Monday.
Monday morning rolls round once again. There is rain in the air outside, and it is still very dark. I really do not want to go, but not in a really miserable way. At least I think.
I get ready, as does Jools as she will drop me off on the way to the factory. Traffic is light, and as we pass the castle the lights on the French coast some 23 miles away can be seen. There is the hint of dawn in the east.
I get my ticket and go to wait on the platform. It seems busier than normal, but I could be imagining it. It feels still warm, not November cold anyway. The train glides in, I climb aboard and check my mails before we leave again and disappear into the harbor tunnel thus cutting the phone signal off.
By the time we reach Ashford, it is almost daylight, and the train is full, with people standing by the doors. I close my eyes and Kent slips by. The traffic at Dartford is heavy, but we thunder through at over a hundred, crossing the Essex marshes to Dagenham before heading underground to Stratford.
This really is as routine as I’m making it sound. I know the way now, and so am on autopilot at Stratford, riding the escalator to the concourse, walking to the DLR station, waiting for a train then getting one of the flip down seats so not to block the gangway with my cases. The usual mix of businessmen, construction workers and schoolchildren get on and off as we make our way to London City.
At the airport, I check in, drop my bag but find no one in security, and on a Monday morning. So I am through and sitting down for breakfast by twenty past eight, and eating by half past. I have a second cup of coffee as I watch the news scrolling by on the nearby large TV.
Time to board, no one I know on the flight, so I read a magazine until we’re allowed onto the plane, reading more until we taxi to the end of the runway, more revs are applied, the propellers spin faster, and we lurch forward, leaping into the air as we draw level with the terminal, and up through the clouds into the bright sunlight.
I read more, accept a glass of juice, and the journey passes.
We emerge from the clouds at Billund at tree top height, the clouds are thick and heavy drizzle is in the air. It looks horrible, and pretty much is. I get a hire car, another tiny Citroen, and drive the 45 minutes to the factory for another meeting.
The three hours pass quickly, so back into the car, and the Danish evening, which is pretty much night now as the rain still falls. It is just half an hour into Esbjerg, to the usual hotel. For a change I find a parking space, outside.
That evening I walk to the Dronning Louise again, I have a couple of Christmas beers and a burger whilst reading the John Lydon book.
Still only half seven, but I am tired, so I walk back to the hotel, and take to my bed, hoping sleep would come.
Tuesday.
Another day in paradise.
Outside it is still dark, but we have a late start at nine, which means I don’t have to leave until after eight, so a lay in whilst listening to the delivery truck down below unloading, and the offshore workers making their way down to breakfast.
The day passes well, but I find out that the early start for Wednesday morning is to go ahead, and any thought of finding a place to watch the England v Scotland game is put out of my mind. I’d need my sleep.
I drive to the factory. Work. Have meetings. Inspect stuff. Drive back.
I meet up with Philip and Henrik for dinner at Flammen. There is a Christmas buffet on, and it is good to have someone to talk to over dinner, even if we do talk shop all evening. It helps to vent.
I take to my bed at half eight, once again hoping sleep would come.
Wednesday.
Worried I would over sleep, I suffer a broken night’s sleep, and am wide awake at three and ready in the lobby waiting for Henrik at twenty past four. It is darker than dark outside.
I scrounge a coffee off the guy in reception, which helps me make up some. And at half four we drive to the next factory. We have more coffee there, then begin the inspection a little after five. It feels like winter in Denmark, not only is it dark, but there is a keen wind blowing in from the east. It feels like its below freezing, but its a few above. Still cold to me. The Danes laugh at me as I struggle to do my coat up.
Two hours later, when we have completed the inspection, it is beginning to get light. Day reveals itself to be grey and featureless, a typical Danish day in November. We inspect another tower, taking us to near lunchtime, so I head to the office to meet up with Steffen and the guys.
By mid afternoon I am shattered. My flight home is first thing Thursday morning, and I am booked into the Zleep Hotel at the airport. I bid my friends farewell and take the familiar road to Billund, I check in then head into Billund to look for somewhere to eat.
Billund is like a small version of Milton Keynes, all modern buildings and roundabouts. It looks soulless. I find it depressing. It is also where Lego is designed a made, and I find it disappointing that their buildings do not look like they are built out of plastic bricks. Seems like the business of plastic bricks is serious stuff.
I drive back to the airport, hand the car in and grab a burger in the departure lounge. Its not much, but is OK. Meaning I can go back to the hotel, chill out and get an early nigh, whilst I listen to the sound of the airport outside.
Thursday, 20 November 2014
Sunday, 16 November 2014
Sunday 16th November 2014 (part 2)
Sunday.
Good evening and welcome to the sick house. Rather like the episode of The Young Ones, also called Sick, someone has turned on the sneezing and the not tap, and I am suffering. I got three hours sleep last night, and feel like crap. Urgh.
I was awake just before three, and further sleep would not come, so I got up and did some computering, some reading and tea drinking. Dawn was a long time timing. I fed the cats, they then left me to my sniffling. I finished the Danny Baker book. Where did it all go right, Danny? Well, almost all the time it seems. And although I have not had a multi-media career which helped me spunk millions in holidays and the such, I do feel that despite never having had a plan in life, here I am, travelling, if not the globe, then the UK - Denmark axis, clocking up the air miles, in tiny amounts, and testing beers as a freelancer.
I have no idea, really, how I came to be here, but I am and so I had better make the best of it.
After breakfast, we decided to go for a walk near where Jools works, as I had not seen that part of HYthe before, and the promise was of tabernacles, fishing boats and canals. And I saw them all. We parked near the factory, and walked along the esplanade a bit, so I could take in the conversion of a Martello tower which was now a fine looking house, but one suspects the owners could not get away with that kind of thing now. Two further towers could be seen a little way along the coast in the Army Firing Range, and they looked untouched. Apart, one suspects, from the odd stray round or two. More fishing boats were laid up on the beach, we found the much-fabled smoke house which should keep us in smoked haddock as and when we need it.
We drove back through Saltwood, where I had seen a fine looking village hall to photograph. That done we drove back through narrow wooded lanes, all golden in the weak sunshine showing through a break in the cloud. We drove home down the Elham Valley, through Folkestone and home for the last of the first Christmas cake and a strong coffee.
At two we drove back into Dover for Jools' Autie's 70th birthday, or something. It was someone's birthday, the wife of the (late) brother of my father-in-law, that makes me confused just thinking about it. Now, being the only child of two only children, family get-togethers usually took place whenever the six of us ate on a Sunday, Christmas, Easter or whenever there was a birthday. Marilyn had hired a huge hall, and it was full with about 200, not all related, but most of them. It was all a bit much, really, and after an hour we played the we have to get back to the car as the ticket is about to run out line.
We came home, had more coffee, and I listened to the Wales (football) game on the radio, and in due course cooked dinner; a warmed through roast beef and new steamed veg dinner, which whilst not as good as the one on Thursday, took a lot less time than to cook from fresh.
We washed that down with a bottle of the 2011 Elderberry wine we made some 38 months ago, to find it had turned into brandy, or some other fortified wine, and blew our socks off. One glass was enough!
All that was left was to pack for the morning commute to Denmark, shave and write this. Job done, see you all on Thursday.
Probably.
Good evening and welcome to the sick house. Rather like the episode of The Young Ones, also called Sick, someone has turned on the sneezing and the not tap, and I am suffering. I got three hours sleep last night, and feel like crap. Urgh.
I was awake just before three, and further sleep would not come, so I got up and did some computering, some reading and tea drinking. Dawn was a long time timing. I fed the cats, they then left me to my sniffling. I finished the Danny Baker book. Where did it all go right, Danny? Well, almost all the time it seems. And although I have not had a multi-media career which helped me spunk millions in holidays and the such, I do feel that despite never having had a plan in life, here I am, travelling, if not the globe, then the UK - Denmark axis, clocking up the air miles, in tiny amounts, and testing beers as a freelancer.
I have no idea, really, how I came to be here, but I am and so I had better make the best of it.
After breakfast, we decided to go for a walk near where Jools works, as I had not seen that part of HYthe before, and the promise was of tabernacles, fishing boats and canals. And I saw them all. We parked near the factory, and walked along the esplanade a bit, so I could take in the conversion of a Martello tower which was now a fine looking house, but one suspects the owners could not get away with that kind of thing now. Two further towers could be seen a little way along the coast in the Army Firing Range, and they looked untouched. Apart, one suspects, from the odd stray round or two. More fishing boats were laid up on the beach, we found the much-fabled smoke house which should keep us in smoked haddock as and when we need it.
We drove back through Saltwood, where I had seen a fine looking village hall to photograph. That done we drove back through narrow wooded lanes, all golden in the weak sunshine showing through a break in the cloud. We drove home down the Elham Valley, through Folkestone and home for the last of the first Christmas cake and a strong coffee.
At two we drove back into Dover for Jools' Autie's 70th birthday, or something. It was someone's birthday, the wife of the (late) brother of my father-in-law, that makes me confused just thinking about it. Now, being the only child of two only children, family get-togethers usually took place whenever the six of us ate on a Sunday, Christmas, Easter or whenever there was a birthday. Marilyn had hired a huge hall, and it was full with about 200, not all related, but most of them. It was all a bit much, really, and after an hour we played the we have to get back to the car as the ticket is about to run out line.
We came home, had more coffee, and I listened to the Wales (football) game on the radio, and in due course cooked dinner; a warmed through roast beef and new steamed veg dinner, which whilst not as good as the one on Thursday, took a lot less time than to cook from fresh.
We washed that down with a bottle of the 2011 Elderberry wine we made some 38 months ago, to find it had turned into brandy, or some other fortified wine, and blew our socks off. One glass was enough!
All that was left was to pack for the morning commute to Denmark, shave and write this. Job done, see you all on Thursday.
Probably.
Sunday 16th November 2014
Saturday.
This is Saturday, watch and smile.
TISWAS.
OooooooooKaayyyyyyyy!
Yes, Saturday. Only, I have woken up with a sore throat, is that allergies or a cold or maybe even the flu? We shall see.
Obviously, we have to go shopping for a few essentials, and end up getting some more beer, a cook book and some other more important stuff. Oh and bacon. And bread. Which combined can make bacon sarnies. Yay. And that is what we have for breakfast, soon the house is full of the smell of burning bacon, because streaky bacon has to be crispy, it is the law.
I decide to skip the haircut, meaning we have the rest of the day with just the need to run some chores in town. So about half nine we set out. I mention the time as I had planned to snap a railtour this weekend, I spent an hour pouring over Google maps to get the best spot, planned Sunday down to the last second, only to fail to spot the tour was on the 15th, and when I was buying a birthday card, I should have been on a bridge at Westenhanger. O well.
Chores done, we are soon back home, having another coffee together with a generous slab of Christmas cake. There seems to be only enough left for one more day. Shame. But then we have two more!
As all games in the top two divisions were cancelled for the international break, I decide I should watch some rugby instead of complaining about it. But much to my dismay, the England games was on Sky, so I had to put up with Wales v Fiji, and a very poor game that was; lots of mistakes, missed passes and dreadful refereeing. But then after that, the football team were due to play, and I am sure they could play much worse than Wales and Fiji. And almost did, a poor first half gave way to a barely better second, before England scored an own goal, and then sprung into life banging in three in the final 15 minutes. Just about OK, but won't set the world on fire.
I cook steak and chips and sweetcorn and peas and garlic mushrooms for dinner. It is wonderful, and just about finishes us: the badgers get some steak gristle and fat as well as a few crispy chips in their bowl, before we call it a night, and we take to our bed.
Sadly, it is a cold I have, and laying down causes much sneezing and sniffing. Its going to be a long night.....
This is Saturday, watch and smile.
TISWAS.
OooooooooKaayyyyyyyy!
Yes, Saturday. Only, I have woken up with a sore throat, is that allergies or a cold or maybe even the flu? We shall see.
Obviously, we have to go shopping for a few essentials, and end up getting some more beer, a cook book and some other more important stuff. Oh and bacon. And bread. Which combined can make bacon sarnies. Yay. And that is what we have for breakfast, soon the house is full of the smell of burning bacon, because streaky bacon has to be crispy, it is the law.
I decide to skip the haircut, meaning we have the rest of the day with just the need to run some chores in town. So about half nine we set out. I mention the time as I had planned to snap a railtour this weekend, I spent an hour pouring over Google maps to get the best spot, planned Sunday down to the last second, only to fail to spot the tour was on the 15th, and when I was buying a birthday card, I should have been on a bridge at Westenhanger. O well.
Chores done, we are soon back home, having another coffee together with a generous slab of Christmas cake. There seems to be only enough left for one more day. Shame. But then we have two more!
As all games in the top two divisions were cancelled for the international break, I decide I should watch some rugby instead of complaining about it. But much to my dismay, the England games was on Sky, so I had to put up with Wales v Fiji, and a very poor game that was; lots of mistakes, missed passes and dreadful refereeing. But then after that, the football team were due to play, and I am sure they could play much worse than Wales and Fiji. And almost did, a poor first half gave way to a barely better second, before England scored an own goal, and then sprung into life banging in three in the final 15 minutes. Just about OK, but won't set the world on fire.
I cook steak and chips and sweetcorn and peas and garlic mushrooms for dinner. It is wonderful, and just about finishes us: the badgers get some steak gristle and fat as well as a few crispy chips in their bowl, before we call it a night, and we take to our bed.
Sadly, it is a cold I have, and laying down causes much sneezing and sniffing. Its going to be a long night.....
Saturday, 15 November 2014
Saturday 15th November 2014
Friday.
Oh yes, our good friend Mr Friday, how have you been?
I may has said that yesterday too. Well, I like Fridays, last day of the working week and all that. Weekend comes soon after four in the afternoon, and it stretches before us like a huge uncharted island. Lovely.
I worked from home, whilst Jools took the car and headed to the factory in Hythe, some 18.3 miles away. I mention the distance because it doesn't seem that far normally, but in heavy traffic it can take a while, so Jools allows extra time for travel, and me more time on me tod with the cats.
As usual, work went tits up first thing, and I was fire fighting most of the day, but calm was restored by afternoon and I was able to turn the computer off by four and watch the sun go down outside, and then be reminded on a regular basis that I really should be feeding the cats by now.
Jools arrived home, we had pasta and some wine for dinner, and after channel surfing ended up watching a documentary about WWII in colour. It was rather good, and the war still has the power to shock some 70 years later with scenes of the Warsaw Ghetto and then the death caps. How pure the Nazi's evil was, and I wondered how they rationally came to the final solution and not one person, apparently, thought this was wrong. It still happened today, maybe not the death camps, but the demonising of a minority, making them seem less human, easy to report when there are deaths. All life is sacred and special, not just collateral damage.
That was Friday, all done, now bring on the weekend.....
Oh yes, our good friend Mr Friday, how have you been?
I may has said that yesterday too. Well, I like Fridays, last day of the working week and all that. Weekend comes soon after four in the afternoon, and it stretches before us like a huge uncharted island. Lovely.
I worked from home, whilst Jools took the car and headed to the factory in Hythe, some 18.3 miles away. I mention the distance because it doesn't seem that far normally, but in heavy traffic it can take a while, so Jools allows extra time for travel, and me more time on me tod with the cats.
As usual, work went tits up first thing, and I was fire fighting most of the day, but calm was restored by afternoon and I was able to turn the computer off by four and watch the sun go down outside, and then be reminded on a regular basis that I really should be feeding the cats by now.
Jools arrived home, we had pasta and some wine for dinner, and after channel surfing ended up watching a documentary about WWII in colour. It was rather good, and the war still has the power to shock some 70 years later with scenes of the Warsaw Ghetto and then the death caps. How pure the Nazi's evil was, and I wondered how they rationally came to the final solution and not one person, apparently, thought this was wrong. It still happened today, maybe not the death camps, but the demonising of a minority, making them seem less human, easy to report when there are deaths. All life is sacred and special, not just collateral damage.
That was Friday, all done, now bring on the weekend.....
Friday, 14 November 2014
Friday 14th November 2014
Thursday.
And what is this, waking up in my own bed, on a Thursday, what in darnation is this craziness? Oh yes, back home last night, so I get to work from home as the wind doth blow outside and there will be no desks at Ice Station Ramsgate. So, Jools gets ready for her commute to Hythe, I sip coffee and watch the recording or Sunday's football, Arsenal throwing away another lead, before I settled down to the business of the day, switching on the computer and having another coffee. And another.
I treat the brids outside to an extra pot of food, as they seem to be so hungry, and the day passes quickly and without incident.
At three, I have to walk to the doctors to collect some drugs, being the time of year when it looks cold outside, but isn't really, I put on a coat and a thick work jumper and set off down the street then Station Road into the village. Walking downhill was fine, it felt cold, but back up the other side, my blood started pumping, and I was soon warm enough.
Being nearly half three, the children were leaving school, and being a single male, red faced, I seem to get a few second glances at what I might be doing walking along a public footpath. Walking, obviously. I might make a sign to hand round my neck next time, 'walking to doctors' and not for blue pills.
Anyway, the much promised rain was in the air as I walked back, and I just got home before it began to rain harder. The cats were waiting enquiring where I thought dinner was. Well, its in the cupboards, go and get it. I then pour some crunchies in bowl as a few snacks for then, and then begin the very serious business of preparing roast beef. I weigh the joint, calculate cooking time, coat it in flour and season the ends. Peel the potatoes, put on to boil, mix the Yorkshire Pudding, finally prepare the rest of the vegetables. Back in the living room I select a bottle of red to have with dinner, and all is set.
I time it perfectly, giving Jools ten min utes to change before dishing up: the house is filled with glorious smells, and if I say so myself, tastes as good as it smells. And looks.
And tomorrow is Friday, and after that the weekend which holds the promise of shopping, haircuts, and maybe some train chasing. Who knows.
And what is this, waking up in my own bed, on a Thursday, what in darnation is this craziness? Oh yes, back home last night, so I get to work from home as the wind doth blow outside and there will be no desks at Ice Station Ramsgate. So, Jools gets ready for her commute to Hythe, I sip coffee and watch the recording or Sunday's football, Arsenal throwing away another lead, before I settled down to the business of the day, switching on the computer and having another coffee. And another.
I treat the brids outside to an extra pot of food, as they seem to be so hungry, and the day passes quickly and without incident.
At three, I have to walk to the doctors to collect some drugs, being the time of year when it looks cold outside, but isn't really, I put on a coat and a thick work jumper and set off down the street then Station Road into the village. Walking downhill was fine, it felt cold, but back up the other side, my blood started pumping, and I was soon warm enough.
Being nearly half three, the children were leaving school, and being a single male, red faced, I seem to get a few second glances at what I might be doing walking along a public footpath. Walking, obviously. I might make a sign to hand round my neck next time, 'walking to doctors' and not for blue pills.
Anyway, the much promised rain was in the air as I walked back, and I just got home before it began to rain harder. The cats were waiting enquiring where I thought dinner was. Well, its in the cupboards, go and get it. I then pour some crunchies in bowl as a few snacks for then, and then begin the very serious business of preparing roast beef. I weigh the joint, calculate cooking time, coat it in flour and season the ends. Peel the potatoes, put on to boil, mix the Yorkshire Pudding, finally prepare the rest of the vegetables. Back in the living room I select a bottle of red to have with dinner, and all is set.
I time it perfectly, giving Jools ten min utes to change before dishing up: the house is filled with glorious smells, and if I say so myself, tastes as good as it smells. And looks.
And tomorrow is Friday, and after that the weekend which holds the promise of shopping, haircuts, and maybe some train chasing. Who knows.
Thursday, 13 November 2014
Thursday 13th November 2014
Wednesday.
Now, It should have been the third of my five days away, and yet here I was packing ready to go home. Because of the surprise news that the customer would be going home early, I was able to arrange an early flight back home, and so have four days back in Blighty over the weekend, before flying back to Denmark again on Monday.
I gave myself an extra long lay in bed, until it was getting light outside, before springing into action, packing, getting ready for a day's work and travel home. Once checked out, I drove to the office in Esbjerg, ready to catch up on my mail before it was time to leave for the airport.
Much to my surprise, I had a ticket for the business lounge, so I settled down with some free beer and try to finish the Danny Baker book. Outside, the rain fell and night fell by mid-afternoon. Or so it seemed. The flight was called, and we made our way to the gate. I slumped into seat 3A, opened my book and preparations for take off went on around me.
We took off into the angry skies, and soon Denmark was lost to view out of the window. I carried on reading, enthralled in my book, Europe rolled by, and when I looked back out, the Belgian coastline could be seen as we crossed the North Sea towards Essex.
We flew over Southend, across The Thames along the line of the A2 and then round the southern suburbs until we passed over the transmitter at Crystal Palace, the plane swung north, passing over the old Battersea Power Station and then swooping lower over the Thames, Piccadilly Circus, Buckingham Palace, Harrods, Regent Park Zoo: they all rolled by below me. It is a glorious sight, looking north I could see the arch of the Barlow Train Shed where the train to Dover would be being prepared for the run to the coast, maybe I could make it and be home by eight fifteen.
We landed, and taxied to a slot very quickly: a bus rolled up and be de-bused quickly. There was no queue at immigration, my case was waiting for me. I swept it up, went out to the DLR station, for a four minute wait for a train to Stratford. I checked my watch, it was going to be tight. How is it when you are in a hurry does it seem the train is taking its time? Well, it did. And as we finally rolled into Stratford International, I had a minute to get up the stairs, cross to the Southeastern platforms, down the stairs there. I wasn't going to make it, so I was last off the train, and ambled up to the lounge, had a gingerbread latte and read some more until it was time to go to the platform.
Catching this later train means it has only 6 coaches rather than the 12 the direct train to Dover had, so there is little chance of a seat, and so it was as some greedy people rather their bags or coats were comfortable rather than give up half the double seat for a fellow traveller. Oh well, its just half an hour to where i change at Stratford. Standing on the platform, there were no clouds overhead, and the moon, now past full was rising in the east.A couple of Eurostars thunder past on the avoiding lines, leaving the overhead wires bouncing in their wake.
The train to Dover rumbles in, we all rush on, but there is more than enough room for us all. We travel through the darkness and I have my head buried in the book, I look up to see us arriving in Folkestone. As we emerge from Abbotscliff Tunnel, I could see the lights of France twinking across the Channel, I was nearly home.
Jools was waiting, I throw my cases in the back of the car, and off we go to the house on the cliffs. You know the drill by now, we have a bite to eat and me a huge cuppa. Another long, long day was over, and I was home two days early.
One for the good guys then!
Now, It should have been the third of my five days away, and yet here I was packing ready to go home. Because of the surprise news that the customer would be going home early, I was able to arrange an early flight back home, and so have four days back in Blighty over the weekend, before flying back to Denmark again on Monday.
I gave myself an extra long lay in bed, until it was getting light outside, before springing into action, packing, getting ready for a day's work and travel home. Once checked out, I drove to the office in Esbjerg, ready to catch up on my mail before it was time to leave for the airport.
Much to my surprise, I had a ticket for the business lounge, so I settled down with some free beer and try to finish the Danny Baker book. Outside, the rain fell and night fell by mid-afternoon. Or so it seemed. The flight was called, and we made our way to the gate. I slumped into seat 3A, opened my book and preparations for take off went on around me.
We took off into the angry skies, and soon Denmark was lost to view out of the window. I carried on reading, enthralled in my book, Europe rolled by, and when I looked back out, the Belgian coastline could be seen as we crossed the North Sea towards Essex.
We flew over Southend, across The Thames along the line of the A2 and then round the southern suburbs until we passed over the transmitter at Crystal Palace, the plane swung north, passing over the old Battersea Power Station and then swooping lower over the Thames, Piccadilly Circus, Buckingham Palace, Harrods, Regent Park Zoo: they all rolled by below me. It is a glorious sight, looking north I could see the arch of the Barlow Train Shed where the train to Dover would be being prepared for the run to the coast, maybe I could make it and be home by eight fifteen.
We landed, and taxied to a slot very quickly: a bus rolled up and be de-bused quickly. There was no queue at immigration, my case was waiting for me. I swept it up, went out to the DLR station, for a four minute wait for a train to Stratford. I checked my watch, it was going to be tight. How is it when you are in a hurry does it seem the train is taking its time? Well, it did. And as we finally rolled into Stratford International, I had a minute to get up the stairs, cross to the Southeastern platforms, down the stairs there. I wasn't going to make it, so I was last off the train, and ambled up to the lounge, had a gingerbread latte and read some more until it was time to go to the platform.
Catching this later train means it has only 6 coaches rather than the 12 the direct train to Dover had, so there is little chance of a seat, and so it was as some greedy people rather their bags or coats were comfortable rather than give up half the double seat for a fellow traveller. Oh well, its just half an hour to where i change at Stratford. Standing on the platform, there were no clouds overhead, and the moon, now past full was rising in the east.A couple of Eurostars thunder past on the avoiding lines, leaving the overhead wires bouncing in their wake.
The train to Dover rumbles in, we all rush on, but there is more than enough room for us all. We travel through the darkness and I have my head buried in the book, I look up to see us arriving in Folkestone. As we emerge from Abbotscliff Tunnel, I could see the lights of France twinking across the Channel, I was nearly home.
Jools was waiting, I throw my cases in the back of the car, and off we go to the house on the cliffs. You know the drill by now, we have a bite to eat and me a huge cuppa. Another long, long day was over, and I was home two days early.
One for the good guys then!
Wednesday, 12 November 2014
Wednesday 12th November 2014
Monday.
All though Sunday night, lightning flashed and thunder cracked around and over the house. Waking up at five fifteen was no better with the storm raging all around, or so it seemed. I checked the trains, then the airport, all seemed to be working but then it was early.
I had a coffee, a little fruit, then it was time to go.
The rain was hammering it down, making driving tricky, if not nearly impossible. Jools drove into Dover, heading down Castle hill, the runoff turned to road into a river. Lightning still flashed around. Any strike on the railway would stop the signals working, and there would be no travel for maybe an hour. Inside the station I checked the departures, all seemed well and on time, so I got my ticket and waited on the platform, checking my mails on the phone to see if there were any actions I could take.
The train arrived on time, and in still heavy rain we got on and waited to move off. It crawled to Folkestone, and I felt that any moment we would stop altogether. But, we made it, and the clouds were already parting and blue sky could be glimpsed. The train filled up as we called at the stations in Folkestone, and again in Ashford. By now there was no rain, and there were almost no clouds as the sun rose away to the east.
As I have said before, the journey into and then across London is now so routine that I hardly give it any thought. So, I walked to the DLR station, got on, found a copy of The Metro to read the latest tribulations of Spurs and The Arse. That took a couple of minutes of the journey.
I got off at the airport, got my boarding card, checked in my bag and went up through security. Another ten minutes gone. I have 90 minutes to kill, so I have breakfast. A big breakfast. At fifteen quid, it seemed better value than the poached eggs on a piece of toast. Sausage, back, poached eggs, beans, hash browns, tomatoes, mushroom and a cuppa. I order another cuppa, then realize my flight is about to be called. I slurp it down, look at the board and the gate is up.
We climb aboard the small aircraft, I get my normal seat in row 7, with views I hope over London as turn to the north. We shall see.
The engines start, we have the safety brief, and off we trundle, making our way to the far end of the runway, before standing on the piano keys, reving the engines before the pitch of the propellers are changes, and the plane strains forward. Brakes are released, and off we go, bouncing down the runway, getting faster and faster before we climb into the blue skies.
We turn to the north, and I am treated to a fine view down the river and The City. The familiar sights of north London and south Essex roll by below. Ipswich rolls by, but all else is lost beneath a blanket of cloud. I turn to my book and the flight rushes by.
Denmark is under cloud, no surprise there. But the cloud reaches down to just a few metres about ground, maybe 20 or so. So we do not see the ground until we are skipping over the perimeter fence and down the runway. Outside the rain is falling hard.
I get given a Polo for the week, I find it in the car park, find the boot is not big enough for both my cases, so my briefcase sits on the back seat. It is a very familiar drive down to Esbjerg, and to the office with my friends. I have an office, so settle down to fire off dozens of mails.
At four, I go to the hotel, check in and find I am on the wonderful top floor for the first time, in one of the rooms that has been renovated. I have fine views over the rooftops of the town, although it is pretty much dark so I watch the traffic coping with the rain until it is time for dinner.
The rain had stopped, so I go for a walk, checking out my old haunt, Paddy Go Easy, and find it is being renovated, and so I hope for a good pint of red sometime soon.
So that left the usual places, so I walk into the Dronning Louise to find it almost empty, I take a table and order a lamb burger and a pint of Christmas ale and whilst waiting read more of my book. The temptation to open a tab and try all nine Christmas beers is strong, but not wise, so I have a second, then walk back to the hotel to write some final mails before bed.
Tuesday.
Up at dawn, or even before that. Outside I could hear the traffic rumbling. I have a shower, get ready go to breakfast, and all that is left is an half hour drive to the factory. I am surprised to see the road in the other direction so full of traffic it seems just like a solid line of headlights.
At the factory, we have an hour to wait and then its show time.
The day ends just before four, with the news that there would be no more inspections the rest of the week, I try to arrange an early return trip home and so have a long weekend with Jools and them cats.
Flight arranged, I am happy so drive back to Esbjerg, arrange an early check out for the morning, dump my stuff and grab my camera and have just enough daylight for an hours walk and snapping. My plan was to snap the track laying on the harbor branch, as something is so rare back home. Now, no one is sure what traffic is going to use it, but there must have been a 100 folks working on it in various places.
I snap them, the sun set, the harbor. Oh look, I say to myself, I’m near Dronning louise; why not have a Christmas beer. Good idea I think. So, I am settled into a fine leather armchair, sipping on a strong beer watching the highlights of the weekend’s games on Eurosport. And I’m meeting with a friend later. And I’m orf home tomorroa. I am happy indeed.
Steffen calls, we agree to eat at Flammen, then have another beer. And another. And like a well oiled plan, that is what we do. After lots of meat in Flammen, we walk to the sports bar for another, then to Dronning Louise for another.
I am tired and full.
I bid Steffen goodnight as he circles some poor young lady, so I leave him to his sharking, and walk back to the hotel.
People ask me, what is Denmark like? And my usual answer is that is like a slightly hillier Norfolk. I mean rolling fields, farms, woodlands, bogs, villages all pretty much look the same here in Jutland, but am I being a little unfair?
Well, it has much better transport than Norfolk for one, and it is really very clean, little rubbish and fly-tipping to mar the views. But, one bit of Jutland looks like another, but then Holland is pretty much the same all over as well, and they don’t complain.
But then neither do the Danish.
The Danes what are they like? Well, quite removed from their Viking heritage, there seems to be little appetite for robbing, pillaging. Not sure about the raping thing though. Though they do like a bit of bacon, strong beer, meat, cycling, reality TV, football, handball. It really isn’t a bad place, nor are the people.
But it is expensive, but not so bad as Norway. Its not so cold either, doesn’t snow much, they have a lot of rain and wind. Traffic is a problem in bigger towns and cities, but then it’s the same the world over. It does get dark early this time of year, and stays light late in high summer, but that is to be expected, no?
Most Danes speak English to some extent, and if you are able to say Tak back, or Skol, they seem very happy indeed. After four and a half years of travelling here, I am sure that I should have learnt more that Tak, Skol, Ol, but the Danes seems happy enough and I get by. Well, I get drinks, say thanks when one is brought over and how to toast the person who supplied it. What else is there?
It is a pleasure to arrive, but more to leave and head back to Blighty where a good cuppa can be had, as well as a proper bacon. From Denmark, of course.
All though Sunday night, lightning flashed and thunder cracked around and over the house. Waking up at five fifteen was no better with the storm raging all around, or so it seemed. I checked the trains, then the airport, all seemed to be working but then it was early.
I had a coffee, a little fruit, then it was time to go.
The rain was hammering it down, making driving tricky, if not nearly impossible. Jools drove into Dover, heading down Castle hill, the runoff turned to road into a river. Lightning still flashed around. Any strike on the railway would stop the signals working, and there would be no travel for maybe an hour. Inside the station I checked the departures, all seemed well and on time, so I got my ticket and waited on the platform, checking my mails on the phone to see if there were any actions I could take.
The train arrived on time, and in still heavy rain we got on and waited to move off. It crawled to Folkestone, and I felt that any moment we would stop altogether. But, we made it, and the clouds were already parting and blue sky could be glimpsed. The train filled up as we called at the stations in Folkestone, and again in Ashford. By now there was no rain, and there were almost no clouds as the sun rose away to the east.
As I have said before, the journey into and then across London is now so routine that I hardly give it any thought. So, I walked to the DLR station, got on, found a copy of The Metro to read the latest tribulations of Spurs and The Arse. That took a couple of minutes of the journey.
I got off at the airport, got my boarding card, checked in my bag and went up through security. Another ten minutes gone. I have 90 minutes to kill, so I have breakfast. A big breakfast. At fifteen quid, it seemed better value than the poached eggs on a piece of toast. Sausage, back, poached eggs, beans, hash browns, tomatoes, mushroom and a cuppa. I order another cuppa, then realize my flight is about to be called. I slurp it down, look at the board and the gate is up.
We climb aboard the small aircraft, I get my normal seat in row 7, with views I hope over London as turn to the north. We shall see.
The engines start, we have the safety brief, and off we trundle, making our way to the far end of the runway, before standing on the piano keys, reving the engines before the pitch of the propellers are changes, and the plane strains forward. Brakes are released, and off we go, bouncing down the runway, getting faster and faster before we climb into the blue skies.
We turn to the north, and I am treated to a fine view down the river and The City. The familiar sights of north London and south Essex roll by below. Ipswich rolls by, but all else is lost beneath a blanket of cloud. I turn to my book and the flight rushes by.
Denmark is under cloud, no surprise there. But the cloud reaches down to just a few metres about ground, maybe 20 or so. So we do not see the ground until we are skipping over the perimeter fence and down the runway. Outside the rain is falling hard.
I get given a Polo for the week, I find it in the car park, find the boot is not big enough for both my cases, so my briefcase sits on the back seat. It is a very familiar drive down to Esbjerg, and to the office with my friends. I have an office, so settle down to fire off dozens of mails.
At four, I go to the hotel, check in and find I am on the wonderful top floor for the first time, in one of the rooms that has been renovated. I have fine views over the rooftops of the town, although it is pretty much dark so I watch the traffic coping with the rain until it is time for dinner.
The rain had stopped, so I go for a walk, checking out my old haunt, Paddy Go Easy, and find it is being renovated, and so I hope for a good pint of red sometime soon.
So that left the usual places, so I walk into the Dronning Louise to find it almost empty, I take a table and order a lamb burger and a pint of Christmas ale and whilst waiting read more of my book. The temptation to open a tab and try all nine Christmas beers is strong, but not wise, so I have a second, then walk back to the hotel to write some final mails before bed.
Tuesday.
Up at dawn, or even before that. Outside I could hear the traffic rumbling. I have a shower, get ready go to breakfast, and all that is left is an half hour drive to the factory. I am surprised to see the road in the other direction so full of traffic it seems just like a solid line of headlights.
At the factory, we have an hour to wait and then its show time.
The day ends just before four, with the news that there would be no more inspections the rest of the week, I try to arrange an early return trip home and so have a long weekend with Jools and them cats.
Flight arranged, I am happy so drive back to Esbjerg, arrange an early check out for the morning, dump my stuff and grab my camera and have just enough daylight for an hours walk and snapping. My plan was to snap the track laying on the harbor branch, as something is so rare back home. Now, no one is sure what traffic is going to use it, but there must have been a 100 folks working on it in various places.
I snap them, the sun set, the harbor. Oh look, I say to myself, I’m near Dronning louise; why not have a Christmas beer. Good idea I think. So, I am settled into a fine leather armchair, sipping on a strong beer watching the highlights of the weekend’s games on Eurosport. And I’m meeting with a friend later. And I’m orf home tomorroa. I am happy indeed.
Steffen calls, we agree to eat at Flammen, then have another beer. And another. And like a well oiled plan, that is what we do. After lots of meat in Flammen, we walk to the sports bar for another, then to Dronning Louise for another.
I am tired and full.
I bid Steffen goodnight as he circles some poor young lady, so I leave him to his sharking, and walk back to the hotel.
People ask me, what is Denmark like? And my usual answer is that is like a slightly hillier Norfolk. I mean rolling fields, farms, woodlands, bogs, villages all pretty much look the same here in Jutland, but am I being a little unfair?
Well, it has much better transport than Norfolk for one, and it is really very clean, little rubbish and fly-tipping to mar the views. But, one bit of Jutland looks like another, but then Holland is pretty much the same all over as well, and they don’t complain.
But then neither do the Danish.
The Danes what are they like? Well, quite removed from their Viking heritage, there seems to be little appetite for robbing, pillaging. Not sure about the raping thing though. Though they do like a bit of bacon, strong beer, meat, cycling, reality TV, football, handball. It really isn’t a bad place, nor are the people.
But it is expensive, but not so bad as Norway. Its not so cold either, doesn’t snow much, they have a lot of rain and wind. Traffic is a problem in bigger towns and cities, but then it’s the same the world over. It does get dark early this time of year, and stays light late in high summer, but that is to be expected, no?
Most Danes speak English to some extent, and if you are able to say Tak back, or Skol, they seem very happy indeed. After four and a half years of travelling here, I am sure that I should have learnt more that Tak, Skol, Ol, but the Danes seems happy enough and I get by. Well, I get drinks, say thanks when one is brought over and how to toast the person who supplied it. What else is there?
It is a pleasure to arrive, but more to leave and head back to Blighty where a good cuppa can be had, as well as a proper bacon. From Denmark, of course.
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