Friday 18th January 2019

I wake up in my pirate bed in my pirate room. I am still happy. Happier as it is time to go home now.

I wash, get dressed and pack. Looking into the mirror in the bathroom, I see there is a Lego pirate hat on the wall behind me, and the angles make it look like I am wearing it at a jaunty angle/

I smile again.

I pay the bill and go for a quick breakfast of a role and Nutella, and a coffee. It works.

Outside there had been a heavy frost, so I have to scrape the windscreen and side windows, so they are just clear allowing me to drive the 5 miles to the airport.

I check in, go through security and find the departure hall, heaving with people, some gulping down half litres of Carlsberg as their flight is called. I find a table and check mails, make a couple of calls, and generally am in good shape for the flight, what with 45 minutes extra skeep thanks to not have to drive in from Aarhus.

The flight is called, and even for a Friday the flight is only just half full, so I take a double seat on the other side of the aircraft in case the final approach is from the east.

I accept breakfast, my second, and enjoy another roll but this time with jam, and the additional coffee was very welcome.

It is a fine morning over northern Europe, the run rises in a storm of pink light, illuminating the whoe sky and fluffy clouds with the same colour pink.

I even manage to stay awake on the flight, keeping an eye out for the coast of England, and when it does I could trace the line from Southwold down to Orford Ness down to Felixstowe and Harwich. The sun was even shining.

The plane turns down the Thames over the estuary, then makes it way inland flying over Ebbsfleet and carry on, meaning we could be flying along the Thames from the west before landing. Wonderful.

Metroland is laid out like a map beneath me, people are going out their business, but it is purely for my entertainment. Trains rattle silently along tracks in deep cuttings or stopping at stations too far away to see passengers waiting.

We turn over Crystal Palace, and again over Battersea to fly over the river. I get shots of the new buildings on the South Bank and the Elephant and Castle centre and then what I had wanted to snap; the Shard and London Bridge station laid out below it. No time to think, just rattle off shots and hope for the best.

I get another overhead shot of Tower Bridge, the Millennium Dome and the tops of the blocks at Canary Wharf before we swoop lower until we bounce down, safe on solid ground.

There is no hurry, I don’t think I could catch the early train, so I am the last off, and then have to walk the whole length of the terminal to reach immigration, where I am let through the crew only line. Which was nice, I look like an office in my weatherworn fleece which was once blue, but is now grey.

A DLR train arrives for Stratford as I get to the platform, meaning I would be almost in time to catch that train to Dover. IN fact the train was empty on the rear carriage, so I take a seat looking out of the rear window at the sinuous tracks as they weave through the modern buildings that now make up Docklands.

We reach Stratford at nine forty two. If I rushed, I mean ran like hell, I might have made the early train, but I don’t, instead I am the last off the train, making my way up to the International station, walk through into the shopping centre.

My target is Waitrose, where I hope to buy a bottle of Vin Santos, and maybe look for something for dinner. I find a bottle, then see a lasagne, some garlic bread; Italian but shaped like a pretzel.

I still have loads of time, so go to the café to have an early lunch, or third breakfast. Hot sausage roll and a muffin.

Lovely.

At twenty to eleven, I go onto the platform and get on the train that pulls in on time. I am sat in my seat and the train pulling away when the announcement apologising for the delay, and that the train was on its way to Margate. But if I stayed on, it would go round the Kent coast to Dover before going back to London. I couldn’t be bothered to get off at Ebbsfleet, so stay on for the grand tour round the Kent coast.

Through Gravesend to Strood then over the metal frame bridge to Rochester, Chatham, Gillingham before on to Sittingbourne and Faversham before the train takes the coast line through Whistable, Herne Bay to Margate, round to Broadstairs, Ramsgate before taking the sharp curve down to Sandwich, Deal to Dover.

OK, I was an hour late, but it had been a glorious day, not a breath of wind, clear blue skies, and was like being on a railtour.

I get a taxi back home, and he drops me off at the end of the road, so I can walk back home so he didn’t have to turn round on our narrow street.

On the way I speak to two neighbours who are happy to chat, meaning I get home at two, and I find I am shattered.

Scully remembers me and tells me its dinner time, so I feed her, and she is happy enough.

I have a migraine coming on, so go to lay down for an hour, or until Jools comes home. I decide its close enough and declare it the weekend, and switch off my work mobile.

I switch on my home PC, and it refuses to come on, seems like a hard drive failure. I guess its six years old, so expected as its well-used. Over coffee Jools and I discuss what to do, and we agree to get a replacement, and order it from Dell.

In the meantime, I seem to have lots of spare time.

I put the lasagne in the oven, and soon it smells good enough. Once cooked I dish it up, and it collapses on the plate, but tastes OK. For the evening, we watch TV: Scottish Grand Tour, and then Tina Weymouth on Bass. Very watchable, and interesting. Its all about the bass.