Tuesday 1st March 2016

Monday

Another day in paradise, but, on the morrow I travel back to the frozen wasteland that in Denmark in winter, where, even more so than in Britain, folks moan about the weather. I mean I would have thought they used to snow and ice by now.

The cats were playing hide and seek under our bed during the night, what with much hissing and meowing, they had us awake at half four, waiting for the clock to tick round to six and time to get up.

It is a usual morning, Jools makes the first coffee and has breakfast then gets ready to leave for work, and once I have checked the interwebs, I take to the sofa for 45 minutes to watch the weekend’s football. Probably the most important task of the day, dontcha know. And at eight I switch the computer on and so begins the day.

Midway through the morning, a wonderful mail arrives which means that I don’t have to re-write a document in the next four weeks, thus reducing my workload by about 80%! Great news.

Then came the mail from the BBC which you read about in my previous post, which kinda blew my mind for the rest of the day. But the upshot being, on the balance of things, it was one of them great days. So great that when Jools came home at six, I was halfway through cooking dinner, chorizo hash, and drinking a bottle of Iron Maiden themed beer. Sadly, it was a bland an uninspiring pint, but then there would be wine with dinner too, which would be more full bodied.

I pack for my trip, and after the early wake up call from the moggies the previous night, we decide to record the X Files and watch that next weekend, thus allowing us to hit the sack at nine in the evening, pooped.

Tuesday

After several days of dry, if not bright weather, Tuesday morning came as a shock, as down revealed a leaden sky, heavy with the promise of much rain to come. Dawn is usually well under way by six when we get up, but an hour earlier, daylight seems like a distant promise. We get up, do the usual stuff in the morning, so are ready to leave the house at quarter to six, now having to by pass the port on the way to Folkestone and Hythe due to the new roadworks. There is light in the easy, but only just, and a light drizzle was falling.

Jools drops me off at Folkestone Central, I buy my ticket and as I walk up the platform the train glides in 20 minutes early, so I am able to get on, pick a seat and then switch on my phone to look at what the world of work had thrown at me overnight: nothing in fact.

We glide out of the station a minute early, pick up more passengers at Folkestone West, then zoom along to Ashford where more people got on, but it seemed not quite as crowded as it normally is. It is nearly light by now, so as we head out along HS1 I look for the signs of spring, and smile as we accelerate past the queues of traffic on the motorway as we thunder past Maidstone.

Stratford is really quiet, almost like it was in the days before the Olympics, I walk to the DLR station, a train is waiting, ready to whisk me to the airport. The train fills up at West Ham, then empties again at Canning Town, fill with more folk, this time heading to the airport too. No queues for checking my bag in, and only 5 minutes at security. So I am sitting down in one of the new rows of chairs keeping an eye on the departure board, but with my flight delayed, I had two hours of checking mails, reading and drinking coffee before I would have to think about walking to the gate.

The plane is full, I have a seat right at the back, beside the galley and WC. But the plane is a jet, which can fly quicker, so we save 20 minutes off the flight time and it takes just an hour and 20 minutes to arrive at a grey, freezing Billund almost on time. Due to lack of sleep, I decide to go straight to the hotel, have a shower, combat kit and work from there instead of going in to the office.

So I get the keys to an Astra, set the sat nav for the centre of the city. Traffic is light, and I make good time, arriving in Arhus before the rsh hour and not knocking any cyclists off their bikes. So another good day.

At half six I meet my colleague, Chris, in reception, and we walk past the railway station to the Mikkler Bar again, where waiting for me, us, was my old RAF friend, Shaggy. We greet, buy beers, drink then wander along to the diner where we order very unhealthy food, along with stupid strong beers. It is a good evening.

Back to the bar for a couple of final beers, just 200ml glasses, but enough to get a taste of the beers. Anyway, we walk outside to return home or to our hotel, and there is a blizzard blowing. Snow is piling up on the parked cars and on the cobbled side streets. It is like being back in Norway, with the snow swirling round, blowing in our faces. So it is good to get back to the hotel, into the air-conditioned warmth. Sadly, on TV is the final minutes of the Norwich v Chelsea game, City slump to another defeat, but give a good account of themselves, and are denied a point by a shocking refereeing decision. Such is life.

Time for bed.