Wednesday 27th April 2017

I say I understand why hotels in Denmark seem to insist on 400 tog duvets Maybe they think its cold, or the Danes just don't like to be cold. Then why live in Denmark? So, through the night I alternate between being under the covers, throwing them off as I overheat, going from hot to cold before pulling the duvet back on. And repeat until dawn, or as near as.

I get up at quarter past five and outside it was already getting light, indeed the sun had already apparently risen, although the sun itself was hidden by buildings, but the few clouds were outlined by sunlight. It was a good day to travel home, but then it always is.

I pack, get dressed and go round the room to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. And it seems I had managed to get it all in my case and work bag. As usual, too early for breakfast, so I check out, paying the bill with the company credit card, loading the car then finding the barrier would not let me out f the car park again. That fixed with a new swipe card, I an turn onto the main road, turning right to head out of town, as the city wakes up, and its people begin the morning commute.

I had planned the journey carefully, allowing me just over an hour at the airport, thus allowing me the most time in bed. I didn't even have to rsh down the motorway, I could cruise at one ten, or one twenty, and enjoy the sun rise and early morning light. Oh yes, very clever I thought.

And all was going well until I turned off the motorway to go west to the airport along the A road. I even managed to get in front a of a truck so able to travel at the speed limit. 30 minutes to go to the airport, and ages to kill.

Yes, all was going well until I came to the first major junction, and police had closed the road. We were waved on the off ramp, there were no diversion signs, heck I even knew the Danish word for diversion, but there was nothing. I followed the cars in front and turned left, and as we crossed over the road I could see a jack-knifed lorry blocking the whole road, and I hoped no one got hurt.

The road meandered through the countryside, until it came to a small town, again no idea which way to go, so I turn right, hoping to be heading in the right direction. The road entered a industrial area, and I realise it what I can see from the motorway. Indeed, I could hear it and catch glimpses through buildings of cars rushing past. At a roundabout it said the motorway was 4 km away, so followed the signs.

Back on the motorway, heading south, but the airport was still half an hour away and I had less than two hours to go before the flight left, and still did not know what to do. I could follow my route that I did on Tuesday to Esbjerg before taking the road north to the airport. It was then I remembered the new motorway.at Vejle. Although to get on it I would have to go past the off ramp and double back, but that joins the road which was blocked, after the blockage!

I had worked it out, so I relaxed again, put my foot down until it was time to turn off, until I had to turn off, go over the motorway and back on, taking the right hand lane, and onto an almost deserted road, and soon when the speed limit sign was cancelled, I could cruise at top speed, 130, and enjoy overtaking lines of trucks. I go past the junction I usually join the motorway and carry on until it is time to turn off for the last few miles.

No queues at the check in desk, and only a small one at security. I am always amazed how many people get pulled up for failing to pack liquids correctly. Or fail to take off watches, bangles or whatever. I am through, so go up to the business lounge, and I have time to have a roll, two coffees and check some mails on the computer before it was time to go to the gate.

The flight was three quarter full, full of mostly fellow business types. I say fellow, I seem to be the only one no working even as the safety brief is given. Documents are reviewed, and letters written on computers. And I read the in flight magazine, I wonder if I'm the only one who does. I enjoy reading John Simpson's pieces. This month he describes the Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia. Nearly 30 years on, its easy to forget how unbelieveable it all was, when people's revolution swept through Eastern Europe, and 21 years after another revolution had been crushed, freedom flowered again. These are the things we must remember, when our freedoms are taken away for our own safety, and what people did, what they risked, in order to have the things we all too easily take for granted. And the moment when Václav Havel introduced Alexander Dubček I felt tears running running down my cheek.

We take off, flying into the blue skies, which were adorned with fluffy clouds. I closed my eyes, only opening them to accept a fruit juice and then a cold breakfast and then coffee.

Sadly, no approach from the west again for us, we go down the Essex coast before turning down the Thames. Sadly, cloud thickened, so saw little of the ground and the points of interest I so enjoy seeing as we get lower. We emerge from cloud over Tilbury, skimming over the hosues of Thamesmead, Belmarsh Prison before crossing over the river and we were down on the ground.

We taxi to a distant pan, and wait for a bus to collect us. We wait for 5 minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. And then a bus finally comes, and we are allowed off at last. In waiting, I missed whatever chance I had of catching the earlier train home. Meant I could take my time, take pictures on the DLR station, have coffee at Stratford, then wait on the platform for the 10:44 train.

Arriving at Stratford, I have a coffee and a chocolate chip muffin, then go down to the platform and find that trains were being delayed. Cracks had been found in the tunnel leading to St Pancras, but things were getting back to normal. Three Eurostars cruise past at something like a quarter of top speed, I snap one of them, and another going up the central track that separates the two platforms.

Have I been on holiday?

No, work.

Work? Where?

I explain. She makes it sound so exotic, I suppose it could be seen as such; living in hotels, eating out, traveling the world, or Europe at least.

She gets on another train, leaving me to wait ten more minutes for my train. It comes, and I get on, and then find myself surrounded by sick people, coughing and sneezing. And theres me hoping not to be infected. Especially as my allergies had been acting up. I think the woman on the train on MOnday had triggered the first one, then the Beamer had been cleaned with something that made me sneeze like crazy. Allergies are bad enough, but allergies with a cold or flu???

The sickies get off, and I am alone for the last leg between Folkestone and Dover. I try to see the orchids from the train as we go past Samphire, but there are too few to see them this year.

The taxi is waiting for me at Priory, I get in and despite it being sunny, and not cold, he has all the windows up and heating on full. But then he's twice the man I am and wearing shorts. Not a good look, but then who am I to judge?

He takes me home, leaving me standing on the street, but home. Once inside I put the kettle on and make a brew, and being just gone midday, its lunch too.

The cats come to visit and say hello one by one, each telling me they have been starved when I was away. A handful of kibbles seems to do the trick, and they are happy again. I do the circuit of the garden, seeing what has grown since I was away, and what new is showing.

And then there is work to do. It would be nice to while away the afternoon, but not today.

Even here in Kent, it is cold. Not as cold as in Denmark, but close. Too cold to sit outside for too long, but I do anyway, sitting under the shelter, admiring the view back to the house.

Evening comes, I cook chorizo hash and pop open a fine bottle of beer. Jools comes home, I dish up and so we can catch up whilst the radio burbles away.

Halfway through the week already, and a day nearer the three day weekend, and a couple of days away; what could we be up to?