All though Sunday night, lightning flashed and thunder cracked around and over the house. Waking up at five fifteen was no better with the storm raging all around, or so it seemed. I checked the trains, then the airport, all seemed to be working but then it was early.
I had a coffee, a little fruit, then it was time to go.
The rain was hammering it down, making driving tricky, if not nearly impossible. Jools drove into Dover, heading down Castle hill, the runoff turned to road into a river. Lightning still flashed around. Any strike on the railway would stop the signals working, and there would be no travel for maybe an hour. Inside the station I checked the departures, all seemed well and on time, so I got my ticket and waited on the platform, checking my mails on the phone to see if there were any actions I could take.
The train arrived on time, and in still heavy rain we got on and waited to move off. It crawled to Folkestone, and I felt that any moment we would stop altogether. But, we made it, and the clouds were already parting and blue sky could be glimpsed. The train filled up as we called at the stations in Folkestone, and again in Ashford. By now there was no rain, and there were almost no clouds as the sun rose away to the east.
As I have said before, the journey into and then across London is now so routine that I hardly give it any thought. So, I walked to the DLR station, got on, found a copy of The Metro to read the latest tribulations of Spurs and The Arse. That took a couple of minutes of the journey.
I got off at the airport, got my boarding card, checked in my bag and went up through security. Another ten minutes gone. I have 90 minutes to kill, so I have breakfast. A big breakfast. At fifteen quid, it seemed better value than the poached eggs on a piece of toast. Sausage, back, poached eggs, beans, hash browns, tomatoes, mushroom and a cuppa. I order another cuppa, then realize my flight is about to be called. I slurp it down, look at the board and the gate is up.
We climb aboard the small aircraft, I get my normal seat in row 7, with views I hope over London as turn to the north. We shall see.
The engines start, we have the safety brief, and off we trundle, making our way to the far end of the runway, before standing on the piano keys, reving the engines before the pitch of the propellers are changes, and the plane strains forward. Brakes are released, and off we go, bouncing down the runway, getting faster and faster before we climb into the blue skies.
We turn to the north, and I am treated to a fine view down the river and The City. The familiar sights of north London and south Essex roll by below. Ipswich rolls by, but all else is lost beneath a blanket of cloud. I turn to my book and the flight rushes by.
Denmark is under cloud, no surprise there. But the cloud reaches down to just a few metres about ground, maybe 20 or so. So we do not see the ground until we are skipping over the perimeter fence and down the runway. Outside the rain is falling hard.
I get given a Polo for the week, I find it in the car park, find the boot is not big enough for both my cases, so my briefcase sits on the back seat. It is a very familiar drive down to Esbjerg, and to the office with my friends. I have an office, so settle down to fire off dozens of mails.
At four, I go to the hotel, check in and find I am on the wonderful top floor for the first time, in one of the rooms that has been renovated. I have fine views over the rooftops of the town, although it is pretty much dark so I watch the traffic coping with the rain until it is time for dinner.
The rain had stopped, so I go for a walk, checking out my old haunt, Paddy Go Easy, and find it is being renovated, and so I hope for a good pint of red sometime soon.
So that left the usual places, so I walk into the Dronning Louise to find it almost empty, I take a table and order a lamb burger and a pint of Christmas ale and whilst waiting read more of my book. The temptation to open a tab and try all nine Christmas beers is strong, but not wise, so I have a second, then walk back to the hotel to write some final mails before bed.
Tuesday.
Up at dawn, or even before that. Outside I could hear the traffic rumbling. I have a shower, get ready go to breakfast, and all that is left is an half hour drive to the factory. I am surprised to see the road in the other direction so full of traffic it seems just like a solid line of headlights.
At the factory, we have an hour to wait and then its show time.
The day ends just before four, with the news that there would be no more inspections the rest of the week, I try to arrange an early return trip home and so have a long weekend with Jools and them cats.
Flight arranged, I am happy so drive back to Esbjerg, arrange an early check out for the morning, dump my stuff and grab my camera and have just enough daylight for an hours walk and snapping. My plan was to snap the track laying on the harbor branch, as something is so rare back home. Now, no one is sure what traffic is going to use it, but there must have been a 100 folks working on it in various places.
I snap them, the sun set, the harbor. Oh look, I say to myself, I’m near Dronning louise; why not have a Christmas beer. Good idea I think. So, I am settled into a fine leather armchair, sipping on a strong beer watching the highlights of the weekend’s games on Eurosport. And I’m meeting with a friend later. And I’m orf home tomorroa. I am happy indeed.
Steffen calls, we agree to eat at Flammen, then have another beer. And another. And like a well oiled plan, that is what we do. After lots of meat in Flammen, we walk to the sports bar for another, then to Dronning Louise for another.
I am tired and full.
I bid Steffen goodnight as he circles some poor young lady, so I leave him to his sharking, and walk back to the hotel.
People ask me, what is Denmark like? And my usual answer is that is like a slightly hillier Norfolk. I mean rolling fields, farms, woodlands, bogs, villages all pretty much look the same here in Jutland, but am I being a little unfair?
Well, it has much better transport than Norfolk for one, and it is really very clean, little rubbish and fly-tipping to mar the views. But, one bit of Jutland looks like another, but then Holland is pretty much the same all over as well, and they don’t complain.
But then neither do the Danish.
The Danes what are they like? Well, quite removed from their Viking heritage, there seems to be little appetite for robbing, pillaging. Not sure about the raping thing though. Though they do like a bit of bacon, strong beer, meat, cycling, reality TV, football, handball. It really isn’t a bad place, nor are the people.
But it is expensive, but not so bad as Norway. Its not so cold either, doesn’t snow much, they have a lot of rain and wind. Traffic is a problem in bigger towns and cities, but then it’s the same the world over. It does get dark early this time of year, and stays light late in high summer, but that is to be expected, no?
Most Danes speak English to some extent, and if you are able to say Tak back, or Skol, they seem very happy indeed. After four and a half years of travelling here, I am sure that I should have learnt more that Tak, Skol, Ol, but the Danes seems happy enough and I get by. Well, I get drinks, say thanks when one is brought over and how to toast the person who supplied it. What else is there?
It is a pleasure to arrive, but more to leave and head back to Blighty where a good cuppa can be had, as well as a proper bacon. From Denmark, of course.
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