Wednesday 8th May 2019

Time to travel.

The alarm went off at half four, outside it was still dark, and I could hear the rain hammering against the bedroom window.

May in St Maggies. We get up and manage to get dressed, have coffee and generally be ready to leave the house at quarter to six, ready to be at Martin Mill in time to see the huge 12 coach train to Cannon Street just about to leave. The guard asked, did I want to get on? NO, I need something faster.

I'll wait for the high speed service.

I was the first to wait for the train, but soon other very early risers join me under the small station awning, out of the rain. The weather is even keeping the crows quiet in their nests swaying in the tree tops on the other side of the station.

The train arrives, we pile on and out of the rain.

I get my usual seat, and sit to watch the countryside slip by until we exit Guston tunnel and Dover is laid out below, as the rain runs down the loop to Buckland junction.

The rain continues to hammer down.

We continue to London, dawn breaks, but it gets no lighter.

I get off at Stratford, and make my way to the airport, in the packed DLR train, but arrive in plenty of time, check my case in and go to security, but find it as busy as a Monday, which I wasn't expecting.

All places to eat were packed, so I find somewhere to sit and read, then when a few flights left, I go to the restaurant for breakfast of fruit and yogurt. That cost a tenner.

Or cost the company a tenner.

The flight is called, and I find that one of my old QIs is on the flight, so we catch up and swap news and stories until it was time to board.

We take off into the leaden skies, I thought cloud would be too low for pictures, so my camera sat in the bag as the plan did turn and there were the usual views along the river. But was soon gone.

We climb into clouds, and the plane lurches. It lurches so many more times, I grip the armrests of the seat.

But we soon climb out of the clouds, into the bright sunshine, and the flight was smooth then on.

At Billund, I get given a Mercedes thing, I have no idea of the model, its OK, more than enough room for me and my case.

I drive down to Esbjerg down familiar roads and towns, getting to the port at half one, time for the first of the meetings that would stretch until quarter past five.

Sigh.

So, at half five I go to the hotel. Then to another one as I wasn't booked into the first one after all.

My mistake.

I check in, look at the inbox and give up.

I was supposed to meet a friend at Dronning Louise, but Henrik fails to turn up, seems like he had car trouble, uh oh, and had forgot the appointment.

So I go in for an orange juice and lemonade. No, really. And there's a familiar figure propping up the bar. An old regular from the Paddy Go Easy bar back in the day. Hello, I says, are you the librarian?

How did you know I am a librarian he says, sharply.

I can read your thoughts, says I.

He was really looking spooked now. How did I know?

I just got the vibe, I said.

In the end, I drop a few clues and he gets it, but fails to remember me, I can never forget yellow teeth like that.

And I never realised what an old soak he was, as I left him downing pints like there was no tomorrow.

Oh well.

So I walk back to the hotel to have a quiet meal of burger, fries and coke.

I ten watch the Spurs v Ajax game, not expecting much, and with Spurs down 3-0 on aggregate at half time, I nearly go to bed. I'll give them ten minutes.

Spurs score.

Then score again.

But it won't be like Liverpool again, would it?

in the 95th minute, after some desperate hoofing, the bal falls at the feet of the Spurs forward, he swings his foot, and the shot creeps in at the far post. The Ajax crowd, that had been celebrating hard for ten minutes, were silenced.

Spurs go mad.

Go home football, you're drunk.