Saturday 12th March 2016

Friday

Even though I turned the radiator off early the previous evening, I am wide awake and so hot at quarter past four. I lay in bed until 5, knowing that I would not go back to sleep, I get up and finish the work I have to do before the end of the day. I fire off two reports, I check the news, Faceache and I am done.

I decide not to eat at the Zleep, as it is 80Kr and rubbish; for the same price I can get a fresh cup of coffee, a huge cup, fresh rolls and cheese or ham or nutella in the terminal. As last week I could see the queue for security, so after checking in my bag, I got to have breakfast, and some 20 minutes later there is no one waiting at security, so I cruise through, then find a table on the other side of the shop where I can catch up on any early mails.

Danes are walking to their early flights, some are supping on bottles of beer. Still too early for me.

At eight I make my way to the gate, where I see an old friend from Thanet. As I walk down the stops to the waiting area, I shout "Damo!" and Damean looks up and smiles. It has been a couple of years since we last spoke, and both of us have climbed the greasy pole. And as it turned out, he is sitting in the seat in front of me, which means I can kick the back of his seat if I get bored.

Once we are seated, the pilot announces that London City is closed due to fog, and we are going to fly to Southend. Groans can be heard, but for me this is the second time this has happened. Anyway, we will be in the right country. Buses will be laid on we are told, that not quite being the truth as it turned out Anyway, I get out the book and get down to some cold war action as the plane is made ready for flight and we taxi to the end of the runway.

Once in the air, we enter the low cloud, and when we get through that, I can see banks of fog in all directions, unbroken in all directions to the horizon.

That is the case as we approach the Essex coast, circling above Clacton, then getting lower and lower as we head onto final. All is hazy and pale, as there is a mist even here. We bounce down, then taxi to the terminal to find several other planes have also been diverted, and once in the terminal, we are at the end of a half hour queue to get through immigration where there are just two officers on duty.

Outside the airport there is no one there to advise passengers wanting to get to London. A coach had just pulled out. On the other side of the road is the railway station, I go in to check the departures, and there is a train to London in 8 minutes, so its settled, the company can buy a ticket to get me home. Damean joins me, asking where should he get off. Despite the mist, it is a warm day, there is more than a hint of blue sky above us, so, it is no really hardship to stand on the platform to wait.

We arrive at Stratford just after quarter to eleven, meaning I had just missed the train to Folkestone, so I had an hour's wait before the next one, which means time for coffee and a sausage roll and more of the book.

Once I had drunk my coffee, I go to stand on the platform as one of the new Eurostars hammers through at full speed; very impressive from just a few feet away. I take a shot as I had seen its headlights from the tunnel away to the left.

An odd guy seems to be following me, sitting next to me on the platform yet there being other benches empty, and getting on the train using the same door despite me having walked a few metres down the platform away from him. He sits in the set in front of me, I see him looking at me occasionally. Not sure what to make of it, only for him to get out at Ashford. It is a lovely day to be traveling home, even having to use the replacement bus is OK. As is the wait for a taxi at Dover. Take me home I tell the driver.

It is glorious here too, up on the down above the town, there is a gentle breeze and the sun is shining weakly through the fog. Once home, I check the garden and the ponds for signs of life and/or frogs.

Once inside the house, a tiredness overwhelms me, so once I had made a brew, I power the laptop up, check my mains then set my out of office message. And that is it. All done.

I listen to the radio, watch some TV, waiting for the evening when Jools will come home, laden with fish and chips. The sun sets in a riot of pastel shades, the cats demands feeding.

Jools comes home at just gone six, I make a coffee and we sit down to eat. We are both tired, we watch the documentary on the Renaissance, the final part, when things got really odd. Jools sleeps through most of it