I woke up, and thought over the possibilities that the day would bring. By the time darkness fell I would either be in Denmark or I would be visa-less and be back home or visa-less and in Denmark. Anyway, it was all exciting stuff. I managed to get a few hours work done in the morning, and called for a taxi to come and get me, making sure I mentioned I was to be catching the quarter the one train.
I packed up my work stuff, packed my suitcase and was ready. Quarter past twelve came and went. Twenty five past came and went. I called the taxi company. Is the driver on the way? I asked. He’s cutting it fine I added.’ Wait there’, like I had a choice. Nearly twenty to he arrived, not his fault of course. He tried to make it, but missed the train by a good couple of minutes. I knew another one would be along in about 20 minutes, so did not make a fuss, but pointed out there would have been trouble if I was rushing to make a connection in London.
Anyway, the bastard did not give me a discount either, so I didn’t give him a tip. Fair enough I think.
I bought my ticket and went onto the platform through the open barriers which, after being installed at huge expense seem to be open more than closed. Seems a waste. Anyway. A couple from Leeds rush onto the platform, have we missed the high speed train? I guess they must have thought me in my high vis jacket meant I was staff. I said if they caught the Charing Cross train, like me, they could change into a high speed service there.
Oh, that sounds complicated, no, we had better wait for the next high speed, but went to make sure with clearly, someone who knew better than I. They returned, saying he said the same as you, could be in London half an hour quicker. Just follow me at Ashford, we have 15 minutes, so no need to hurry, I said.
So, come the time to change, there was me with my two cases and an elderly couple from Leeds tottering down the stairs and heading to platform 5 for the train to St Pancras. At least the sun was shining I thought. The skies darkened and hail came hammering down. It matched my mood.
A quick blast up to London and then down into the underground. I thought I had better check where the embassy was. I opened the A-Z and looked and looked and I could not focus on the words, or find the street on the page. I sighed; getting worked up about it won’t help, just get a taxi. So, I got the traditional bitter and twisted London cabby this time who growled and swore his way through the traffic to Cheapside and along to Old Jewry. Yes, Old Jewry.
I paid the bloke and went in, was pointed downstairs to where the collections were. With minimum fuss my passport with a 3 month single entry visa was brought to the window; that’ll be £93. No we don’t take credit cards, just debit cards. Bugger.
I paid the bloke and walked back outside now with some 5 hours to kill before flight time. Better find a place to eat as I had not eaten since breakfast. I went in a place called The Fleece, yes it was a pub, and they had 6X, which was very nice. I ordered a burger and chilled, watching a group of city types in the corner eating tapas whilst drink and despite trying to be quiet, were very loud.
I walked to the tube and headed east to West Ham. I tried not to be bitter about those loyal hammers fans demanding their manager be sacked for only finishing safely in mid table whilst playing ‘unfussy’ football. Pah!
I changed onto the DLR and went down to the airport, checked in, and went upstairs to the lounge where even more expensive shots have opened where I learned it is possible to pay nearly £300 for a wallet. If you’re stupid enough of course.
The place is heaving, and so there is no place to sit, so I watch people whilst nursing half a pint of Hoegaarden. The flight is called where my attention is caught by a boke built like a builder’s mate, but he is wearing a bra. Which sets off his bald patch nicely. He sits like a debutante on the pane, leafing through a fashion magazine. Watever. I even take the in flight meal as I know the hotel kitchen will be closed by the time I get there, and am treated to some smoked ham, a stale roll and some cheese and crackers. Its free.
It is dark by the time we arrive in Billund, and so after getting my case I make my way to the car hire place and am given another C4. It’s a quiet drive to Esbjerg, enlivened by the manic local drivers speeding past at warp factor six. I get there in one piece at about half eleven, and am shattered. Once checked into my room, I wash my face and see two bloodshot eyes looking back at me. I need sleep, and so take to my bed. At least the meeting tomorrow did not start until after lunch, so I could lay in.
Tuesday.
I wake at half seven, get dressed and head down for breakfast before heading to the office by the harbour to see Steffen and get some work done. Everyone is doing about 300% too much right now, and the stress level is off the meter. I put my head down and get mails sent out, trying to keep my inbox to manageable proportions.
At eleven, I had back to Billund for the meeting with the customer. I won’t say much about that, other than to say that I feel being unable to keep one’s temper under control should bar someone for being in business. If we both lost our temper what good would that do? Anyway, over what seemed to be the longest three hours of my life we discussed this and that and dropped hints about how the other side was unprofessional. Point made, customer well pissed off. Job done.
And back to Esbjerg as four of us are meeting for dinner at bones where it seems like its been ages since I tried their ribs and beer. Time enough to dump by bag and change into a t shirt before heading to Bones via the Irish Bar, dodging the lycra clad runners up and down and up and down the high street. The seemed happy enough, as was I heading to Paddy Go Easy.
After quick pint I head to Bones to meet Steffen, Anni and another Brian where we have a fine meal and sadly, talk about work all the way through. The three chaps head to Paddy Go East for more beer which was going well until I remember I have mails to send to go back after one pint, remembering to remind myself to bring a jumper or coat with me next time as I was bloody freezing.
Wednesday.
Sigh.
Another audit.
It should be a straightforward to head up the coast to Hvid Sande, or something like that. I check out of the hotel, pack the car, program the sat nav and set off. Through picturesque villages, pretty woods and verdant countryside. I make note of several attractive churches I might like to visit on the way back. But I want to make sure I’m in time for the meeting. We assemble at the factory, well us from the good side are there in plenty of time, whilst the customer, aka the dark side, only just arrive in time.
We have a good day, with a constructive audit. We all end up happy and at two the customer heads back to the airport to catch a flight, and after thanking the factory Anni and myself leave. Hvid Sande is on a spit of land made of sand dunes between the sea and a lagoon. It is beautiful, but I only stop to snap a picturesque church beside the lagoon. In one corner I find seven graves of British servicemen from the second world war. To find seven Tommys in a churchyard so far from home was a surprise, and the thought of it brought a tear to me eye, these lads gave their all for our tomorrows.
It was a two hour drive to Arhus, and all there was to look forward to was my single room, a hard chair and hopefully the football after a burger for dinner. In the end I could not find the football, so I write mails and this blog. Rock and roll. At least tomorrow I am going home. Yay.
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