Needless to say, I am bound to have left something behind; I always do to be honest. But hey, I’m an international quality expert now, right? I checked out and went to the car to find it had been turned into a Corsa-shaped popsicle. I fired it up, and lazily scraped at the windows with the tool supplied (not me). And finally, I drove off and into the rush hour traffic. Now, what counts as rush hour in Randers is the half mile stretch of dual carriageway until it crosses the river.
I imagine this is how it must be driving in Moscow, despite having the engine on for 15 minutes, it was still beyond frosty inside the car, and outside smoke from the various factory rose slowly into the sky being turned pink by the rising sun. I parked up outside the office and made my way up for the final six hours before I could head back home.
All the while I kept more than an eye on the weather outside, and panicked everytime a flurry of snow began to fall and I imagined myself stuck in Randers for another night….
Arrrrgggghhhhh!!!!!!
At just before two, I powered down the laptop, packed my stuff away and headed down to the car for the 70 mile drive back to Billund. The sun shone from a cloudless sky, and I was driving right into it. Darn. But, I made good time until I began to worry that I had missed the turning and was heading for the German border as none of the scenery on either side looked familiar. I had no map with me, so if I was lost then it would be something of a problem….
Just as I decided I would get off at the next junction, that turned out to be the one signposted to Billund and it all looked familiar again. How strange….
By now the thermometer in the car which was reading minus three when I left Randers had now dropped to minus seven as I neared Billund and the sun had set. I parked the car, handed the keys over and headed to check in, get through security and sit down to read the last of the Stuart Maconie book and have a bite to eat.
I couldn’t resist the charms of another bottle of the 9.2% Double IPA, and settled down with my drink to watch a very cold darkness fall over the airfield outside. But, my flight was called on time, and we went to the gate and finally took off only 15 minutes late, and were soon flying into the inky blackness with all of Denmark laid out below us like yellow diamonds scattered on black velvet. I snoozed only to be woken up by the capta
in saying we were flying over Amsterdam and beginning our final approach to London. We flew over Shoebreness and Southend before heading over the Thames and flying down the Medway before turning sharply over Rochester and getting lower as we crossed the river again at Dartford with the bridge below us, all jammed with rush hour traffic. Down and down we went before we skimmed over the final dock, and twisting in the sidewind, we touched down and back on Mother earth once more.
A quick dash into the terminal, straight through immigration; once again our bags were waiting. Out into the arrivals lounge and into the DLR station; two minutes later a direct train to Stratford left, and I had 20 minutes in which to grab a coffee and muffin on the station before heading down onto the cold platforms for the final 5 minutes before the train pulled in to whisk us to Stratford where Jools was waiting.
And just like that another trip was over, and just two days of the working week to go too. Result.
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