My hotel in Lithuania is probably not everyone's cup of tea, but it's a refreshing change from all those bland business chains, with their depressing conference rooms.

Raynor Winn is starting to become the charity shops' new Da Vinci Code. If she'd published them as novels, she wouldn't be in this pickle now.

For sheer comic value, Nicholas Courtney's performance in this 1974 Doctor Who clip is worth watching.

As everyone seems to be doing their 10 favourite TV comedies... 1. Peep Show 2. The IT Crowd 3. Rising Damp 4. Frasier 5. Father Ted 6. Butterflies 7. Only Fools and Horses 8. Is It Legal? 9. Camping 10. One Foot in the Grave Nearly all are well-known, but 'Is It Legal?' was underrated.

If someone had told me, 40 years ago, that in 2025 there'd be a TV series based on the film Alien, with a cast that included Vyvyan from The Young Ones and that it would be made by Disney, I'd think that the future had gone mad. Indeed, the 21st century is bonkers. But Alien Earth is brilliant.

I recently got a lot of flak for saying that 'The Thursday Murder Club' will appeal to people who like knitted postbox toppers, but the marketing people at Netflix clearly agree with me.

Poor John Mattinson, who was "unfortunately shott" in 1723.

I've just spent several hours wandering around some of London's so-called no-go areas. If you believed certain social media accounts, you'd think London is a seething hellhole of knife-wielding, phone-nabbing, Jihadi-spreading bad 'uns. This hysteria clearly has an agenda. Real life is much duller.

Late in life, I've just discovered that I like airshows and the people who go to them. In contrast, last week, I found the Bloomsbury fans at Charleston poncey and annoying.

Aldbury in Hertfordshire has barely changed since it was featured in a 1967 episode of The Avengers.

I've just gained five new followers - all purporting to be young Chinese women. Why do fake accounts and scammers go for these profiles? I keep blocking, but as young 'Ruth' sagely observes "There is no word give up."

This woman has just been talking loudly on her phone: "No, I didn't go for the job because I'm an empath. I'm too aware of other people's feelings." Meanwhile, she's spread herself out over two seats with her feet up on a third. Empath my arse.

This place isn't the new Twitter. Perhaps it's ultimately a good thing, as I'll spend more time reading books.

Anyone who's seen the 1973 horror film Death Line should enjoy the Hidden London tours. I didn't see any third-generation cannibals, but I did come across a very odd polystyrene dog.

I visited a former asylum in Haarlem. If you were an inmate in the 1870s, this lady was on hand to make sure you behaved yourself. But I suppose she also may have made a lot of vulnerable people feel safe, compared to the isolation and anxiety of living alone in today's so-called community.

I've just seen Ian Bostridge sing 'On Wenlock Edge' at Amsterdam's Muziekgebouw and it was an extraordinary evening. I can't think of many artists who put so much of themselves into their performance. I was just eight feet away from him and it was a visceral experience.

Classical bods - if you're near Brighton (and London counts) on Sunday 1st Dec, Evelyn Glennie will be playing James Macmillan's sublime Veni, Veni, Emmanuelle.

Glad to see that Hammersmith station is still channelling its depressed, 1981 vibe.

I see a number of familiar names over here. Is it time to jump ship?

It's so misty this morning, the dew has revealed hundreds of spiders' webs that are usually invisible. It's an arachnophobe's idea of hell.

I've just watched Black Narcissus at the cinema and I'm in awe of Kathleen Byron's shamelessly melodramatic portrayal of Sister Ruth's descent into pottiness. The film may have starred Deborah Kerr, but it's Byron who steals the show with her demonic grinning. You just know that trouble lies ahead.

I was really touched that someone at the Lewes Depot cinema added a pair of wings to the doors for tonight's showing of my favourite film, A Matter of Life and Death.

I have been trying to learn German for the last five years and my progress is pathetic. I may reach the dizzy heights of understanding a Sandmann episode before I die, but that's probably the height of my ambition. However, I suppose irgend etwas is better than nichts.

A great all-American concert from the Philharmonia tonight, with Barber's sublime Violin Concerto, the visceral excitement of Copland's 3rd and a wonderful piece by Caroline Shaw, whose music I'm going to have to explore further. She was born in 1982, which makes me feel ancient.

Three women, five centuries, one spellbinding story." One blurb, seven words, two clichés.

Riga's Museum of Occupation is one of the most extraordinary places I've visited. Both Russia and Germany did truly terrible things to the Latvian people, but while Germany has confronted its guilt, Russia flatly refuses. This 600km-long human chain, in 1989, started Latvia's path to freedom in 91.

My present to myself, from a recent trip to Bucharest: Nicolai Ceauşescu soap.

On a train to Bucharest, I was reassured to see that my fellow passenger was reading a novel. What do Romanians read, I wondered? I peered closer and got a surprise...

I'm not sure what the audience here is for classical music posts, but this Sunday's afternoon concert at the Royal Festival Hall is a corker: Sibelius 6th Shostakovich 1st Piano Concerto Shostakovich 6th Symphony. Imaginative programming like this deserves to be supported.

I've been watching an Alan Bennett play and the Thora Hird character is uncomfortably similar to my mother. I still squirm at the memories of sitting in waiting rooms, when Mum would nudge me and stage whisper "She had a hysterectomy last year. The doctor was Indian. She's not been the same since."

Michael Bracewell seems to have a penchant for writing novels about feckless, nicotine-addicted males who have been dumped by their wives. That's not a complaint, by the way.

I've booked a ticket to see Herbert Blomstedt conducting in Bamberg next May. He's 96. That feels like a triumph of hope over experience.

So many photos are near misses. During a recent visit to the beach, I saw a woman in the far distance, walking by the water's edge. Her hijab was sea-green, while her coat was pebble-brown - a perfect shot in the making. I zoomed in and got the photo, but the result is so grainy it's worthless.