Thursday 10th March 2016

Wednesday

I was in Odense because, on Wednesday, I was visiting our new factory. My employers are building the world’s most powerful turbine, and after many years of just hearing about it, I was going to see them being manufactured. Or at least a part of them.

First of all, I had to get up at the right time without an alarm clock, a function my mobile usually carries out. But with dawn getting earlier and earlier, especially here in the frozen north, then the light showing round the side of the thin curtains raised me from my slumber at half six, time for a shower, then a wander along the corridor to reception and the breakfast bar.

With lots of coffee and two bacon rolls, I was ready for the day. I check out, load the car then program the address of the factory, in the town of Munkebo, or Monkeybow as I call it for the rest of the day, imagining a chimp with a violin. Almost as funny as what I saw, but that’s another story.

A 20 minute drive through what counts as rush hour in Odense, out of town, down to the end of the motorway, then across fields to the port area of Monkeybow, there were the cranes and gantries of a huge shipyard, and that’s where we build our big babies. I am met at the gate by my colleague and friend, Henrik, who takes me to the first area to walk round. But we are joined by my boss, who thought a tour of the factory was such a spiffing idea, he joined our little party.

The day passed, big turbines means big spare parts. I am astonished by the warehousing area, stretching as it did for apparently mile after mile of shelves.

But the day came to an end, and because of cancelled meetings, I was booked into the old Scandic in Esberg for the night, a 90 minute drive away on the other side of Jutland.

I say goobye to my colleages, although I will see Henrik on the morrow, and set back to Odense, then onto the motorway heading due west into the light of the afternoon sun. Traffic was not too bad, but the radio could only find something like a pirate DJ intoroducing Abba and Neil Young tunes.

Now that our site in Esbjerg is mothballed, the hotel is fairly empty, and I get one of the free parking spaces and one of the revamped rooms on the upper floors with views west over the harbor and to the lagoon and offshore island of Fano. I put the computer on, listen to the radio and catch up on work.

Despite not having eaten since breakfast, and being hungry, I decided to watch the sun set in the misty west, turning the sky all shades or orange and red. I may have snapped it too, just in case you thought I was slipping.

I walk to the Dronning Louise, have two pints of local beer and a blue cheese burger. Its great, and just what I need. I pass the time reading the 30th anniversary edition of When Saturday Comes, something to celebrate, the sensible football magazine.

I walk back to the hotel to watch get Cheslki beaten by PSG, outplayed and beaten. Not good for the wealthy Russian owner, but still, gotta laff.

Late to bed, but up with the sparrahs in the morning for another 90 minute drive up the coast. It’s all go