Wednesday 4th November 2015

Monday

(written at LCY, lunchtime Monday) With me worrying whether I would sleep through the alarm at quarter to five, I was laying awake some time before four. I looked pout the window, and the fg was so thick I would not see the garden shed. So here we go.

I turned on the computer and checked with the rail company, the trains seemed to be OK, but I doubted that. The airport said the flights were OK too. But then it was still before 5, and there would be no one manning the Twitter feeds for an hour. I would have to try at least to get to Denmark.

I have coffee, and check my bags. Outside we load the car and try to get into Dover. In fact, just after Duke of Yorks, the fig clears some, only to close back in as we go down Castle Hill. However, there is a train waiting, and I have three minutes to get on. However, the gates were open, so I opted to get a seat and buy a ticket on the train.

We glide out 20 seconds early, according to the station clock. But once out of the Harbour tunnel and running alongside Shakespeare Beach, the fog was really only mist, so the train accelerated away, like there was no problems. No fog in Folkestone, Ashford nor Ebbsfleet, but it was misty enough to cause the train to slow down as we ran over the marshes.

I had caught the first train out of Dover, meaning I was too early to check my case in at the airport, so I stop for a coffee in the station at Stratford. And then a second before making my way across London to the airport.

And once down in the concourse, the queue would its way up and down full of unhappy looking passengers. But I had called BA, they said to check in as normal, which I did, walked past the queue, handed my bag over, walked up to security to find there was no one waiting, no lines, anything. And once through there were less that 20 others in the lounge, with the departure board showing nothing but cancelled or delayed flights until midday.

So I took up a place at a desk, with a power socket and began to grim task of checking on the mails that had piled up over my week away, some small fire-fighting, and then, nothing. All quiet.

At half ten the first planes began to board, just four in an hour, but it was the start, we hoped. Although I seem to have an endless wait, maybe ending at half one.

Maybe

(written in Arhus, Monday night)

At ten past one, I look at the board and see that my flight was boarding! How could this be? Seems like the Danish pilot found a way to land when many other failed, and had to be diverted to Southend. Whatever way it was, we could go to the gate, and I might be in the hotel before dark.

There was only half a plane full, 20 passengers left, or who could make it to the airport, so once on board, we spread ourselves around the seats and waited for our slot to take off. So, at just before two, we taxied to the end of the runway and roared off heading east, into the gloom of an East London Monday afternoon, losing sight of the ground before we crossed the river.

But, over Essex we got glimpses of the ground, and through a gap in the cloud I saw the familiar shape of the Orwell Bridge before the land to the east of that was lost in more fog, looking like thinly spread butter on toast from our cruising altitude. Further out, the sea was clear, so I could make out the tankers and freighters plying their way, but as we neared Denmark, the cloud grew thicker until the sea and land was lost to view. In fact the cloud cover so complete, it looked like snow on the arctic tundra, just gentle bumps in a white cloudscape to the horizon in all directions.

We dropped down, just skimming over the clouds until we began the final approach, through the clouds, and the ground only became visible until we were 50m above it, and crossed the busy road to the centre of Billund and Legoland. We were down, Denmark was damp, misty and nearly dark.

I collect my case and the car keys from the hire office. As I am staying at a new hotel, I program the address into the sat nav, 67Km, and I am off, nearly falling asleep at the wheel, but on the last leg of the journey. The roads were busy, being rush hour, but the mist no thick enough to slow us down, so in about 45 minutes I was heading into Arhus and to the hotel.

The Radisson in a huge modern hotel in the centre of the city, I get a fine large room, go down for dinner, which as you would expect is burger and fries, this time washed down by the fresh Christmas beer which the hotel took delivery of that very day. I am pooped, back to my room to listen to the radio, snooze on the bed, giving into sleep at half nine.