As on Saturday, the forecast was for early rain, and so we had a lazy morning, either beading or watching MOTD. I’ll leave you to guess which one of us did what…..
We went to see Jools’ brother to talk about the situation with Nan. All is well, other than she is rattling through her savings at an alarming rate. Quite what we are going to do, unless we find that money tree my Dad always used to say I was ripping all the cash from. Anyway, it was good to see Mike and Jane, and catch up.
Next up was the old folks place in Whitfield, but Dad was then heading out to measure our front door. Not that this is something he does on a regular basis, his neighbour is seeing about fitting us a new front door. So, we pass the key over and then make for Deal for some more photo and beer related malarkey.
I hope all this is of interest to you.
Deal is a fine genteel seaside town now, however, in early Victorian times was less salubrious, and Bradshaw has some quite harsh words to say about it. But since then, what with thousands of Marines stationed there, The Duke of Wellington living and dying there too, it smartened itself up and got airs and graces and looks proper loverly now. It is stretched along a flat area of coast between chalk cliffs. Stretched along the coast, and shingle beach are grand houses, two castles and lots and lots of retired people.
In the town centre, the old fishermen’s cottages have been turned into fine houses and holiday homes, although no matter how delightful they look, there is no parking possible in the narrow streets between. We make for the pier, only for a large dark cloud to sweep over, and we have just enough time to shelter in its entrance. The rain passed quickly, leaving behind, briefly, glorious light that yours truly ran around snapping the scene of glistening pavements and scurrying people.
We walked down to the castle, I snapped the scene, then we returned to the pier, crossed over to head down to Middle Street to walk down to The Ship Inn, snapping as we did so. The Ship Inn is the latest pub in our voting, so we had to go in and me drink beer to see how good it was. And look at the décor and other stuff not quite as important. It was good. We ate peanuts, drained our glasses and we then headed home.
Another top afternoon out, then!
Jools was all pooped out in the afternoon and so went to bed. I, in sympathy, took to the sofa and listened to the radio, as football does not listen to itself.
It’s funny, despite having exactly having the same amount of hours and minutes as the other days, Sundays seem to slip through our fingers, and it was time for dinner, a shower, pack my case, write a blog and head to bead, pooped as a pooped thing.
Monday.
Urgh, Monday morning.
Double urgh, commute to Denmark Monday morning.
Its still dark, but looking out the back window I can see Venus hovering just above the horizon where the sun will rise about an hour and half in the future. We have a coffee, and its time to go. Already.
Off to the station, dodging the sleepy lorry drivers heading to the Eastern Docks, and then along Townwall Street and up Old Folkestone Road, drop me off, me grab the cases, into the station, buy me ticket and then go onto the platform to wait in the cold and watch the dirty pigeons (who love a bit of it).
I am trying to make it sound matter-of-fact, but I do enjoy the trip over, honest, even if it just to go to work.
By the time we leave Ashford, the train is full of business types, quaffing coffee, reading the FT, and the woman beside me, sleeping. At least it is nearly light now and so I can watch the countryside go by, if I could just keep my eyes open…….
At Stratford, I gather myself and cases to get onto the DLR and star bleary-eyed at the other commuters heading to work. At least the airport is quiet, for a Monday, and I check in, get through security and am sitting down ordering breakfast in ten minutes after arriving. Man, I am so hungry, I order the full breakfast, which unlike Saturday’s is half a plateful and twice as expensive. But it’s on the company’s paycheck, so I eat it all up. Even a slice of toast and marmalade.
Time enough to read a chapter of the Mark Kermode book and then head to the gate, have ticket checked. Again. Down the steps, over the perry track to the aircraft, strap myself in and ready to go. I can tell I have travelled this route a lot as the stewardess does not bother to check my ticket, she just assumes I know I’m on the right flight.
We set off, taking off heading east for a change, so no fine views of the centre of London as we turn. In fact soon we are lost in low cloud over east London, but the clouds clear as we head over Essex and heading towards Harwich far below. I can see there is no evidence of flooding in Essex, that being a problem mainly for the west I suppose, but the views are stunning along the Orwell to Felixstowe and Ipswich the other side of the Orwell bridge, looking tiny from this high up. We head out to sea crossing the coast just south of Orford, I can see the ness below, narrowing, widening and narrowing as it reaches Orford, above that there’s Sizewell, and all up the coast to Lowestoft.
But we are heading for the Dutch coast now, and soon the Northwind windfarm appears, its our latest, and has been delayed by the string of storms. But I can make out those that have been installed and just make out the transition pieces breaking clear of the water.
Denmark, however, is Narnia. Narnia gripped by winter. Is that snow on the beach down there? Yes it is. And all the lakes are frozen, and as we fly over the yard at Esbjerg I see the installation vessel is encased in frozen sea. What am I doing here?
Once I’m in my lovely new C4, I see the thermometer reads plus 7, so not that cold. But the wind from last week has blown the snow into drifts, drifts resembling frozen white waves at the side of the road. I drive down to Esbjerg, I have to call in to collect my PPE ready for the start of the supplier audits. I stop for a couple of hours, redo my presentation for tomorrow, and then in glorious winter sunshine, I bid farewell and climb back into the car for the drive up to Arhus.
As I hit the E45, the sun sets and the sky turns all colours from red to pink to purple. Frozen mists rise from lakes and rivers. I make it to the hotel just as the light finally fades, and can relax. Relax if there are no more mails to respond to……
I arrived at the hotel to be told I had been upgraded. There are times when I have dreamt of being upgraded. On those Emirates flights to Indonesia for several! So, I get the room key. Sorry, car, and go in. The upgrade seems to amount to a third single bed, a chair with some upholstery and no wheels, some extra cushions, an iron and ironing board and a safe. I checked and the safe was already empty.
I mess around for an hour before going down to dinner. I intend to be healthy. And not have the burger. But, I order the soup followed by the burger, but I do forgo the beer for a large diet coke. And all very nice it was too. But I had get back to work, so went back to my room, opened Outlook only to find a total of zero new mails. I had nothing to do after all.
So, how about the Citeh v Chelski game on TV. I checked, checked again, and again. And there was nothing there, just the usual odd looking Danish reality TV shows about some family of what look like freaks. But not of course. So I settle down to follow the game via Twitter and the BBC test of the game. Not.the.same.
Tuesday.
Up at six. Or that’s when the alarm went off. I flicked it onto snooze. Oh, and again.
I get up, get ready, gather what notes I have and head down to breakfast. I have the usual, branflakes in strawberry yoghurt followed by cheese roll. Washed down with a couple of coffees. And then into the early rush hour traffic to head to the office. As I approach the door, I am greeted by an oriental gentleman, one our new colleagues; can I let him in? I guess so. He seems to know my boss so that seems good enough. We swap business cards, which is the modern way.
As soon as I set up my computer and grab another coffee, I am told to go up to the conference room to set up. A bug meeting today, losts of powerpoint, lots of spreadsheets, and lots of discussions,. It does at least make the day pass quick, and the sense of blind panic I had quietly dissipates as it appears we are bettered prepared than they are. Oh well.
The day passes and I have not made any mistakes, which is good. From our side we are happy, and it seems my stomach is telling me I might just be having a beer or two in the evening.
Back at the hotel I am told something amazing: Scandic have a new menu! Now, this may not be earth-shattering, but it is. There is something reassuring being at one of their hotels, in that it is always the same. But not tonight: cured salmon (I didn’t know it was ill) and quail’s eggs and smoked mayo ( that would be a bugger to light)
Indeed, I have the beer. Just a small one. And a wine with my lamb accompanied by something called a potato tower. A what? I hear you ask. Well, I had it and I don’t know how to describe it. Possibly potato puree browned with a blow torch if I had to describe it.
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