Monday 13th June 2016

Today is Tuesday, not Monday, and I have been explaining to a friend why I blog; why I write almost every day. I can't explain, but I do enjoy it, and in the main, I do it because I want to, to record what I, or we, did, so to go back in years to come and remember what we did. It does help that I have this international quality expert and playboy liffestyle, coming most weeks to stay in the Playboy Mansion here in Esbjerg. I mean, come here, drink champagne and eat finest fillet of unicorn every night, whats not to like?

It amazes me that others read this, but glad that they, that you do, and although I don't say it much, many thanks for sticking with it through these what, nearly nine years.

That I travel to Denmark, to work, and it takes me something like six hours to get from home to the office is nothing other than a modern miracle. I travel up to London on a train, made in Japan, along a line that links Blighty with France and so the rest of Europe and Asia via a tunnel under the sea. I travel from an airport built on the land left over when the docks of east London closed.

Then I fly to Jutland to work with people from all over Europe, and indeed the world, to put up machines that create more energy than it took to make them,. That is pretty special.

So, although I may sound the commute to Esbjerg sound mundane, its anything but, and it is the result of a lifetime working towards a goal I never set for myself, and yet here I am. Such is life.

Monday

It is mid-summer, so waking up at half four or so, it is nearly light, birds are singing, and the cats are still snoozing. But, as the alarm goes off, we have to get ready so I can make the half six train from Folkestone. The weekend has gone, there is nothing else other than to travel and work.

But it is not unpleasant, as I find joy in watching the Kent countryside slip by in all its summer finery, the small villages, still sleeping or just stirring at the start of the working week.

Around me, people are watching last night's rebooted Top Gear on their mobiles, or making spreadsheets, reading the free paper or just sleeping. I am alive with the joy of just being alive, seeing nature and the world outside just doing its thing.

At Stratford I call in at the cafe for breakfast; chili chicken and cheese melt baguette and a large gingerbread latte. I take my time and finish both before walking to the DLR station to the airport.

I check in, drop my case off, and then go upstairs to queue for security, then once through find a place to sit, make calls and check mails.

The flight is called, so we go show our boarding passes and passports again, then climb on the bus to take us to stand 14, climb on the plane, where I ignore the safety brief whilst reading Private Eye. Despite it being sunny and summerlike in Dover at dawn, it soon clouded over, so once in the air, we were engulfed in cloud and Blighty was lost to me for a few days at least.

I could tell where we were by the movement of the aircraft, banking over Brentford, then climbing as we passed over Chelmsford and Colchester. Breakfast and coffee is served, and Europe passes below us.

We drop and soon I see Denmark, the lagoon near Esbjerg, all mudflats at low tide. We touch down, so walk the length of the terminal to baggage reclaim, then through immigration to the car hire place. Sorry, we just have an Audi they tell me. I smile.

I know the way to Esbjerg, down familiar roads, past the usual landmarks, putting my foot down to get past trucks and tractors, before accelerating onto the motorway to 80mph. At least until the next junction where the speed limit drops to 65. And above the trees, our massive new turbines slowly turn, generating huge amounts of power just by using the difference in pressure on the leading and trailing edges of the blades. Each 85m long.

I go to the office, shake hands with the team, and get on with work, getting a couple of hours work done until its time to head to the hotel, where I just get back to work, and able to watch the football at the same time. As you do.

I just go to the hotel restaurant for dinner; beer, burger and fries before watching the end of the Ireland game, where Wes scores for Ireland, but ends 1-1. More work and football in my room, outside the evening ferry departs, sounding a single, mournful toot on its horn. The sun sets and the football plays on.

Welcome to my working week.