Friday 29th November 2019

Time to go home.

And for a change I am in Billund, in a room close enough to the airport to hear planes taking off, but far enough away so I don't hear them starting and taxiing.

But it is cold outside, and dark. Always dark.

I shower, get dressed and pack, then go down to settle the bill and have breakfast. There is just two other people eating, odd that this is Denmark's bigegst tourist draw. I know its November, but at least the American family are having the time of their lives, with all the figures and set pieces, all made from Lego, to themselves.

It is rather wonderful.

A quick drive to the airport, drop the car off and walk as quickly as my fat hairy legs would carry me. Check in and beat the rush of the next budget flight, passengers for which are already forming long queues at the check in desk.

I get through, have an hour to kill. I look at the Lego shop, and the wind turbine. €209 is a hefty price. One day, perhaps.

So I set up on a table, check mails and send out updates.

The budget flight was leaving from the gate next to ours, meaning that as we try to get past them queueing on the steps, they think we're jumping the line and trip us up. I have seen it before. So I am prepared, I have to go down saying "London City" making it clear I pay lots more than they have for their flight to the sun, and I was not jumping their line.

And that was the case, I squeeze past an elderly couple who eye me disapprovingly, but then go down to the lower level, where the 28 other passengers were waiting.

Nearly time to go.

We board and are moving off five minutes early, going to the far end of the airfield before turning down the runway and opening up the engines to full.

Away to the east. South east, the sun rises above the horizon, and the clouds part and there is blue sky.

Just in time for me to leave Denmark.

There are stunning cloudscapes as we fly south, the clouds touch the Danish coast, and over Holland, rain clouds start to bubble up promising rain or worse later.

All for my entertainment.

In an hour or so, we drop down to approach London, flying down the Thames, meaning that the low fly by over the City wasn't going to happen this time. But we would be on the ground ten minutes earlier.

We land, and wait for the ground crew to empty the hold, then have the whole length of the terminal to get to immigration. All meaning I would not make the earlier flight. But I had ideas how I could fill my time. Always with the ideas.

I have a seven minute wait for the train, then when I get to Stratford, I go shopping in Waitrose for dinner. And still have time to go to the swish French deli for a loaf of linseed bread, a cup of Americano, and on their recommendation, a slice of cake called a Napoleon.

It was all wonderful. And technically, work.

I go to wait on the platform, call Jools to tell her I had bought rack of lamb, meaning she did not have to go to Tesco on the way back.

All joined up thinking.

The train was less than half full, and once we emerged into the daylight at the end of the East London Tunnel, warm sunlight poured into my side of the train. And it was nearly the weekend.

We zip under the Thames, through north Kent and then under the North Downs to Ashford then to the coast. Nearly home.

There was six taxis waiting at the station, so I get one to take me home, and give the bloke a good tip as once home, once checked mails, it was the weekend.

What's not to like?

And after feeding the cats, I put the kettle on to make a proper brew, and once sat down with my slippers on, the weekend could begin.

Jools came home at three, we have a coffee and polish off a chocolate bar, what with it being the weekend. Not only that, this was the very last Friday Jools was going to have to work having had her hours reduced in a pact so she did not accept the job with the civil service.

We are so smart. And lucky.

Dinner was defrosted ragu and pasta and linseed bread and red wine.

And was magnificent. Even if I say so myself.

We toast ourselves, and eat well.

There is Iggy on the radio, and Alice Roberts on the TV, until it was time for bed.

And another week done.