Thursday 11th January 2018

I wake up before the alarm. Well before the alarm, as I panic that the phone has two timezones and will go off on the UK one rather than CET, so meaning I miss my flight. I am awake an hour early, so stare at the streetlights coming through the curtains and ponder why now I'm awake, I am no longer hot. One of the mysteries of life, or of hotels anyway.

I have time to check the internet for news, and find that Trump is still President. Oh well, another day begins with disappointment.

Outside there is fog. Or is it mist? At what point does mist become fog? I'm sure there is a scientific definition of that point, but all I knew was that the drive to the airport was going to be interesting.

I pack and go down to check out, and find when I try to leave the car park that again, as it always does, the three day parking pass does not work on the 3rd morning, so I have to go back inside to the lobby to collect a new one.

I am free, take the car to the main street, turn right easily as there are no cyclists to give way too, and head out of the city, over the railway bridge and out into the suburbs and onto the motorway.

Now, should have been easy now, but with visibility limited, it was horrible. I turn the radio down so to aid concentration, and manage to keep at the speed limit, just, as the mist didn't get any thicker, and traffic was light to enable cars to get past the truck. But then there was the road from the motorway to Billund, 30 out of 40km two lane and twisty. But again, traffic was light and I kept going without incident.

Turning off the final roundabout and on the final stretch to the airport was a relief, so much so that I could feel myself sag in the seat of the car. It took ten minutes longer than usual, but that wasn't bad going. I park the car up, zip my coat up against the damp air and walk to the terminal to drop the car keys off and check in. Or drop my case off anyway.

And then join the small queue for security, mixing with the Danes off for some summer sun, while I am going home. I still have my card that allows me into the lounge, at least until the end of the month, so go up for some breakfast and coffee; free. They must be relaxing the rules in there as it was quite full, and not with business types, but retirees, out for some free stuff, and generally being in the way.

I get sidetracked by something online and I check my watch to find I had just 20 minutes before we were to take off, so rush to the gate to find people sitting around, waiting. So I join them, and wait. It was misty here, but also at London, meaning that they were keeping bigger gaps between flights, and our slot was now an hour later. So we wait whilst daylight creeps across the pan outside.

At quarter past nine we are allowed out and sit some more, maybe an hour whilst we wait for the confirmation of the landing slot in London. The engines start, we have the safety brief, I guess, as already I am dozing. I get woken up as we accelerate from the piano keys and take off, straight into the low cloud and lose sight of Denmark. In seconds we break through and fly into the clear blue sky of a grand winter morning.

I sleep through 2nd breakfast and with all of Europe covered in fog, meaning there was nothing to see anyway, just clouds. Clouds to the horizon.

We drop from cruising altitude, getting lower and closer to the cloud layer. We begin to skim the clouds, and the plane begins to shake and roll. It is times like that I hate flying. We are encased in clouds for 5 minutes, flaps are deployed and the landing gear lowered. There is still no sign of the ground.

We finally get sight of London as we emerge from the clouds as we cross the river, a dozen metres above the water, across the builders yard and floating pub and down onto the ground.

I look at my watch, ten to twelve. Meaning I have just enough time to get through immigration, get the case and get to Stratford. So quick are we through that I get to Stratford at twenty past 12, with enough time to get a coffee and a sausage roll. Not bad after all.

I climb on the train, get a seat on the left hand side and soon we are entering the east London tunnel, rushing back to Kent. At Ebbsfleet I use the phone to book a taxi, so it is waiting for me when we arrive at Priory. He recognises me, and drives over so I can load my case and on with the final leg of the journey.

As ever there is work to do when I get home, mails to replay to, but come three in the afternoon and I am all done in. I do put my trainers on and do half an hour on the treadmill, much to my surprise, but enjoy it, and Scully sits in the doorway of the bedroom to remind me when I was done that it was near to dinner time.

I go to check on Molly; she seems brighter, stronger and hungry. I put my sweaty t shirt in her basket and she cuddles up to it.

I have a shower, get dressed and bring her up some dinner. She is happy enough, but would be happier if she could get out of her bathroom prison.

I cook kofte kebabs for dinner, and it is just ready when Jools returns from her exciting day in the world of manufacturing.

We are both pooped, so we settle down to watch the last of Rick Stein in Mexico shows, and then hit the wooden hill to bed. Rock and roll.