Thursday 7th September 2016

Wednesday

I enjoy writing. I may not be very good at it, but I do enjoy it. And in a break from the routine, I did not write when I was away this week, and so I am saving up all my exciting times on the Danish tundra for when I got home, and in a surprising move, I have been looking forward to get home, sit down with a large cuppa, the Radcliffe and Maconie show on the i player and just whiling the afternoon away writing this nonsense down. And I can tell you, I am just at the bottom of a pint of tea, the radio show is half an hour into yesterday's show, and here I am writing the preamble.

As you know, the line between Dover and Folkestone is blocked, and while this gives me the chance to snap freight trains, large earth moving machines and various members of the orange army, it does mean a change in travel plans. And for the commute to Denmark, it means starting the rail journey from Folkestone rather than Dover of course. But at least Jools could drop me off on the way to work, even if it was an hour earlier than maybe she would have liked. I was standing on the platform just after six in the morning, waiting for the high speed service into St Pancras. A few other hardy souls were there, opting to take the stopping service up to Ashford and changing there. I chose to wait for the direct train and so have a seat all the way.

It rolled in at twenty past, so I had ten minutes to warm up before the trundled down to Folkestone West to pick everyone else up: and it was there that buses from Dover, Martin Mill, Walmer, Deal and Sandwich unloaded passengers to join the train, so it was no surprise to see that the train was 80% full by the time we moved off. And being only half six, it was dark outside, lit only my a sliver of waning silvery moon drifting through the light cloud cover.

I dozed through the journey, whilst others did the same or read the free papers then discarded them. We were held up on the viaduct over the Medway as there had been reports of someone on the line. We sat in the dark whilst a hundred yards away cars thundered by on the motorway. In time we did move off again, but we were running twenty minutes late. On a plus note it meant I would arrive at the airport within 2 hours of the take off time, so I would not have to wait to check in my case.

At Stratford, I did the usual walk to the DLR station, waited for the next train, then climbed on with the other bleary-eyed travelers. It seems that many people extended their holidays, so the airport was very quiet, I checked in my case, cleared security and queued for a coffee from the new Italian coffee bar. Eight quid for a coffee and a paninni seems a lit, but consider that I have paid more for a bowl of porridge from elsewhere in the airport before.

Having eaten, I check the board, and my flight is delayed until half ten. Another hour to wait. I find a place to sit then finish the book on Norwich City and start my rail magazine. I miss the first call for my flight, so I was surprised to find just 5 people before me when I arrived at the gate. But the even bigger surprise was that we were the total passenger load: 6. OK, it is only a 30 seater or something, but we still had two rows each with room to spare.

London is misty, so once in the air, the view of London faded to white and vanished. In the cloud we turned to north and climbed above the clouds. Breakfast was served, and I settled back to enjoy the flight.

It was a surprise therefore, to come out of the clouds on final approach to see, if not snow, then there was snow which had been blown into the hedges and edges of fields, and as we flew north, the greens and browns of the landscape were softened by snow and frost. Once down, the door was opened and the arctic air rushed in. Even though it was just below freezing, it was a shock, and with the wind blowing, it felt much, much colder.

I got the keys to the car, then made my way across to the car park, getting cold once again. With the remote lock key fob thing, it is easy to find the car, a Ford Fiesta, pile in my bags and off I go, into the early dusk that counts for daylight in cloudy Denmark. To darken the mood even further was the assurance form the guy in the car hire office that 15cm of snow was due on Thursday.

At least with me going to the office and then spending the night at the Scandic West I knew my way and needed no sat nav. It was an uneventful trip up the motorway, round Arhus to the north intersection before doubling back into the city to the faceless industrial estate where our offices stand on the corner facing the main road. Being delayed on the plane meant I missed over half the bi-monthly department meeting, so not all was lost, which did mean I had more time to talk with people, find the gossip and get some invaluable information for my work.

All done by five, I drive to the hotel, check in and book for dinner. No matter how much I promised myself I wouldn't, I my stomach told me it was a burger and fries night. It had been some time since I stayed here, so why not? I had artichoke soup first, then the burger; and it was good. I limited myself to a medium beer, as if that was going to make much difference, but it felt like I had compromised a little.

I watch some football on TV, listen to the radio, then call it a night, with a quick look outside showing no snow. Yet.