Wednesday 11th November 2015

Monday

The alarm went off at quarter past five. Still the middle of night as far as I’m concerned, but there is a train to catch. Once upon a time I would be excited to be travelling anywhere, let along on a plane to Denmark, but as this is something like my 35th business trip this year, it is beyond routine, I hardly think about it, other than to make sure I have passport and travel information with me.

We have coffee and I make the final checks before it is time to leave. Dawn is in full flow outside, with just a sliver of the old moon visible with the diamond light of Venus showing through gaps in the clouds. It seemed a good day for travel.

Jools dropped me off at the station, I get my ticket and wait on the platform for the train. Despite being November it is very mild. I switch on my phone and check on mails, I respond where appropriate and make some calls. Means I am up to date already, and so I can relax on the train. Saying that, the train quickly fills up, as the tired and well dressed city types board and read the latest lies in the red tops.

It is High Tide as we pass Shakespeare Beach, with the sky getting lighter in the east all the time, I could even make out the lights still showing on the French coast some 23 miles away, but they were an hour ahead of us, and onto their third or fourth coffee of the day I would imagine.

Yes, the journey is routine, but still traveling on a train built in Japan, on tracks that lead under the sea and unbroken all the way to the far east in Russia and China is a remarkable thing. But still my eyes droop.

Once in London I have less than two hours before my flight, but I don’t panic. Onto the DLR and 20 minutes later I arrive at the airport, get my boarding pass, check in my case and go through security. I am next to the actress Maureen Lipman, I speak to her briefly, and at some point between that and getting my bag back the other side, I lost my wallet.

The shock of that certainly woke me up: I knew I had it a moment or two before when I transferred it from my jeans pocket to my coat. But once I got my coat back, the pocket was empty. The staff checked everywhere, it wasn’t to be found. I emptied my bag, all my pockets to prove to them it wasn’t there. I was now worried.

And then, a voice goes up from behind me asking whose wallet this is, holding up my wallet. It was on one of the seats beside the scanner. Must have flipped out of my coat as I picked it up.

Panic over.

I go for breakfast, and owing to my new-found egg intolerance, my choices were very limited, so I have porridge and maple syrup, which was just about OK, but being charge seven quid for it was really beyond laughable.

Time to board the flight, and I have a seat near the front, although not on the pilot’s knee. I strap myself in and we are ready to go. Being in the front row means I get served first with drinks and cold breakfast, which by the time I move my watch forward and hour is just about lunchtime.

We fly over thick cloud covering Essex and Suffolk, the North Sea and most of Holland. It parts for a time as we cross the Ijsselmeer, the closes in until we are on final approach to Billund. But then being Denmark, you wouldn’t expect anything less now would you?

I get given a Mitsubishi 4x4 thing to drive, I program the sat nav and set course for north west Jutland and back to Ringkobing.

Autumn is just about over up here in Denmark, a storm at the weekend meant that most of the leaves were now on the ground, leaving a golden carpet. But then again, despite it being just one in the afternoon, with the thick cloud above, it still felt like the light was fading. Anyway, I had two meetings to attend once I got to the hotel, all by the wonder that is Outlook, so I press on, along familiar roads as I travelled up here many times last winter and spring.

I have an hour to spare once I arrive at the hotel, I settle in and connect to the wifi, ready for the first of the meeting.

Those done, I seem to have volunteered to redo the work I spent all of Friday doing, which is par for the course. That’s Wednesday taken care of!

I watch some TV, but it just seems to be Danish language versions of the same crap that fills British TV outside of peak hours. I scroll through them several times just to be sure.

Outside, the wind had picked up somewhat, and this meant that the plan to go on a wander to look for an alternative place to eat was never going to happen. The hotel had a new restaurant open, we were each given a small glass of non-vintage Danish sparkling wine to celebrate, the menu had changed a little, but there was just the four choices of each course, but there was the addition on an a la carte menu. I chose three of the 5 courses from there, and ordered a Christmas beer and waited.

I forgot was a la carte meant, tiny portions, so when the pan fried lobster tail arrived, it was the same at three or four prawns. Tasty but, you know, not enough. If the starter was a disappointment, then the main course which supposed to beef was a major disaster: four shavings of cured beef, two pieces of fried seaweed and a smear of sauce was it. It was really quite funny.

I order a second beer.

The desert arrives, two pieces of what tastes like cheddar and two tiny crackers. And that was it.

I retire to my room and ponder a trip down the road to Maccy D’s, but decide against it in the end. I watch a re-run of a Barcelona game on TV, then call it a night.

Tuesday

I am awake at about six, five in proper British time, but you know, hen in Denmark use their time I suppose.

I have to pack, but skip the shower, only to realise later in the day that I have no trace of allergy at all. How odd.

I check out, have breakfast, which is mainly bacon rolls and coffee. Lots of coffee. That done, I am left with a 15 minute drive the factory,a nd wait for my colleagues and the customer to arrive. Deep breath, here we go again!

The day goes OK, and at four in the afternoon we are done, and I am left with a 140km drive to Arhus. Now, I have described Denmark, or Jutland anyway, as like being a slightly hilly Norfolk. Which it has been pointed out is damning with faint praise, and Simon maybe has a point. But Jutland just rolls along, mile after mile, unchanging, fields, woods, farms and small towns. Looking over the countryside, which in Norfolk would be dotted with church towers, is just fields, woods and farms into the distance.

I drive on, and as the light fails I make it onto the motorway, drive north into the middle of rush hour in Arhus. I am staying at the Comwell, which is easy to get to, and even more surprising has parking spaces. Lucky me. Even luckier was that I am given a suite on the 5th floor, with space to stretch out and relax, even if it is for a short time.

At six I go for a wander to try to find the way to the city centre and a place to have a drink. In a similar story to Rat Trap, I had reached down into the pocket of my work jacket I had last worn in March last year, and found 99Kr, enough, as it turned out, for 3 bottles of Christmas beer.

I walk past the railway station and down the long main street, lined with shops, all of them decked out for Christmas, which in the case of toy shops is fine, but opticians? Christmas glasses anyone?

I make it to the main square, and find the Irish bar I know was there. I grab a bottle of beer, settle down to watch more football on TV, not sure if it was live or not, not that it really mattered. I get a call from my old friend, who used to work for the customer but now works for us, where am I, and should he come and join me? So I tell him, and in 2o minutes he arrives, buy me another beer and we chat.

We move onto a place to eat: a steak restaurant that also brews its own beer. Another one of them win/win situations. The beer is good, the steak is good. It is ten, and time to walk back to the hotel, past the dregs of Danish society that is out and about at that time, in the rain. I take some shots of the streets, but not having my proper camera, all fail. Oh well.