno" as we left.

Had a nice pizza in a cheap and cheerful restaurant before heading on to Rome.

We hadn't been able to book a hostel in advance for Rome, but were planning to explore the area recommended by Lonely Planet. Before we even left the station we were approached by someone asking if we needed accommodation. In most places we had avoided anyone who approached us, but this one seemed genuine, and not too scary. We discussed prices, and agreed to go and take a look. We ended up in a lovely hostel - a converted apartment - run by a very friendly couple, and close to the station.

We acquired a new friend - someone Dan was talking to while I was getting a shower whose name and nationality I have forgotten I'm afraid, but who I remember as being pleasant, quiet, and geeky. He looked like he needed mothering. I think Dan must have decided to mother him, as he tagged along with us for the evening.

We went out for tea - very yummy - then wandered down to the Colosseum. It may have been dilapidated, but it was still beautiful. We walked around it then carried on to the Arch of Constantine and some assorted ruins nearby. Calm atmosphere and a lovely warm evening, but it was past midnight and we had a plane to catch in the morning so we headed back.

The journey home was uneventful, just worrying when it seemed like the erratic Italian transport network would fail to get us to the airport on time. We made it though, and got back to Liverpool around lunchtime. Dan was a bit put out that no-one was free to come and pick us up, but as I pointed out, if we could manage any number of trains, buses and trams all around Europe, would it kill us to get the train home? At least all the signs were in English. Well, and Welsh closer to home, but that doesn't count.

We went out for a pub tea at The Golden Grove with Mum & Grandma. It was as if we'd never been away. Grandma hadn't put her hearing aid in, so she kept speaking over everyone else. Mum was trying to include Grandma in the conversation, but this meant shouting, and was clearly getting tiring for her. Oh, and she made a pointed remark to the barman when he kept serving other people first. Admittedly my own tried-and-tested method of continuing to wait patiently whilst affixing a "doormat" sticker to my head doesn't achieve much, but at least it doesn't make me wish for the floor to swallow me up. Had another minor argument with Dan, complicated by Mum joining in... I think on my side but I can't remember and don't think it matters. Then Mum must have been determined to fit three weeks' worth of humiliation into one evening because she also insisted on a group family photo or two by the fireplace.

Good to be back.