Just when I thought my mad travelling weeks were over, I have a real humdinger of a fortnight, this week and next. It's already chaos.
Today is the only day that I get to work at my beloved desk in my beloved office.
Yesterday was Antwerp - cold (real cold) weather but a warm reception from my lovely Belgian colleague. The fact that the Thalys home was 45 minutes late arriving at Antwerp Centraal, and I was stood on the platform in minus 5 degrees for the whole time didn't really make for a pleasant end to the day though.
Tomorrow, I'm off to the UK for three days of meetings and two days of family madness. The meetings are already starting to drive me mad as the agenda (that was fixed three weeks ago) has changed constantly - even today my boss has asked me to produce yet more data. Crazy.
Then it's the tour de France. I start Monday morning with a four and half hour train trip to Brest, the far point of Britanny. The next day I go from Brest, via Paris, to Valence, in the south of France, between Lyon and Avignon.
I leave the next day and get to sleep in my own bed that night. But not for long. It's 'up boys and at 'em' the next day for a six a.m. train to Liège in Belgium. After Liège comes Düsseldorf, Germany and I get home Friday night, late, knackered and ready for a big sleep.
The travelling itself is fine - long stretches of train travel, where I get to sleep, work and read my book. What is actually hard is that I'm a popular boy. I get on really well with everyone that I am visiting over the next ten days and so everyone wants to go for dinner, to buy me a Christmas drink, to catch up on news.
So I envisage ending up drunk and disorderly in Birmingham, Brest, Paris, Valence, Liège and Düsseldorf before next week is over. I know I don't have to drink, but that's not polite, surely?
And let's face it, a bit of Christmas cheer never hurt anyone. Right?