Friday 31st July 2015

Wednesday

And what is this feeling in my head that I have: oh yes, a borderline hangover. Well, there's a thing. I lay in bed whilst I think about opening the curtains and checking on the time. Half seven, and thick fog outside. What I need is a shower, and in my palace of a room, I have a twin headed multi-nozzle thing. 20 minutes later, I kinda feel human again. I dress and go down for breakfast, only to find the room to be full of happy, smiling families on their holibobs. I eat fruit and have a bacon roll. Well, it has bacon in it, on that the frazzled strips were once part of a pig, but they shatter as soon as you bite them. Still, BACON!

There is a short drive to the office, I arrive at half eight and being holiday season hardly anyone is there to notice me.

The main task for the day is to issue a certificate for the wind farm, I spent half a week last week trying to find out how to create the form, only to find it had been created already and sent. It just took some finding.

Then I have to write, carefully, the serial numbers of each turbine on the form. East, eh? I get t right on the 3rd try, I sign it, my boss signs it. I scan it and it is done. Yay.

I have other stuff to do, and the list of outstanding tasks shrinks hour by hour. Sometime after lunch, my head tells me that it needs some rest. An afternoon snooze would be perfect, so I wrap things up and drive back to the hotel in the glorious sunshine. Yes, the sun finally breaks through, and despite some thick clouds drifting by from time to time, the day gets nice and warm. I could go for a wander round the city, snap some of the wonderful new buildings. But I need sleep.

Back in my room, I put on the radio and take to bed, staring at the ceiling. With the radio playing a show from last week meaning I have no idea what the time was when I did wake up. Four o'clock was the answer when I got up to check.

OK, time to get my shit together, find my trousers and then walk to a nearby church to meet my friend and former colleague, Anni. Through the shopping centre and up the busy street with art galleries and Micheline starred eateries to the church, and waiting there was Anni. She sees me and waves, which is nice. From there is was a short walk to their apartment, now on a quiet street as the construction work, as long-lived as Boston's Big Dig turns the city upside down. Up what seemed like 300 flights of stairs to the top floor, and here we are. They are nice enough to let me get my breath back before quizzing me about the holiday and other stuff.

They cook griddled pork with salad and fries. It is light and good. We talk, listen to some music, before going onto the balcony to see some evening sun, and to sip on another large glass of wine.

But, it is time for me to walk back to the hotel, I bid my friends goodbye and promise to return next time I am in the city. I walk down much quieter streets as the sun goes down, I sense I am tired again, so go straight back to the hotel and up to my room. The hotel has these 'intelligent' elevators, that you have to scan your room key before selecting the floor for your room. A computer then allocated an elevator for you, telling you to go to life A, or whatever.

In my room, I put the radio back on, lay on the bed. I wake up at half two, with the full moon shining bright through the window, where there should have been curtains to keep light out. Oh well, I switch the computer off, clean my teeth and go back to sleep.

Thursday

And going back home day.

I woke up at ten past six, feeling refreshed. I think I will just lay in bed a while, I mean I never go back to sleep. I wake up again at twenty to eight. Oh bugger, but then there is no pressing matters at work, so, why worry? I hope.

Anyways, I have a shower, pack, check the room and go to catch one of the clever lifts to reception, settle the bill and go for breakfast. Fruit and bacon rolls again for me, which sets me up. It is now half past eight.

Outside it is another glorious day, and traffic is light, so I drive along the harbourside, then up the main road, dodging round the roadworks for the tram which one suspects will never come. Or maybe it will.

I get to my desk at ten to nine, those in smile, but I am at least well rested. And being Thursday it is cake day, so, let us eat cake!

I eat cake, do some work, drink some coffee, have a roll for lunch, have another couple of meetings. And oh look, time to leave for the airport.

I have a Ford Focus, which is not a bad drive, but its no Audi is it? I tootle down the motorway, then out toward Billund. It is a fine day for a drive, in light traffic, but then I did know that at the airport there would be thousands of Danes in flip-flops and shots drinking huge glasses of beer, already in holiday mode.

I find a place to sit and keep track on the cricket, and after the hammering in the 2nd test, England are making a go of it in the 3rd, with the Aussies struggling to draw level in their second innings.

At half five, my flight is called, and I wander down the corridor to the gate, and find there are about 20 others also waiting. Less than normal, but then it is summer.

I have the usual seat, 8A, and settle down to what should be a short flight, now that we have jet engines rather than turboprops. We climb into the thick cloud over Billund, and we fly over cloud until we arrive over Holland, when the clouds clear and all is summer and sunny again. I accept the free meal, a roll and some cooked chicken, but pass on ice cream and Brandy.

London is glorious, laid out below us like a map, and to my surprise we skirt round South London for an approach from the west, over Battersea, Westminster, Buckingham Palace and The City. My camera is in the hold.

But, we bounce down, really bounce down on the runway, taxi to the furthest slot from the terminal, but that means a bus will collect us and deposit us next to the immigration line.

My bag is already on the carousel, so I grab it and make for the DLR station, as there is a chance I might catch the quarter past seven train, if I am lucky. A train arrives in a couple of minutes, but being unaware of the exact time the train to Dover leaves means I am not stressed.

I walk into Stratford station to find I have three minutes to get to the platform, and the escalator is broken. So I grab my cases and run down the eight flights of steps, making it onto the platform as the train arrives. I get a seat next to a businessman who sleeps the journey. And I read a copy of the Evening Standard to see what slant they are putting on the big stories. It passes the time.

It is another glorious summer evening as we flash through Essex and into Kent. I look out of the window as we pass fields that are being harvested, or look as though they should be.

Jools is waiting at Dover Priory, although I am still looking for our old silver Polo. But she is waiting beside our new car, and the traffic should be light enough she thinks it is OK to go up Jubilee Way home. I had seen miles and miles of stacked trucks on the motorway, which means more chaos.

We get home and the cats are waiting. They tell me they have not been fed.

I have to get some things from Tesco, so as Jools unpacks my bag, I drive to Tesco, to buy some lemons, then stop at the new KFC for a six piece meal for us, which we eat under the stars on the patio, as the full moon rises in front of us.

And it is free entertainment.