I am bored.

I am alone.

I am blogging at 11pm when I should be thinking about bed.

I'm going to go to Rotterdam.

Why? Beause it's there. Because I have about 30 hours to kill at the start of which I will be in Paris and at the end of which I will need to be back in London. 30 hours is an annoying amount of time, because it isn't long enough to go anywhere far-flung, but it is long enough to start brooding, and it would feel like something of a waste of a day's leave to be sitting in a flat, shouting disbelieving abuse at my Wii Fit (I'll give you a Wii Fit age of 35...)

The Man in Seat 61, oracle of all that is Train Travel, tells me I can get to the Netherlands. RailEurope though is a little less optimistic. I can, it tells me, get to Eindhoven, where I was hoping to rock up and persuade my friend who lives there to stop saving the world, or whatever sciencey things it is he does in Eindhoven, for just enough time to show me the sights, which I suspect are not many. But this will involve a near-5-hour trundle across a country I have no interest in trundling across, and a change in Rotterdam, and this is somewhere I'd actually like to go. Plan B, then, might be to persuade said friend to come down to me. Plan C involves me, a bar, and as many random Europeans as I can find to watch the football with - and what a choice we have on 21st: Spain vs Honduras or South Korea vs Portugal, and frankly, if I said this thrilled me, I'd be lying. Even I have to draw the line somewhere.