Friday 27th May 2016

Mum's 72nd birthday.

And what should have been a fine day of simple travelling back home turned into, well, and adventure.

I have had enough of the Zleep at the airport; crap rooms, crap food and crap sleep quality. So, I chose to stay in Esbjerg and get up at 5 to drive to the airport. The sunshine, already risen by half four woke me up, so I lay in bed until the alarm went off, then lept, well, slouched into action.

I showered, packed and dressed before going down to check out and load up the car. It was a glorious morning, and a shame to leaving Denmark.

Denmark wears her spring colours well; light and airy, and very attractive when the sun shines. Spring flowers that usually line the roads have just about gone for the year, but the fields are full of buttercups and daisies. All is a vibrant green and yellow, but no time to stop, I have to hurry up to get to the airport. I don't know why I am so worried, I have two and a half hours before flight time, and it should be quiet at the airport. But then I had forgotten it is spring, when all of Denmark flies south for some warm sunshine, so the airport is full of families and older couples, already half dressed for the beach, trying to check in. At the the BA desk is quiet, but then we all have to go through security, but this frequent traveller knows that if he waits, say, have a coffee and a pastry, then by the time he is done, there will be no queues.

Not only are there no queues, but in the departure hall, there is seats aplenty, and there are abandoned beer and spirit glasses too, as some began their holiday even earlier.I catch up on some mails, drop some grenades, then wander to gate 2 for boarding, where I find just six other passengers waiting for the flight, including my old friend who works for Lego, Mr Lego. No, really no idea what his name is, we just chat when we meet for the flights back and forth; he commutes most week to their head office, as for me, just most weeks it seems.

We have the safety brief, the engines start and we taxi off. All is going well, I relax in my seat and read the magazine i have brought. Just after take off, breakfast is brought round, and there is even an offer of an extra roll if anyone's hungry. No one is though, just too polite.

The pilot says the wind is in the east, which means a final approach over central London, and I have no camera except for my phone, so I set it to aircraft mode, and am ready to snap London as we skim over the rooftops.

We are kept in a stack somewhere off the coast of Essex, before being allowed to skirt south London, passing over the Medway towns then round to Crystal Palace before turning north, then turning east at Battersea and flying low along the river. I take snaps all along, hoping they would come out. The City Looks so crowded, like there are no streets between the buildings.

We bounce down, taxi to our slot then have to wait to be pushed back and then climb on the bus to take us to the terminal. All seven of us walk to immigration, show our passport and as usual, already our bags are waiting, going round and round the carousel.

I grab the case, walk to the DLR station, only to find I have just missed a train which would have gotten me to Stratford in time for the quarter to ten train This would have severe implications, but this I did not know. Yet.

I go to the cafe, have a coffee and a filled baguette and read Private Eye, just to pass the time.

I go down onto the platform, and at that point I realise there is something wrong, as there are trains on both platforms, and on the one on the country-bound service, the driver is sitting on the step of his cab looking very fed up. His train is already 20 minutes delayed. Turns out there is a train broken down in the tunnels beyond the station between here and Ebbsfleet, and it ain't moving.

I wait to see what happens, on the up line a new Eurostar coasts by at about walking pace, giving me time to get out my phone and take a shot.

Just about when the train to Folkestone should have left, the one waiting was given the road, so I jump on thinking once I get to Ashford I should be able to get a Charing Cross service, at least that was the plan. We cross over onto the up line and accelerate to full speed; in the wrong direction for the line! I hope the signaler knew what he was doing.

Once out of the tunnel we cross back over, and the journey is then normal. Until we reach Ashford, as it is chaos there, with the board apparently saying there would be a 50 minute wait for a train, that couldn't be right, could it? Sadly, it was.

Train after train was cancelled, and the platform filled up with frustrated passengers, whilst staff tried their best to calm the situation. Our train pulls into platofrm 2, so we all rush over, climb on, then told we would have to wait for the train I should have caught from Stratford, the 10:44. It arrives at 12:15, some 60 minutes later than it should. The train is now full, but we were heading int he right direction and all happy. Until we get to Folkestone where we then have to get onto the Rail replacement bus for the run to Dover; how I will be glad when the line is finally repaired.

I get to Dover, and the last taxi is taken, and in the queue there are four people already waiting. I shrug and walk to the Rack of Ale, order a pint of raspberry porter and call for a cab from there; it arrives before I finish the pint, so down it in one, and climb in the car outside.

And then I am home. At last. I make a huge cuppa then go to sit in the garden to drink and wait for the cats to realise I'm home. Turns out I am shattered, and once Jools is home, I cook breaded pork and lentil dahl, a uncork a bottle of red, so I am well relaxed by the time the England game starts at seven forty five. I miss most of the second half as I am sleeping deeply, I wake up to find England 2-1 up. I go to bed. No caring about the football.