Woke this morning of my own internal (albeit unpunctual) clock. The taxi was booked for 1.40am, the time according to the failure that is Sleep Cycle read:

'2.56am
Good Morning!'

No. No it's not.

The typical Dave Adam panic that belies my phlegmaticism kicked in and I search for ways to actually go on holiday without succumbing myself to the finality that the simple blunder of two hours sleep could bring (again refusing my phlegmaticism its resolution). £40 parking at Manchester airport was the solution (thank you Jordan for our prior chat re. that). I set off at 3.15am and arrive at 4.15. First leg done.

The plane interior, in-keeping with Ryanair's reputation and reality, was a chicken coop covered in garish yellow plastic. However, flying is never a time to enforce middle-class views - first class BA passengers are just as vulnerable to the dangers of air travel as Ryanair's palette of X-Factor junkies and Lanzerote-frequenters.

The first thing that hits you about Belgians is that smoking is the equivalent of not-smoking in the UK. Seductively continental, no? Another thing that hits you is the Neapolitan array of skin tones and facial structure, maybe it's a mainland thing. If so, Britain has a humble mile to walk to get to where it thinks it is.

Arrived in Bruges around 1pm. Smaller than originally thought, it's a city overwhelmingly teeming with bikes, tourists and Belgian stereotypes (waffle houses, chocolate shops, taverns etc). But underneath the facade is the miraculously preserved medieval city itself. The square I'm writing this from has been overrun by a gaggle of fluorescent school-children and then a wonderful blue-jean-and-flease walking tour, the latter of which will have me in their savoured Bruges pics forever, or until they lean over the canal and drop their phones therein.

It's now 10.16pm. I'm sat opposite the belfry made famous by Brendan Gleeson jumping off it to the sound of 'On Raglan Road'. The scene from In Bruges doesn't quite show the true piercing height of the tower, although it does a good job of detailing the piercing effect of a portly chap on the floor from the top - a consequence also described accurately by an overly vulnerable egg at the base of the tower. You can only imagine the consternation of the tourists. I'm going to suppress the urge to contribute to such shenanigans by dropping one of my chocolate digestives from the summit when I go up tomorrow.

Today is also notable for my brief encounter with new friend Hikarru. The 22-y.o. law student from Japan taught me a few choice Japanese phrases like 'I love you', 'you are beautiful', and 'we are friends'. Interesting choices, however I'll trace the naivety to cultural differences, which incidentally we discussed at length. He's come for his summer vacation: Leiden, Netherlands; Bruges, Belgium; Paris, France. Leiden looks nice. Cheap flights for 2013, one thinks. Communicating with Hikarru taught me how much I butcher my language and how little dialectual shortening of words he does.

'Let's Have A Kiki' has made an appearance on my playlist so I'm going to have to get up and dance in the square. So long.