And so you join me here in Esbjerg as the project trundles forever onwards.
I worked from home yesterday, at least until three o’clock, at which point Jools came home to pick me and my bags and deposit me outside Dover Railway station for the commute to Denmark. The day had been uneventful until the news came in about Maggie, and then it was a case of listening to the radio or watching the storm erupt on Twitter as those on the left and right banged on about whether she was a force for good or evil personified.
Anyway, I made my point yesterday and I’ll stick with that.
That I commute from Dover to Esbjerg is a pretty amazing thing. That it has become so mundane is something more incredible still. I mean I leave Dover at three forty-five and was at the hotel at nine fifty, having travelled to Stratford on the High Speed line, catching the DLR to LCY, checking in, getting through security, having dinner, catch the flight, pick up my hire car and drive the 66 KM to Esbjerg.
Amazing, really.
Some folks on the plane I know by sight and we say hello. The stewardess knows me, and smiles when I refuse the in-flight roll which constitutes dinner.
Once in the hire car, a Ford Focus this time, I switched on the radio hoping to catch the second half of the manc derby. And I found it and was pretty much listenable, although it sounded like a throwback to the 70s, when Dad and I would listen to the big Europen games on radio 2 with reception fading in and out. It was pretty exciting and Citeh ran out 2-1 winners, although that won’t really effect the title as Utd are still 12 points clear with 6 games to go.
The game ended as I pulled into the parking bay, and once I got my bags out of the boot I walked to the hotel, checked in and had a shower. All in all, not bad really.
Wednesday.
It is snowing again in Denmark. I should not be surprised, it has snowed each of the last three times I have been here, but still, it is the 10th April, we have daylight, or light anyway until nearly half eight in the evening, it gets light again long before the alarm goes off in the morning. In other words, its too late in the year for the bloody white stuff. And it wasn’t just snow flurries this morning, it was a full blown, pardon the pun, blizzard. Its all melted again now, but it was very wintery for a time. And now it has reverted to general Danish grey with low, thick cloud. But hey, its not snowing.
This wouldn’t normally be an issue, but today is the first day of the county cricket season back home. Cricket; that means summer, right? Tea on the lawn, the sound of ball on willow. More tea. And all that. Not snow. Anyway, as every Dane I have pointed out, we don’t play cricket in Denmark. Maybe they should is all I’m saying.
In world new, Thatcher is still dead. Although the Daily Hate Mail is upset that some people in Britain don’t share their view that she was ‘the woman who saved Britain.’ And some people had parties in the hours after the news of her death had been announced. I mean once I got to Denmark and was in my hotel room, I had a couple of whiskies to celebrate, but that is it. Much more important things to worry about, like the possibility of thermo-nuclear war on the Korean peninsula, global financial meltdown, genocide in Syria and all the other horrible stuff that man does to other men. And women. And children. And The Mail is naming and shaming the party organisers! Well, I have a celebratory wee dram, name and shame me!
Last night I had dinner with my old boss in the hotel bar. Eating in a business hotel is a miserable experience, at least I had someone to talk to this time. But the food is poor as is the service and as its on the company credit card the hotel gets away with it. I may find somewhere else to go tonight, but only of the bloody snow stops. At least they haven’t found a way to fuck up a burger. Yet.
I tried to watch the Galatasaray v Madrid game last night. I watched the first half but it all seemed so predictable. I closed my eyes at half time and woke up to find the Turkish side 2-1 up, then 3-1. They still needed to score twice in the last ten minutes which was never going to happen, but it was exciting.
More of the same tonight, I suspect. With Barca playing again. Oh well, it gives me something to do of an evening…..
Thursday.
And the sun did shine. Yes, after a grey start, the clouds have burned away and the firey ball can be seen shining bright. This is in a marked contrast to yesterday where it snowed, snowed and snowed some more. At times it was blizzard-like and for a time settled, but melted soon after. It was still snowing when I went to bed at eleven last night. I sat in the hotel restaurant and watched as the flakes got larger and fell with more ferocity. It was so grim I did not seek out an alternative place to eat, just went down to the restaurant, drank a beer and ate a plate of pasta.
Oh and followed that with cheese. Lots of cheese. And wine.
Work continues as much as it did, I get in at seven, work to five and head back to the hotel. I laid on my read, did some reading and after dinner watched Barcelona dump Paris out of the CL.
Maggie is still dead, and now the righteous right are up in arms that some people did not feel as though a God-like figure had left this life. Some people organised parties and posted pictures on social media. Heavens above. Whatever next. Here are my thoughts on a story from The Daily (hate) Mail yesterday which proclaimed that she was ‘the woman who saved Britain.’
“What did you do before Twitter? That was a question I saw on Twitter, not surprisingly. Well, the answer went, I didn't know what was on the front page of the Daily Mail.
The Daily Mail, or the Hate Mail as I like to call it in my blog, is really a hateful rag, just look at its digital version with its obsession with the bodies of the famous and beautiful.
Anyway, I looked this morning, and it ran with a story about Mrs T as the woman who saved Britain. Now, I;'m not a fan of the Iron Lady, and take quite a bit of offence with that, and I tried to find it to post a screengrab, but I couldn't be arsed.
Much better to post this shot about loathsome lefties who did not share the love. Well, everyone is entitled to their opinion, even there. And we are entitled to ours. As William of Bragg once said, just remember there are two sides to every story. And as for some people in football suggesting that their should be a minutes silence for Maggie, a few thoughts: Hillsborough, membership cards! Hardly the best person football should be remembering.
If you want, say you miss her, attend her funeral, sign the condolence book: or, have a street party or like me, raise a wee dram and be thankful the world is once witch light.
And move on to the problems of the living.”
After some adverse comments I posted the following:
“I was a football supporter throughout the 80s, I do not remember the game being domminated by drunken yobs. The newspapers would have you believe that. I can remember being welcomed in pubs by opposition supporters, of warm discussions.
There is no doubt that there was trouble, but then there had been for 20 years. My Dad always said that treating people like animals, locking tem up in cages, would get them to behave like them.
Once the fences came down after Hillsborough there was little trouble, but then even in the 80s most of the trouble occured outside the ground or at railways stations or motorway service areas.
Improvements in stadiums, sadly, only came after disasters, like Ibrox in 1971 and Hillsborough. Lessons were not learnt by football, local authorities so the mistakes, like those of Burnden Park in 1946 had to be learned all over again.
The events at Haysel, for expample, we caused as much by poor policing, ticketing and a very run down stadium as much as the fighting. Clearly, at that point, something had to be done, and it was, but governments attitude was that it was football's problem and not society was a mistake.
Everyone is entitled to their opinion, we live in democracy where free speech is enshrined, though I do wonder now people are being prosecuted for comments on Twitter and Facebook.
I hated Thatcher and everything she stood for, but that is a long time in the past and the hurt that was done cannot be undone, we have to move on. Recalling parliament seemed very over the top to me, as does a funeral with fukll military honours when, correct me if I'm wrong, she never served in the military. In fact her greatest hour, the Falklands, came after either a miscalculation or a deliberate act, of ignoring warnings of Argentine forces mustering at ports prior to an invasion.
He legacy, in my mind, is of industrial wastelands, towns with their hearts ripped out, many of which have not recovered three decades later. My hometown is no different. I have heard it said those things would have happened anyway. I'm not so sure; coals is still needed to burn for heating and for electricity generation, ships still need to be built.”
Anyway, today is Thursday and I am heading back to Blighty this afternoon and will be home by ten tonight and then just about four days at home before I have to come back and do it all again.
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