Monday 13th November 2017

Half past four is, I can tell you, still in the middle of the night. The alarm goes off, but with it feeling like I had half an hours sleep, you like to tell yourself you have six more hours in bed, but no, it is time to get up.

On such mornings, Jools and I switch to auto mode, with each of us doing what the other hasn't, so the cats get fed, coffee made, breakfast put in bowls, and all sat down to eat by five.

Jools has a shower, I get dressed, she gets washed up, the washing up gets done; and so we are all ready to go at quarter to six, with 20 minutes before the train is due down the hill at Martin Mill. It is cold for sure, bu then its the middle of November. It is still dark at the station, but there is a trace of light on the southeastern horizon. I get my tickets from the manned station. I say manned, it only has a ticket office during rush hour, otherwise its just the machine out on the platform which does not give out receipts, or does, but by the time you realise, the option of pressing the button to get one has gone, and then in a few weeks I have to explain to my boss why I have no receipt for that.

I get on the train and settle down, ready to mentally tick off the landmarks on the way, or those that can be seen in dawn's weak light. Above a quarter moon, maybe less, shines brightly down, still bright enough to create shadows.

The train is as full as ever by the time we leave Ashford, and outside it is getting light, so by the time we cross the Medway I can look for trains on the two lines that pass below us as we leap over the river.

As always, I am ahead of schedule, so I can have breakfast at Stratford, and catch up with the sweet Indian lady who works behind the counter; even after four months remember what I have. Trains arrive and depart, and hundreds of passengers pass by in the concourse, on their way to work, or school or shopping. I eat my panini melt and drink the coffee.

Having drunk and eaten, I walk to the DLR station, and find it crowded, so don't get a seat on the twenty minute trip through the old Olympic Park, Stratford, West Ham, Canning Town to the airport. But it is all painless, as it is at check in, as I was the only one in the queue having printed out my baggage label, so am through that in a couple of shakes of a lamb's tail, and walking up to security, just a two minute wait there, and into the lounge, find a seat, and wait.

Time drags, but I go for walks looking to see if any colleagues would be also on the flight, but there is no one. So I sit and read some more, more people watching.

When the flight is called, turns out there is just ten of us all on a plane built for 29 or so. We are let on, strap ourselves in, the engines start and we taxi to the eastern end of the runway. I was persuaded to forgo my single seat on the left hand side of the plane, having a double seat on the right, so different views out of the window, more opportunities for photographs.

London is never finished, so I snap as we pass over the Limmo Peninsular beside the River Lea, then great views again of the old Olympic park as we turn east and begin to climb. Bye bye Blighty.

Breakfast, my 3rd, is served; a roll and some crackers, but a welcome two cups of coffee to keep me awake, otherwise I read the inflight magazine, a good interview with Buzz Aldrin distracts me for a while, which was the point I guess.

All of Western Europe, of Belgium, Holland and even Denmark were bathed in sunshine, meaning flying over them was like looking at Google Earth. Denmark itself was golden green, looking wonderful in the sunshine, I snap some shots as we turn onto final approach, skipping over the rooftops to land.

I am greeted like a long-lost friend at the car rental place, and they give ma a Mercedes A200, compact but very acceptable. I mean, I say small, it is bigger than our Corsa back home. From Billund it is a 50 minute trip up the motorway to Aarhus, going round to the north junction, then driving under the new tramline (still not open) to DUS 4.

The rest of the day is taken with meetings, saying hello and catching up with colleagues. Four months is too long to have been away, but a combination of Danish summer holidays, my holiday, the broken passport and Mum being ill has meant there really was no chance to travel, of the passport thing made it impossible.

At five, once the traffic had died down, I drive to the Scandic on the ring road, as all the hotels in the centre were full. Anyway, I don't mind, the rooms and beers and burgers are very acceptable.

Anni and Bo come to visit at six, we have a beer and catch up; they have bought a house now, so are still moving their stuff from their 5th floor flat, that has no lift, but quite frankly, they're pooped. But nearly done. There is Christmas beer out, and so I try one with them, and a different one once they have left with my burger and fries. A very acceptable evening all round, to be honest.

Back in the room, Sweden v Italy is on, I watch the first half, but close my eyes at half time and wake up to find the game over with no idea who won, and lost so would not be going to the World Cup; that would wait until the morning.