Monday 19th September 2022

When I booked this trip three weeks ago, I didn’t know there was going to be a funeral. A royal one, at that. I have been tasked with coming here to Denmark to carry out an audit, and it had to be in person, apparently.

Then the Queen passed and I really didn’t know until yesterday if the trip was going ahead. That’s when I checked in online, so confirming the trip was on. Now, I don’t know if you’ve been watching the news, but there’s been a few people in that London, and with the funeral, it seemed more than reasonable to think trains to London would be packed. I didn’t even try to book a hotel.

So, the idea was to get up really early, almost before we went to bed, so I could catch the first train to St Pancras, at then to six. I thought I stood a good chance of getting on if many were going up to line the funeral route.

So, the alarm went off at half four, we got up and fed the cats, made coffee and made the last preparations before leaving. Jools had the day off as it’s a bank holiday, I’ll take mine on Friday. Anyway, she took me to Priory Station, and there was no one on the roads, just two people dragging heavy cases from the cruise terminal.

I bought my ticket, and on the platform, very few people around. The Train that was departing to Charing Cross had a few people on it, some in suits, so they were going. But even by the time my train made to leave, I had the whole carriage to myself.

The rails to the international platforms at Ashford are dull and rusty, after two and a half years out of use, and not likely to be used much before 2025 either, if at all.

And as the train crossed Kent and the sun rose, a few people got on, but the train was never more than 10% full.

Stratford was deserted. A few people milling about, but very few. I walked to the DLR station and got on a train, which left within a couple of minutes. Even that was quiet, and once the train turned back east at Canning Town, there were few people on board, with just a half dozen other getting off with me at the airport.

I checked my case in and went upstairs to go through security. That took ten minutes. I still had two hours before my flight. So, I went for breakfast, had a fry up which I let the company pay for. From my seat I could see the line of BA tails lined up on the new pan east of the terminal.

The really good news for me is that the direct flight to Billund has started up again, which was a surprise when I came to book up my flight, as I didn’t know it had started again. In fact, I think today was the first flight since March 2020, and the pilot said to us when on board, welcome back.

I watched planes come and go, and the excitement of kids as they were so close to the aircraft. And then I recognized the tiny jet that would carry me off Perfectly Normal Island arrive.

We line up to board, wait on the stairs so pissing off those who wanted to be first, then allowed on, with me back in my seat, 8A. However, across the aisle a Danish kid with a cough barked through the whole flight. Now, normally I wouldn’t mind, but COVID and all that, and despite what Old Joe says, it aint over.

I will isolate when I get home.

Safety demonstration done, the engines are fired up and we trundle off to the end of the taxi way, turn onto the piano keys and roar off down the runway, gather speed quickly. Children scream.

And cough.

And we rise into the air, lifting above the new condos and apartments rising from the industrial wastelands that used to line the river. Up and bank to the north then east, a glimpse of London and its gone, replaced by the sprawl of mile after mile of suburbs.

The kid continues to cough through the flight, his Mother does nothing, so I try to ignore it. Breakfast was served, now with actual metal cutlery and with all fresh yogurt, preserves and fresh bread rolls. It was really very good indeed. Not that I was hungry, but as it was there and there was just the window to look out of…..

Between the fluffy clouds, Denmark slid into view, flying over Esbjerg, then looping round onto final approach into Billund. Back to my second home.

We park at a distant pan, then a bus has to ferry us the 200m to the terminal so we can climb the steps then wait in line at immigration, so we Brits can get our passports stamped. Then walk down the whole terminal building to baggage reclaim where my case was already there.

I had 1040 tea bags for my colleague and friend, so the final step would be to smuggle the case past customs. I can tell you 1040 tea bags filled half my case, with just enough room for three day’s changes of clothes.

Phew.

Through customs and to the car hire place where they have a large VW coupe for me, one I had not heard of before. It was a four seater automatic, and went well.

I know the route so well, I don’t need the sat nav on, just cruise along at 110, as I wasn’t in a rush. Post-COVID, not everyone goes into the office every day, so the need to show my face in the office after eight hours travel is no longer needed, so I go straight to the hotel instead.

I am staying in the Comwell, a tower block near to the harbour. It has limited parking, so its always a risk that you have to park in the nearby shopping centre, but at three in the afternoon, I found spaces. So parked up, grabbed my case and bag and went to check in.

I have a small room on the 11th floor, looking west into the setting sun. Its warm, but I work out the air can to bring it down a few notches.

I was to meet my old RAF buddy, Shaggy, at half five, so I had a shower and feeling refreshed went to the VIP room, as I have a key, for a free soda and bag of crisps.

He pitches up on his new BMW bike, we hug and I wait while he goes to park, and then we can walk along the main road into town to seek out a place to eat by the canal.

Being September, and still warmish (for Denmark), we opt to sit outside to eat, so we can watch the world go by as we catch up.

Old Shags is still doing well, getting ready to harvest his second annual crop of grapes to make wine. First year didn’t produce a good wine, but he has sourced a new yeast to make this years, which he hopes will improve the vintage.

And that was that.

We walk back via The Sherlock Holmes where we have a pint, but no more, as he has to drive home, so we walk back to the hotel in the gathering gloom of the evening, and he roars off into the dusk.