The compartment went black as the electricity failed. The emergency stops came on, filling the train with the hot bitter smell of brakes. The other occupants in our compartment barely reacted; the lady on left carried on texting, the white glow of her iPhone now the only light. The children opposite carried on sleeping on their mother. The young man on the right swore once in arabic, but he seemed in a hurry. Muttered complaints filtered through the carriage, but no-one reacted with surprise. Moroccans react with a calm fatalism that makes it impossible to tell if you’re experiencing a rare bad event, or if that’s usual and everything going to plan is the exception.

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,” Howl by Allen Ginsberg, 1955. I don’t read much poetry. I struggle with the density of meaning in verse and find it hard to hear the correct stresses and syllables that give meter. Each line needs long digestion and examination to expand the imagery and intent out of it, something I feel ill equipped for and takes more energy than I usually have.

Verona’s streets are a complete tangle; running around grand buildings and ancient stonework, overlapping, flowing, then snapping at right angles around an immovable church, little eddies of streets form courtyards without warning, run on and burst suddenly into a sunlight Piazza. Everything in the city shows you its age, ancient monuments or careworn apartments with crumbling plaster, peeling paint and worn wooden doors. The occasional freshly painted building seems alien and film set fake in its newness.

Eighteen months ago I joined the future and bought a shiny slab of technology, a 2012 WiFi Nexus 7. Since then many newer and shinier models have appeared on the market, so a long detailed review is less interesting than looking at the useful niche it has found in my everyday life: replacing paper. Still, for the curious, here’s the short opinion on the Nexus 7 itself: very nice screen, good battery life and a solid feel. Other than the screen I don’t have any physical comments to make as a few days after I bought it I put it in a Smart Cover derivative case that it has never left since and works a treat. That it wakes when you open the cover is a very nice touch.

Wednesday 11th June When I ask the receptionist for the best public transport route to Connelly Station I get a puzzled look and am told it’s a 20 minute walk. Setting off on foot I decide that this means Dublin’s public transport is awful. If a city has good public transport its inhabitants work hard, and with a sense of pride, to avoid walking anywhere, even if that means three convoluted changeovers and waiting for longer than it would have taken to walk. Think London, Hamburg, Paris or Zurich. If the locals mostly prefer to walk then there’s a lot of room for improvement. Think Bristol.

Monday, 9th June After trying to find an alternative I give up, accept some amount of self-loathing, and book myself onto a day bus tour of Connemarra. It’s a good deal really: same cost as a public bus return, seeing more than one interesting site and less chance of getting stranded in the middle of nowhere if a connection doesn’t work out. But it still feels like a defeat, like I’m being nannied on a school trip.

Saturday, 7th June The first thing I feel after arriving in Dublin is relief; a much delayed first flight and hurried change of aircraft mean I’m glad just to be where I expected to be. The worries of an alternate universe of expensive last minute hotel nights and rebookings fading and finally vanishing as my suitcase appears on the luggage carousel.

Stadtpark Hamburg