Wednesday 9th March 2016

Tuesday

The alarm goes off at quarter to five. It seems every bit as early. I mean, there is no light in the east, Mulder is still slumbering, but assures us its not too early for breakfast. We lay in bed 5 more minutes, then jump up, or stagger up anyways. Jools feed the cats, makes coffee whilst I get dressed. I could do with a week off to be honest, or that’s what I tell myself. Thing is, these are easy days, the project will ramp up in the next few weeks, then there will be no time.

By quarter to six, we are ready, so Jools drives me to Folkestone, down Jubilee Way, along the A20 and to Central Station. I have 20 minutes, so no worries. See you in four days! There is no queue at the ticket office, so I get my tickets to ride, walk up the station to look at my fellow travelers, waiting for the first train to Cannon Street. The get on their train, then the platform is empty. For a few minutes, until the crowds for the high speed service arrive, then jostle to get the pick of the seats once it pulls in.

Outside, as the countryside rolls by, it is bitterly cold, a mist is rising from the marshes we pass. In the cold still air, smoke from factories rise in a straight line without being dispersed. People read The Metro, or look at their tablet or mobile. I feel I am the only one looking at the countryside roll by. Have they no wonder in their souls? I guess not.

I get out at Stratford, and in a change decide to have breakfast there, the usual fare, a gingerbread latte with an extra shot and a sausage roll. Just sitting there as London bustles outside seems luxurious.

I take the DLR to the airport, no issues other than the ticket inspector, a large Jamaican gentleman was laughing as he walked up the train checking oyster cards, I join in. I have no idea what was funny, not sure if he did either, but it lightened the day.

The airport was quiet, for early on a business day, but I drop my case off and go through security. I find a desk to work at, as I realise I have left my bloody phone charging in the kitchen at home. That is going to make the week difficult, but nothing can be done about it now. I answer mails, make a call, then I walk to Smiths to buy a book. I end up getting a new imprint of The Sy Who Came in From the Cold; it is masterful, the use of prose is glorious, and sums up the 60s perfectly. A book to be savoured like a fine wine.

I walk to the gate when my flight goes green on the screen, only about 15 of us, so half full. No panic about rushing to get on the plane, but then there never is, as we have reserved seats!

I am last on, taking my place in 8A, getting out the book to read as last minute preparations are made, the engines start, the safety brief is given, and we move off. Off we go, into a bright blue sky, but one that is clouding over. I get a view of central London as we turn, then pass over East London, over the m25 and Shenfield before we climb into the clouds and Blighty is lost.

I have breakfast, two cups of coffee. Life is good. The book reveals itself to be wonderful, I just have to make time to finish it.

Unsurprisingly, it is dull and grey in Denmark: who knew? I get a car, a 4X4 thing made in Japan or Sunderland. One of them. I program the hotel in Odense into the sat nav, and off we go. Yes, a new destination, I have no idea what to expect, but the way is onot the next island to Jutland, then over on the far side, there is Denmark’s second city. And my hotel should be there.

I cross Jutland, through fields and woods, across a large bridge and on the edge of the city, there was the Scandic. I check in, do two hours work, then decide to see the city before dark. I get the hotel to call me a taxi. OK, you’re a taxi, but would you like a cab?

Into the city centre, outside the cathedral dedicated to the last of the Viking Kings, Cnut. It is locked, closed then minutes before. Oh well, there’ll be a next time. I walk along the main shopping street, go into a chain for a coffee. I sit at the window and watch people walking by.

SO, what is Odesne like? Well, I have been pondering this question. It is a quieter city than Arhus, less traffic, with a good mix of old and new buildings, it is being renovated, which is the plague affecting all cities I suppose. The main shopping street seemed to be doing well, no empty shops for sure. I liked the older buildings, mixed in with the new, from the Hospital of St John, a pagan temple, a cathedral and all the stuff between when they were built and monstrously modern stuff. I liked it.

Odense is where Hans Christian Andersen was born, and his house is a tourist attraction, so I decide to see it. I follow signs back down the way I had come, then they stop. I walk on, find some more, and walk in a circle back to where I started. I do find the car park for his house! So snap the sign for that and go to find a taxi back to the hotel.

I end up walking miles, and see two ranks, but no cabs. So I walk to the main station, passed the ancient hospital to the station where I find a small rank. I stand there beside the road, and a taxi pulls up. The driver says he will take me, but turns out he is not your average taxi driver, as he is a translator of Andersen’s diaries into French. He was very interesting to say the least, and it was a shame when we pulled outside of the hotel.

Needless to say, I had burger and a beer for dinner, then sat in my room watching Real playing the Champion’s League, and that took me to bedtime. Phew.