Monday 7th March 2022

I woke when the alarm went off at five.

Early.

Not even the trains seemed to be running, though in a few minutes one did pass below my window. But by then I was dressed and packed, taking one last check around the room before walking to the lift, and then out into the early morning air.

I crossed Waterloo Road, up to the concourse above, then out to the taxi rank. The front cab’s driver was asleep. I didn’t want to wake him, but the driver in the cab behind said I had to. I tapped on the window and he woke with a start.

Just resting my eyes, he said.

I climbed in, told him to take me to Paddington, so he did.

We drove over Westminster Bridge, around Parliament Square, up Great Gorge Street, along Birdcage Walk, past Buckingham palace where all windows were dark, meaning Her Maj was still akip, up Constitution Hill, between two Royal parks, up Park Lane past all the expensive and exclusive hotels, round Marble Arch and finally up Edgeware Road to the station.

Sixteen pounds.

I give him twenty.

A station before rush hour, at half five in the morning, is quiet. Too quiet. I walk to the platform where no trains were waiting.

But I needed to get a ticket, which I do: £37 for a return. I go on the platform to wait, standing among but not too near other early morning passengers.

The train comes in, a version of the Electrostars we have in Kent, but with larger luggage racks, and TV screens to show advertising on mile for mile, the most expensive train journey in the UK. Again, its still dark, so don’t see much of the journey to the airport, the tunnels being as dark as the early morning air.

I make my way to terminal 3, then have to find the KLM desks, wait in line to check my case in and get my boarding passes.

Are you vaccinated?

Yes.

Do you have proof?

Yes. Here is the documents I was given at the time?

I shows the guy the two credit card pieces of evidence.

No, certificate passport?

I don’t need one.

But, he starts to say.

I checked on our corporate information site, I don’t need one.

He holds up his hand.

Checks with a colleague who points out his mistake. I issues me with boarding passes but no apology.

I go through security, all the time a large Jamaican is complaining something about cheese in a heavy accent, I don’t turn round to see if he’s talking to me.

I get though with no issues, and look for something to eat and drink. Instead of getting something cooked, I get a sandwich, some crisps and a bottle of water, so sit in the departure hall to eat and wait.

After which I walk round the hall, look in the World of Whisky shop and carry on before returning to sit down.

I manage to use my phone to log onto Twitter, so catch up on the news, but had no lunch with Facebook.

Time passes.

The gate is announced, and I go down to find lots of people already sitting near the gate. As I approach, all are ordered out of the gate waiting area, a queue forms, and I am in the first ten, somehow.

We were checked in, one by one, and allowed to board, I find an old guy in my seat, so have an aisle seat, which would mean I would be quicker to jump up to get my bag from the overhead locker.

We were all aboard, the plane backs out and we trundle to the end of the runway, and I’m sure Big Jet TV was watching as we roared off down the runway. In our forty year old 737.

In the 55 minutes we were in the air, the crew managed to serve a drink and snack, and collect the waste before we landed in sunny Holland.

Since travel started again, I was dreading the connection here, knowing how large the queues at immigration were. So I thought the 90 minutes given me for transit was optimistic to say the least. I walked all the way down the G gates, followed the signs for connecting flights to the border where no more than six were waiting.

I wait at the back, but a kind lady said I should go forward to the desk.

Why are you going to Denmark?

Work

OK, have a nice day.

Passport stamped.

The next gate had been announced, B4, so I amble down there, and on the way I get a text from KLM stating the flight had been delayed 15 minutes, meaning I had over an hour to kill. Shows how wrong even I can be…..

I sit near the gate, there’s a lot of people, but the gate is used for departures from the pan, and passengers are bussed to the plane. A flight to Munich went first, then us, I get a window seat, settle in.

The plane was full, and in a flight ten minutes shorter, the crew manage to serve drink and a snack and collect the rubbish before landing, although they were hassling people to drink up on final approach.

We land at Billund, it is a grim place, out in the country, surrounded by woods and tussock grass.

Just as I remembered it.

At least we didn’t have to go through immigration now, just pick up our cases.

What I hadn’t factored in was the belt system at reclaim failing, and while half the flight got their bags before the breakdown, the other half, my half, stood around for twenty minutes while the belt was fixed. Our bags were just below our feet, someone could have carried them, but instead we waited.

It was fixed, my case next up the ramp. I grab it and go to go through customs. I was asked to go into a room.

Can we scan your case?

I should explain at this point that certain products are not allowed in Denmark. Bovril is one. Bovril is a reduction of beef, somehow, and a hot drink can be made from it.

Beef tea, it was called.

It’s the truth.

Anyway, my friend, Shaggy, asked me to bring jars of Bovril and Marmite. And tea bags. In fact two other colleagues asked me to bring teabags. So I had nearly 1,000 teabags, Bovril, Marmite and Crème Eggs.

Red handed.

The guy looked at the scan. Said, OK, that’s fine.

Have a nice day.

Phew.

Out to the car hire place where I was hoping to meet a friend, Jan, who I had been speaking to everytime I visited. He wasn’t there.

Where’s Jan, I asked.

He left two years ago.

Oh no, I’ll miss Jan, I said.

We all miss Jan she said.

I was given a Kia Ceed estate, I just had to find it.

Out through the parking house, out the back, clicking the unlock button until I saw the lights flash.

I load by case and bag into the boot, get in, press “start”, lights come on and the car plays some electronic tune, but no engine starts.

I press the stop button.

I think.

Press the start button and press the accelerator, the engine wakes. It’s a hybrid.

No need to program the sat nav, as I have made this journey hundreds of times, but being as it was half two already, too late to go to the office, so straight to the hotel.

Along the main roads, crossing the flat countryside, past farms and villages until it was time to turn onto the motorway, then foot down and up the 50km to Aarhus, turning off towards the port, past the station and into the familiar parking lot.

Like being home.

I check in, go up to my spacious room on the 9th floor, dump my bags and decide to go out for a walk.

I walk to check on the fine display of crocus on the other side of the road from the hotel, always a spectacle this time of year, take a few shots, then walk down the main shopping street, over the canal and on to the square behind the cathedral.

From there it was a short walk over the tram lines to the edge of the harbour, where I join the students taking in the air and light. I watch a young woman sketch the scene, while others look on as the jet ferry backs out of its berth and crosses the harbour, parting the reflections as it went.

I realised how tired I was. I walk back through the town, up the hill to the art museum, I stop to buy some fruit and drinks in a supermarket, trying to reset my body.

In my room I eat a can or corn, half a pound of grapes and snack on some salt sticks. I put a pod cast on, climb into bed and fall asleep.

At half seven, Jools rang, we speak, but I am done. No dinner for me, instead I clean my teeth and get back into bed.

Done for the day.