Monday 26th September 2016

To call it a morning would be mis-naming the particular time of the day the alarm woke us up at. Half four the clock said, and looking outside I saw there was the merest hint of light in the eastern sky.

I like travel, but with yet another week away from home, and the first in what will almost be an unbroken such run until Christmas and maybe beyond. Work ramps up and demands even more of my time. And work demands I travel, for a safety course this week.

And why not.

We do our stuff what we do before work, or before me traveling. At ten to six, we leave the house and then drive down the hill to Martin Mill, where there was just one other passenger waiting. Dawn began reaching further above my head, on the platform, spotlights picked out patched of concrete. There is reflected light on the rails from round the bend from Walmer, indicating that the train was coming. More people had arrived, so we stretch out along the platform waiting for access to different carriages.

I settle into my seat, and hints of the countryside pass by in the gloom, mostly obscured by the reflections from inside the train. I am looking back at my own reflection. Through Guston Tunnel, then just wait for Dover to come into view as the train turns right, and there is a glimpse of the town from Buckland to the Western Docks, a town just waking up.

As we travel on, the day brightens, a clear blue sky above and the train fills up. It's odd, what people do on trains; read the Metro, watch phones or tablets, write mails, put on make up, talk to friends or like me, look out the window.

Breakfast at Stratford, including a large coffee. It feels cool inside the station, and in a few weeks it will be as warm as a fridge when the wind blows from the open entrance way to the DLR station. But for now its warm, and the coffee is good.

The airport is being improved; more seats, more shops. But before the improvement comes the building work, which makes things worse. I look at the price of whisky and decide its all too expensive. I get a seat and check mails, make calls whilst all around people come and go, traveling to various far flung places over Europe. And Cardiff.

Yes, Cardiff; fly there from London.

The flight is called, and it is gate 9, the furthest flung gate from the hub, a walk of very nearly two minutes. We wait, then are allowed onto the plane, and with the usual preparations, the engines start, safety brief given, and away we go. We take off into the east, thus being deprived of the fine view over The City when we take off from the opposite direction.

We climb into the blue sy, bank left and right, climbing all the time until we reach Brentwood when we go through the cloud base. And I lose interest.

Breakfast, or strictly speaking 3rd breakfast for me, which doubles as lunch, is served, and we fly over the North Sea to Holland then turn north for Denmark.

Denmark is still sunny and even warm. Which is nice. I am given a VW Passat estate, which is room even enough for my huge case full of British beer for my Danish buddies.

Up to the motorway, across the harvested landscape, through light traffic. It is a good day to be working. Or driving. I am ahead of schedule enough to be able to go to the office and do some work there, and arrange a social evening with people who might be tempted with a night of beer and bbq. Chris and Paul are up for it, so we arrange to meet at six for a beer before walking down to the smokehouse.

I work to five, which is when the traffic thins enough to be able to drive to the hotel, along streets lined with trees just turning golden with the arrival of autumn. Houses and offices are bathed in warm golden light, heck its good just to see these sights, let alone be paid for it, and be able to chose where and what to eat of an evening too.

We meet at six, and also at the bar were a gathering of corporate lawyers, not sure what the collective noun is, could be a scouse as they all live on The Wirral. I taunt Robert, the Everton fan, with last week's result, We City fans have to make hay when we can.

Its a short walk down the hill to the smokehouse, they have a table and cold beers, which is always a bonus. We all know the meu by now, so we order without looking, and I am having the ribs, which are in a different class from the ones at Bones, which is saying something.

But with traveling and busy weekends, we are all tired, so after a second beer, we walk back to the hotel, but I find the Burnley game on TV, which means it'll be a late night,. Even so I manage to miss both goals. Oh well.

Good night