Monday
A couple of weeks back, I arranged for the car to go in the garage for some work, as I knew later in the week I had to be in Denmark. As soon as I put the phone down on the garage, I received news that the meeting had been brought forward, so be in Denmark Tuesday. Which meant traveling MOnday evening, a late night, then an early start on Tuesday. And oh my gosh, no time for anything.
I have to take Jools to work, then battle home through the traffic to get back to Dover in time to be at the garage when it opened, then, sit around whilst the work is done. So, there I am in the waiting room, the battery on my phone died, and just the pile of ancient Top Gear magazines to flick though: is there any think worse than a ten year old Clarkson article? Oh yeah, Clarkson!
The car is done, under warranty, so I can go home, but it is now heading towards 11. Back in Chez Jelltex I power up the laptop, and get down for some work, until I have to pack and get ready for more travel. This is the 3rd week in a row I have traveled to Denmark, and as nice as it is, I am pooped. And the late travel and very late arrival at the hotel would only make things worse. I have lunch, and catch up on mails and am up to date by the time I switch the computer off at three and get ready. I decided to travel light; no case, just carry a change of clothes with me. Which will make my check in easy.
I drive down to Martin Mill and leave the car, so Jools can find it when she returns home. This being the best way she getting home without the car.
The usual trip into London, the weather was bright but windy, and with dusk falling as we enter Stratford. Rush hour is beginning, but I have plenty of time. And what with the stupid prices at the airport, I have found a microbrewery in Stratford City, The Tap East, and can get good beer and cheap food there. I have a pint of local mild and a burger: of course. And so for an hour I sit there, sipping my beer and watching people coming and going, most on their way to worship in this cathedral of commerce. I just drink.
The DLR was crowded, but then it was the start of rush hour. More people watching, and listening. As the mix of languages was mind-boggling as was the glorious melting pot of fashions. And all this just a couple of days after he dreadful events in Paris. Why can't we all just get along? Maybe we can.
I get my boarding pass and am through security in less than 5 minutes. And into the crowded lounge, where almost every seat is taken. But I find one, check my mails and the news. Its all grim out there in the big wild old world it seems, making the thought of selling up and retiring to a remote Scottish island all the more attractive than it was when we were watching that TV show about the Isle of Lewis.
And the flight is delayed! In fact, all flights are delayed, and with no explanation at all. But what is this, a big friendly shape is coing towards me, why its big friendly JFF, or Jesper to his friends. Like me. Have I eaten? Did I want to eat again. I agree to have a coffee and watch him eat salmon lasagne. He buys me a coffee and we chat. As Jools says, everyone lights up a room, some by entering and some by leaving: Jesper is one of the former. A huge ball of positive energy and a delight to be with, and listen to, as he is so job focused and really great at what he does.
Once on our plane, 3 minutes late, the pilot explains that they were late because of strong headwinds. However, we will be flying in the opposite direction, we should make up the time. OK, lets get going.
Once in the air, London is laid out in glorious lit up detail: The City looks like something from a science fiction flim, with every light in every building blazing out. We turn to the north, begin to climb, and over Chelmsford, we lose sight of the ground. I have another meal, a roll and some nice smoked ham. And coffee.
It is nearly ten by the time we pass through the clouds and Denmark comes into view. Towns and villages are lit up, but scattered about in the dark countryside. Once outside the plane, its not raining! How darned unusual! Through immigration, not case to collect and to the car hire place. Needless to say having just an overnight bag with my work stuff and the change of clothes, I am given a seven seat Citroen to spread my stuff around in. Now, just have to get to Arhus.
The way is so well known to me now, I could almost do it blindfolded, but don't of course. Onto the motorway, and putting my foot down I get up to 130kmh and power up to the Arhus south junction, turning off then going up the ringroad to the Scandic. It was just 5 minutes to midnight. I check in, go to my room and check the interwebs for news, whilst I relaxed and grew tired enough for sleep. I set the alarm for seven, giving me six hours or so of sleep. Good night.
Wednesday, 18 November 2015
Monday 16th November 2015
Sunday
And on the seventh day the wind did blow. From the west. Up here on the cliffs, the wind did whistle, but all in all not too bad. However, we wanted to see big rolling and crashing waves, and these we would not see whilst the wind was set westerly. Therefore, after coffee we go in the car to drive to Camber Sands. Camber is, or was, one of those holiday resorts that Hi De Hi gently mocks, a resort that only exists really because of its wind, flat sandy beach. It all is still there; holiday camp, family pubs, small amusement hall. And the beach. And the beach faces west.
The roads were quiet, even along the A20, after calling in at St Martin’s Battery for a look over the harbor to see if there were waves crashing over the Marine Station: there were not, so we drive on, past Folkestone, through Hythe and along the coast road through Dymchurch and both Romneys. From there it was straight across the Romney Marsh, along the rad the traffic was very light, as idiots do try to overtake on blind bends sometimes.
Across the border into Sussex, we turn off the main road onto the Lydd road and a couple of miles along was Camber.
Into the car park, which was already pretty much covered by drifting sand, and with the wind howling, I got out my camera, rain coat and off we went onto the sandflats. And indeed the wind was howling, driving sand along the beach, making it seem eerie. First time I take off the lens cap to take a shot, the wind takes it from my hand and is gone forever.
I stand still, and the sand begins to drift around my feet, part burying them in a few seconds.
Others with dogs and/or children are arriving, enjoying as we are, the thrill of this wonderful weather. There are even a couple of riders on ponies, out trotting along, as is being on a beach with the wind blowing so much sand about makes your feet invisible is a normal thing.
We walk to the point where the waves, not as large and crashing as hoed, but still lapping the beach. That done, we turn and head back for the car, this time with the wind at our backs, pushing us along.
A short drive away is Rye, built on a rocky outcrop and surround by churches, ancient buildings and tat shops. That’s unfair by me, the shops are mostly independent, and worth a look round. Also there are many places to get a cup of coffee and a slice of cake. We chose one and order. And the place is soon filling up nicely.
We walk round the town, I buy a quiche for lunch, then wait for the record shop to open. In it I find a nice Comsat Angels twelve inch picture disc, which is mine for eight quid. The town was now quite busy, so we decide to drive back home and think about what to do for the rest of the day.
For the most part that was listening to the radio, for me, or watching episodes of Enterprise, for Jools. All in all, it worked. There was no football on so the day faded, we had lunch/dinner.
And that is yet another weekend over and done with. How did that happen.
Again?
And on the seventh day the wind did blow. From the west. Up here on the cliffs, the wind did whistle, but all in all not too bad. However, we wanted to see big rolling and crashing waves, and these we would not see whilst the wind was set westerly. Therefore, after coffee we go in the car to drive to Camber Sands. Camber is, or was, one of those holiday resorts that Hi De Hi gently mocks, a resort that only exists really because of its wind, flat sandy beach. It all is still there; holiday camp, family pubs, small amusement hall. And the beach. And the beach faces west.
The roads were quiet, even along the A20, after calling in at St Martin’s Battery for a look over the harbor to see if there were waves crashing over the Marine Station: there were not, so we drive on, past Folkestone, through Hythe and along the coast road through Dymchurch and both Romneys. From there it was straight across the Romney Marsh, along the rad the traffic was very light, as idiots do try to overtake on blind bends sometimes.
Across the border into Sussex, we turn off the main road onto the Lydd road and a couple of miles along was Camber.Into the car park, which was already pretty much covered by drifting sand, and with the wind howling, I got out my camera, rain coat and off we went onto the sandflats. And indeed the wind was howling, driving sand along the beach, making it seem eerie. First time I take off the lens cap to take a shot, the wind takes it from my hand and is gone forever.
I stand still, and the sand begins to drift around my feet, part burying them in a few seconds.Others with dogs and/or children are arriving, enjoying as we are, the thrill of this wonderful weather. There are even a couple of riders on ponies, out trotting along, as is being on a beach with the wind blowing so much sand about makes your feet invisible is a normal thing.
We walk to the point where the waves, not as large and crashing as hoed, but still lapping the beach. That done, we turn and head back for the car, this time with the wind at our backs, pushing us along.A short drive away is Rye, built on a rocky outcrop and surround by churches, ancient buildings and tat shops. That’s unfair by me, the shops are mostly independent, and worth a look round. Also there are many places to get a cup of coffee and a slice of cake. We chose one and order. And the place is soon filling up nicely.
We walk round the town, I buy a quiche for lunch, then wait for the record shop to open. In it I find a nice Comsat Angels twelve inch picture disc, which is mine for eight quid. The town was now quite busy, so we decide to drive back home and think about what to do for the rest of the day.
For the most part that was listening to the radio, for me, or watching episodes of Enterprise, for Jools. All in all, it worked. There was no football on so the day faded, we had lunch/dinner.
And that is yet another weekend over and done with. How did that happen.
Again?
Sunday, 15 November 2015
Sunday 15th November 2015
Saturday
And what with an almighty deluge forecast for just after ten and to last ten hours, there seemed little point in arranging anything other than the usual stuff: shopping, barnet mangle, listen to the radio.
We lay in bed listening to the silence. Well, it would quiet if there were not a purring, dribbling black cat on our chests, hoping that he might get us to get up and feed his nibs. We give in, of course, and once checking the living room floor for dead or partial rodents, the coast is clear to enter the kitchen. All three cats appear from nowhere, so once they have been fed, we get on to our addiction: coffee and then go to Sainsbury's.
I am followed all the way down the Deal Road by a dick in a van who sits about two inches from my back bumper all the way into town. I turn up, and knowing he will try to take one of the other narrow streets to the road along the prom, I speed up and indeed, we reach the junction at the same time, but he has to give way. Jools waves at Mr Dick. We turn towards the shop, and he carried on towards Dickland, where he lives with all the other dicks.
We shop until we fill up the torolley, then load the car and rish to get home before any more dicks are seen.
I need a haircut, so while I go for some abuse and a mangle, I drop Jools off so she can have a wander down the prom, prom, prom. Only, Alan, chief scarcastic bastard barber has retired to a life of constant golf and collecting rent from those who now use the chairs in his shop. It has been thus for some months, and I suppose it has been three months since I was last there, so, I suppose its about right. A young lady cuts my hair, I get no jip, and my hair looks fine.
I drive down to the prom and collect Jools who has had an hour. We drive back home to listen to some radio, but a music station with as little news as possible. Huey takes the blues away, and the morning passes just fine.
Now, it has been some weeks, nay months, since I last went to see Nan. If I am honest, I believe it was round about my birthday, some ten weeks ago. I have been saying for weeks I would go, but as ever once the day came, I tried to make excuses. Not because I don't want to see her, but what can you say to someone laying on a bed for 24 hours a day, too blind to watch TV, too deaf to listen to the radio. Just waiting for the end of one day and the beginning of the next? It might be fair to say that some if this she could make better, she could allow the nurses to take her to the rec room, for bingo and music and company. But she chooses not to. She could put her hearing aid in, but does not like them, so an hour with her is like being in an echo chamber.
On the way back, we go to visit our friends Gary and Julie, have coffee and chats. But the day is slipping away, we have a Mexican banquet to prepare, and the night is young! More truth is that I have bought prepared Mexican food, looks good enough, and smells fine when cooked, but all is stuck to the containers, so burritos and all are in a mush on the plate. But it all tastes the same I suppose.
I avoid Dr. Who, but it sounds madder than ever. And with that, the day is done, just Mr Fry in QI and then it is bed.
And what with an almighty deluge forecast for just after ten and to last ten hours, there seemed little point in arranging anything other than the usual stuff: shopping, barnet mangle, listen to the radio.
We lay in bed listening to the silence. Well, it would quiet if there were not a purring, dribbling black cat on our chests, hoping that he might get us to get up and feed his nibs. We give in, of course, and once checking the living room floor for dead or partial rodents, the coast is clear to enter the kitchen. All three cats appear from nowhere, so once they have been fed, we get on to our addiction: coffee and then go to Sainsbury's.
I am followed all the way down the Deal Road by a dick in a van who sits about two inches from my back bumper all the way into town. I turn up, and knowing he will try to take one of the other narrow streets to the road along the prom, I speed up and indeed, we reach the junction at the same time, but he has to give way. Jools waves at Mr Dick. We turn towards the shop, and he carried on towards Dickland, where he lives with all the other dicks.
We shop until we fill up the torolley, then load the car and rish to get home before any more dicks are seen.
I need a haircut, so while I go for some abuse and a mangle, I drop Jools off so she can have a wander down the prom, prom, prom. Only, Alan, chief scarcastic bastard barber has retired to a life of constant golf and collecting rent from those who now use the chairs in his shop. It has been thus for some months, and I suppose it has been three months since I was last there, so, I suppose its about right. A young lady cuts my hair, I get no jip, and my hair looks fine.
I drive down to the prom and collect Jools who has had an hour. We drive back home to listen to some radio, but a music station with as little news as possible. Huey takes the blues away, and the morning passes just fine.
Now, it has been some weeks, nay months, since I last went to see Nan. If I am honest, I believe it was round about my birthday, some ten weeks ago. I have been saying for weeks I would go, but as ever once the day came, I tried to make excuses. Not because I don't want to see her, but what can you say to someone laying on a bed for 24 hours a day, too blind to watch TV, too deaf to listen to the radio. Just waiting for the end of one day and the beginning of the next? It might be fair to say that some if this she could make better, she could allow the nurses to take her to the rec room, for bingo and music and company. But she chooses not to. She could put her hearing aid in, but does not like them, so an hour with her is like being in an echo chamber.
On the way back, we go to visit our friends Gary and Julie, have coffee and chats. But the day is slipping away, we have a Mexican banquet to prepare, and the night is young! More truth is that I have bought prepared Mexican food, looks good enough, and smells fine when cooked, but all is stuck to the containers, so burritos and all are in a mush on the plate. But it all tastes the same I suppose.
I avoid Dr. Who, but it sounds madder than ever. And with that, the day is done, just Mr Fry in QI and then it is bed.
Saturday, 14 November 2015
Saturday 14th November 2015
Sometimes the world can seem a cruel and unfair and hate-filled place. But that is only if we let it. I have traveled, I have met people, and for the most part, we all want the same thing. If we let believe the hawks and haters and the lies they tell us, then the rest of the world hates us and all what we stand for, and in order to protect what we stand for, we must all give up all what we stand for. To protect our freedom we must give up our freedoms. And so on. If we let hate begat hate, hate will rule forever more. Let love win, love thy neighbour, love the immigrant, love those we do not understand. What the world needs now is less, not more bombs and violence.
In the words of a wise American man, in the mouth of fear of reds under the bed, said this:
"We must remember always that accusation is not proof and that conviction depends upon evidence and due process of law. We will not walk in fear, one of another. We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason, if we dig deep in our history and our doctrine, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men — not from men who feared to write, to speak, to associate and to defend causes that were, for the moment, unpopular." See it Now (1954) - Edward R Murrow.
Substitute reds for Muslims, and you will see. I am not a fearful man.
Friday
And I am back home! Which does mean no commute to an office, no steaming in traffic, just waving Jools goodbye as she drives off to the office, then I go and put the coffee pot back on for a refill. But I do have plenty to do, so as soon as I have quenched my thirst for coffee, I get down to work and what with meetings, writing mails and reviewing documents, it is lunchtime before I know it.
I have a sandwich, tidy up some final lose ends before I feel it is time for the weekend to begin. My plan had been to walk into Dover along the cliffs. The morning had dawned clear and bright with lots of sunshine, but clouds had swept in from the west and now it was raining. The BBC promised this would clear by two, but it seemed hopeful to say the least. But, I look out and to the best there seems to be blue sky, so why not, eh?
I take just my waterproof jacket and a my camera, its all I need really. Down and then up Station Road, into the village before walking through the churchyard, across Reach Road then striking out over the fields to South Foreland Light. By the time I arrived at the lighthouse, the sky had cleared and it was a glorious afternoon, but already the sun was sinking in the west.
Down the narrow path past the lighthouse and onto the clifftops. At least at this time there are few others about, and it feels like I have them to ourselves, but those I do pass I nod a greeting, as they do to me. The rain has cleared the atmosphere, and the French coast was clear, as was the building in Calais some 25 miles or so away. And the ferries were scuttling between the cliffs on either side of the Channel.
No matter how many times you see them, the cliffs are breathtaking, even more so on a fine autumnal day, as the clouds had cleared.
The sun was already low in the west, making shooting towards the harbour difficult, but I tried....
After all the foot traffic to the Fan Bay Deep Shelter, the cliff tops have taken a battering from the numbers of visitors, very bad erosion indeed, the worst I have seen where the grass has been worn away.
Around the top of Fan Bay to Langdon Hole, with spectacular views to the Eastern Arm and the queues of trucks waiting to cross the Channel.
I walk round Langdon, joining up with the old cliff railway before continuing to walk down under the NT's place to where the views overlooking the ferry terminal were the most impressive....
The final stretch along the Cliff Road, up the slope to the NT's place before another short walk along the cliff edge before down the steep path under Jubilee Way and to East Cliff.
And finally into Dover, over Townwall Street and along the promenade where the high tide and strong breeze were causing waves to break onto the walkway. It seemed to make it even better, getting covered by a mist of salt water. I had a goal, and you will not be too surprised to learn it involved beer. It has been several weeks since I last supped in The Rack of Ale, and that is where I was now heading, and Jools would pick me up on her way home after leaving work at four. Up Biggin Street, past the Town Hall and along to The Rack, where a warm welcome awaited, and not just because of the mulled cider on offer!
I have a pint of Hopfuzz Double Hop, or something like it, then a pint of something darker, then, much to my mistake I tried the mulled cider! I down the small glass, and get one for Jools when she comes in, but she soon realises if she drink it, she will be over the limit for driving, so I down that too.
It then comes as no surprise that once home and after a shower, I fall asleep on the bed for an hour. Bless.
I wake up in time to watch England play Spain on TV, not that it was a pleasure as England were as poor as feared. But by the time the game ended in a 2-0 defeat, news from Paris put all that sport into perspective.
In the words of a wise American man, in the mouth of fear of reds under the bed, said this:
"We must remember always that accusation is not proof and that conviction depends upon evidence and due process of law. We will not walk in fear, one of another. We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason, if we dig deep in our history and our doctrine, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men — not from men who feared to write, to speak, to associate and to defend causes that were, for the moment, unpopular." See it Now (1954) - Edward R Murrow.
Substitute reds for Muslims, and you will see. I am not a fearful man.
Friday
And I am back home! Which does mean no commute to an office, no steaming in traffic, just waving Jools goodbye as she drives off to the office, then I go and put the coffee pot back on for a refill. But I do have plenty to do, so as soon as I have quenched my thirst for coffee, I get down to work and what with meetings, writing mails and reviewing documents, it is lunchtime before I know it.
I have a sandwich, tidy up some final lose ends before I feel it is time for the weekend to begin. My plan had been to walk into Dover along the cliffs. The morning had dawned clear and bright with lots of sunshine, but clouds had swept in from the west and now it was raining. The BBC promised this would clear by two, but it seemed hopeful to say the least. But, I look out and to the best there seems to be blue sky, so why not, eh?
I take just my waterproof jacket and a my camera, its all I need really. Down and then up Station Road, into the village before walking through the churchyard, across Reach Road then striking out over the fields to South Foreland Light. By the time I arrived at the lighthouse, the sky had cleared and it was a glorious afternoon, but already the sun was sinking in the west.
Down the narrow path past the lighthouse and onto the clifftops. At least at this time there are few others about, and it feels like I have them to ourselves, but those I do pass I nod a greeting, as they do to me. The rain has cleared the atmosphere, and the French coast was clear, as was the building in Calais some 25 miles or so away. And the ferries were scuttling between the cliffs on either side of the Channel.
No matter how many times you see them, the cliffs are breathtaking, even more so on a fine autumnal day, as the clouds had cleared.The sun was already low in the west, making shooting towards the harbour difficult, but I tried....
After all the foot traffic to the Fan Bay Deep Shelter, the cliff tops have taken a battering from the numbers of visitors, very bad erosion indeed, the worst I have seen where the grass has been worn away.Around the top of Fan Bay to Langdon Hole, with spectacular views to the Eastern Arm and the queues of trucks waiting to cross the Channel.
I walk round Langdon, joining up with the old cliff railway before continuing to walk down under the NT's place to where the views overlooking the ferry terminal were the most impressive....
The final stretch along the Cliff Road, up the slope to the NT's place before another short walk along the cliff edge before down the steep path under Jubilee Way and to East Cliff.
And finally into Dover, over Townwall Street and along the promenade where the high tide and strong breeze were causing waves to break onto the walkway. It seemed to make it even better, getting covered by a mist of salt water. I had a goal, and you will not be too surprised to learn it involved beer. It has been several weeks since I last supped in The Rack of Ale, and that is where I was now heading, and Jools would pick me up on her way home after leaving work at four. Up Biggin Street, past the Town Hall and along to The Rack, where a warm welcome awaited, and not just because of the mulled cider on offer!
I have a pint of Hopfuzz Double Hop, or something like it, then a pint of something darker, then, much to my mistake I tried the mulled cider! I down the small glass, and get one for Jools when she comes in, but she soon realises if she drink it, she will be over the limit for driving, so I down that too.It then comes as no surprise that once home and after a shower, I fall asleep on the bed for an hour. Bless.
I wake up in time to watch England play Spain on TV, not that it was a pleasure as England were as poor as feared. But by the time the game ended in a 2-0 defeat, news from Paris put all that sport into perspective.
Friday, 13 November 2015
Friday 13th November 2015
Thursday
On the day when I am to return to the UK, I always worry that I will oversleep and miss the flight. Therefore, I I wake every half an hour or so to check my phone, with the upshot being that I don't feel like I had any sleep at all.
There was no change in this yesterday, but the alarm did go off at six, I felt OK having woken at least four times during the night to make sure I would not be stuck in DK. Another round of dressing, packing then checking out and what passes for breakfast at the Zleep. It is not that bad, fresh rolls, the usual mix of cheeses and cooked meats are on offer, which is all the expectant traveler really needs. Outside there is the hint of dawn in the east, so I pause and take a shot, because, you know, I have a camera and that.
The terminal is crazy busy, with dozens of Danish families queuing to check in for a flight to a place I had not heard of. In the rush, it took me 15 minutes to get through security, but once in the departure hall, there aas plenty of space, so I find a table below the business lounge so I could use their free wifi, and get some work done.
Outside the sun had risen, so by the time we walked to the plane it was hidden behind a cloud, but the light was pretty spectacular. I snap it.
And the plane we are boarding, with the dick in front who refused to move, he wanted to be the last on the plane for some reason.
And once the plane was in the air, the low sun cast a wonderful golden light on the land below, casting long shadows. I snap that too.
In fact the light all the way back to Blighty was stunning, I snap the sun through the clouds as we fly over one of Denmark's outlying islands and again as we pass over Holland.
I see another causeway stretching across the Ijsselmeer, so snap that as well. It really is amazing things these wonderful Dutch engineers accomplish. And then over the sea, crossing the coast right above the hotel in Ijmuiden, and then the sea was obscured by cloud, so no chance of seeing the 43 turbines of Luchterduinen.
And finally over Essex, and through the clouds I spy the mudflats of the coast, all marked with the patterns of retreating water. Those patterns and the wonderful light made it look rather wonderful: I snapped that too.
Down we go, along the river, no grand tour of London for us this trip, the wind was in the west, so a straightforward landing from the east. There is some worrying side winds, but we bounce down safe and I am nearly home. A walk along the terminal to the immigration scanners, my case is waiting and as I walk up to the DLR station a train for Stratford is pulling in. Now, I look at my watch and I have 20 minutes before the quarter to ten train is due to leave. I might make it, but decide not to fret.
I have chosen my carriage on the DLR well, and we pull in opposite the escalator, I am first up it, over the road and see that I have two minutes before the train is due to leave. BUT, it is delayed by a minute, so I grab my case, run down the escalator just as my train pulls in, I take a seat. Phew.
Yes, in Dover at a quarter to eleven, my taxi is waiting so I am entering the house just before 11, some six hours after I got up in Denmark. Really quite amazing really.
I have a brew and lunch before starting my work laptop up and crack on with work. It never ends. But like last week, I am shattered for some reason, and at four I finish and sit on the sofa with Molly and watch a recording of Sunday's football. This is the life. Even better, I have a glass of wine too, just to be a little more decadent!
I cook meat pie for dinner, and not having any gravy, I mix up a fine batch of cheese sauce to go over the vegetables. It really was very nice indeed. And then we have the evening to ourselves, but due to the fact we are both shattered, we end up heading for bed at nine.
So it goes. So it goes.
On the day when I am to return to the UK, I always worry that I will oversleep and miss the flight. Therefore, I I wake every half an hour or so to check my phone, with the upshot being that I don't feel like I had any sleep at all.
There was no change in this yesterday, but the alarm did go off at six, I felt OK having woken at least four times during the night to make sure I would not be stuck in DK. Another round of dressing, packing then checking out and what passes for breakfast at the Zleep. It is not that bad, fresh rolls, the usual mix of cheeses and cooked meats are on offer, which is all the expectant traveler really needs. Outside there is the hint of dawn in the east, so I pause and take a shot, because, you know, I have a camera and that. The terminal is crazy busy, with dozens of Danish families queuing to check in for a flight to a place I had not heard of. In the rush, it took me 15 minutes to get through security, but once in the departure hall, there aas plenty of space, so I find a table below the business lounge so I could use their free wifi, and get some work done.
Outside the sun had risen, so by the time we walked to the plane it was hidden behind a cloud, but the light was pretty spectacular. I snap it.
And the plane we are boarding, with the dick in front who refused to move, he wanted to be the last on the plane for some reason.
And once the plane was in the air, the low sun cast a wonderful golden light on the land below, casting long shadows. I snap that too.
In fact the light all the way back to Blighty was stunning, I snap the sun through the clouds as we fly over one of Denmark's outlying islands and again as we pass over Holland.
I see another causeway stretching across the Ijsselmeer, so snap that as well. It really is amazing things these wonderful Dutch engineers accomplish. And then over the sea, crossing the coast right above the hotel in Ijmuiden, and then the sea was obscured by cloud, so no chance of seeing the 43 turbines of Luchterduinen.
And finally over Essex, and through the clouds I spy the mudflats of the coast, all marked with the patterns of retreating water. Those patterns and the wonderful light made it look rather wonderful: I snapped that too.
Down we go, along the river, no grand tour of London for us this trip, the wind was in the west, so a straightforward landing from the east. There is some worrying side winds, but we bounce down safe and I am nearly home. A walk along the terminal to the immigration scanners, my case is waiting and as I walk up to the DLR station a train for Stratford is pulling in. Now, I look at my watch and I have 20 minutes before the quarter to ten train is due to leave. I might make it, but decide not to fret.I have chosen my carriage on the DLR well, and we pull in opposite the escalator, I am first up it, over the road and see that I have two minutes before the train is due to leave. BUT, it is delayed by a minute, so I grab my case, run down the escalator just as my train pulls in, I take a seat. Phew.
Yes, in Dover at a quarter to eleven, my taxi is waiting so I am entering the house just before 11, some six hours after I got up in Denmark. Really quite amazing really.
I have a brew and lunch before starting my work laptop up and crack on with work. It never ends. But like last week, I am shattered for some reason, and at four I finish and sit on the sofa with Molly and watch a recording of Sunday's football. This is the life. Even better, I have a glass of wine too, just to be a little more decadent!
I cook meat pie for dinner, and not having any gravy, I mix up a fine batch of cheese sauce to go over the vegetables. It really was very nice indeed. And then we have the evening to ourselves, but due to the fact we are both shattered, we end up heading for bed at nine.
So it goes. So it goes.
Thursday, 12 November 2015
Thursday 12th November 2015
Wednesday
Another day at the coalface.
Onoly I wake up with dawn showing in the gaps of the curtains, lighting up the suite I find myself in. I have a long, long shower. Seems I may have found the missing I am allergic too: Sanex Shower Gel! Being as it is supposed to be very good for your skin, I hadn't really thought of it. But for most of the year, I have been using the bath cream, as we accidentally bought that rather than shower gel: hence no allergies. And as I don't take any shower gel with me when I travel, and I very rarely get attacks then, I have put two and two together. Anyway, I wake up without a hint of a cough, sneeze or sniff, which is always a pleasure.
Another single night in a hotel means packing, checking out and loading the car before having breakfast, and then the drive to the office. At least from the Comwell the traffic is not quite as bad as it was the previous week, and soon I am speeding up back out of the city centre, along the main road which will soon have a tramline in the middle.
Despite having a full day of work to do (at least) I spend an hour greeting my colleagues, which is half the pleasure and the good reason for traveling to Denmark as often as possible.
In the end I get down to work, and so the day passes quickly. So quickly that I forget to book my seat on the tiny plane on Thursday when I am to go home. However, there is a fine choice by the time I remember late in the afternoon.
All day the rain had fallen on an already soggy Arhus. The thought of traveling through the rush hour to the airport did not thrill me to say the least, so I wait until quarter to six before setting out. Turned out to be a good decision, as I made good time, and there were no jams at the Arhus Sud junction. I didn't push it, as the motorway was shrouded in spray from the traffic, and all in all, it was a grim experience. So it was good to turn off for the last 40 clicks to Billund.
I am relieved to arrive safe at the airport: I unload the car then walk to the terminal to drop the keys off in the office. And as usual I stop at the cafe for my usual burger, fries and a a large beer. Large Christmas beer as it turned out.
There is a short three minute walk through the heavy drizzle to the hotel: I check in and take to my room, that even with the heating switched off, was still very warm. And so it came to pass that in November I did have to open the window all the way to bring the room temperature to a bearable level. In Denmark. Mad times.
Only trouble with that is that, what with being next to an airport is that every 15 minutes or so, there is a flight inbound or leaving, engines revving, drowning out the radio playing on my computer. Oh well.
Anyway, home tomorrow, four days in Chez Jelltex, and then I'm back here. Again.
Sigh.
Another day at the coalface.
Onoly I wake up with dawn showing in the gaps of the curtains, lighting up the suite I find myself in. I have a long, long shower. Seems I may have found the missing I am allergic too: Sanex Shower Gel! Being as it is supposed to be very good for your skin, I hadn't really thought of it. But for most of the year, I have been using the bath cream, as we accidentally bought that rather than shower gel: hence no allergies. And as I don't take any shower gel with me when I travel, and I very rarely get attacks then, I have put two and two together. Anyway, I wake up without a hint of a cough, sneeze or sniff, which is always a pleasure.
Another single night in a hotel means packing, checking out and loading the car before having breakfast, and then the drive to the office. At least from the Comwell the traffic is not quite as bad as it was the previous week, and soon I am speeding up back out of the city centre, along the main road which will soon have a tramline in the middle.
Despite having a full day of work to do (at least) I spend an hour greeting my colleagues, which is half the pleasure and the good reason for traveling to Denmark as often as possible.
In the end I get down to work, and so the day passes quickly. So quickly that I forget to book my seat on the tiny plane on Thursday when I am to go home. However, there is a fine choice by the time I remember late in the afternoon.
All day the rain had fallen on an already soggy Arhus. The thought of traveling through the rush hour to the airport did not thrill me to say the least, so I wait until quarter to six before setting out. Turned out to be a good decision, as I made good time, and there were no jams at the Arhus Sud junction. I didn't push it, as the motorway was shrouded in spray from the traffic, and all in all, it was a grim experience. So it was good to turn off for the last 40 clicks to Billund.
I am relieved to arrive safe at the airport: I unload the car then walk to the terminal to drop the keys off in the office. And as usual I stop at the cafe for my usual burger, fries and a a large beer. Large Christmas beer as it turned out.
There is a short three minute walk through the heavy drizzle to the hotel: I check in and take to my room, that even with the heating switched off, was still very warm. And so it came to pass that in November I did have to open the window all the way to bring the room temperature to a bearable level. In Denmark. Mad times.
Only trouble with that is that, what with being next to an airport is that every 15 minutes or so, there is a flight inbound or leaving, engines revving, drowning out the radio playing on my computer. Oh well.
Anyway, home tomorrow, four days in Chez Jelltex, and then I'm back here. Again.
Sigh.
Wednesday 11th November 2015
Monday
The alarm went off at quarter past five. Still the middle of night as far as I’m concerned, but there is a train to catch. Once upon a time I would be excited to be travelling anywhere, let along on a plane to Denmark, but as this is something like my 35th business trip this year, it is beyond routine, I hardly think about it, other than to make sure I have passport and travel information with me.
We have coffee and I make the final checks before it is time to leave. Dawn is in full flow outside, with just a sliver of the old moon visible with the diamond light of Venus showing through gaps in the clouds. It seemed a good day for travel.
Jools dropped me off at the station, I get my ticket and wait on the platform for the train. Despite being November it is very mild. I switch on my phone and check on mails, I respond where appropriate and make some calls. Means I am up to date already, and so I can relax on the train. Saying that, the train quickly fills up, as the tired and well dressed city types board and read the latest lies in the red tops.
It is High Tide as we pass Shakespeare Beach, with the sky getting lighter in the east all the time, I could even make out the lights still showing on the French coast some 23 miles away, but they were an hour ahead of us, and onto their third or fourth coffee of the day I would imagine.
Yes, the journey is routine, but still traveling on a train built in Japan, on tracks that lead under the sea and unbroken all the way to the far east in Russia and China is a remarkable thing. But still my eyes droop.
Once in London I have less than two hours before my flight, but I don’t panic. Onto the DLR and 20 minutes later I arrive at the airport, get my boarding pass, check in my case and go through security. I am next to the actress Maureen Lipman, I speak to her briefly, and at some point between that and getting my bag back the other side, I lost my wallet.
The shock of that certainly woke me up: I knew I had it a moment or two before when I transferred it from my jeans pocket to my coat. But once I got my coat back, the pocket was empty. The staff checked everywhere, it wasn’t to be found. I emptied my bag, all my pockets to prove to them it wasn’t there. I was now worried.
And then, a voice goes up from behind me asking whose wallet this is, holding up my wallet. It was on one of the seats beside the scanner. Must have flipped out of my coat as I picked it up.
Panic over.
I go for breakfast, and owing to my new-found egg intolerance, my choices were very limited, so I have porridge and maple syrup, which was just about OK, but being charge seven quid for it was really beyond laughable.
Time to board the flight, and I have a seat near the front, although not on the pilot’s knee. I strap myself in and we are ready to go. Being in the front row means I get served first with drinks and cold breakfast, which by the time I move my watch forward and hour is just about lunchtime.
We fly over thick cloud covering Essex and Suffolk, the North Sea and most of Holland. It parts for a time as we cross the Ijsselmeer, the closes in until we are on final approach to Billund. But then being Denmark, you wouldn’t expect anything less now would you?
I get given a Mitsubishi 4x4 thing to drive, I program the sat nav and set course for north west Jutland and back to Ringkobing.
Autumn is just about over up here in Denmark, a storm at the weekend meant that most of the leaves were now on the ground, leaving a golden carpet. But then again, despite it being just one in the afternoon, with the thick cloud above, it still felt like the light was fading. Anyway, I had two meetings to attend once I got to the hotel, all by the wonder that is Outlook, so I press on, along familiar roads as I travelled up here many times last winter and spring.
I have an hour to spare once I arrive at the hotel, I settle in and connect to the wifi, ready for the first of the meeting.
Those done, I seem to have volunteered to redo the work I spent all of Friday doing, which is par for the course. That’s Wednesday taken care of!
I watch some TV, but it just seems to be Danish language versions of the same crap that fills British TV outside of peak hours. I scroll through them several times just to be sure.
Outside, the wind had picked up somewhat, and this meant that the plan to go on a wander to look for an alternative place to eat was never going to happen. The hotel had a new restaurant open, we were each given a small glass of non-vintage Danish sparkling wine to celebrate, the menu had changed a little, but there was just the four choices of each course, but there was the addition on an a la carte menu. I chose three of the 5 courses from there, and ordered a Christmas beer and waited.
I forgot was a la carte meant, tiny portions, so when the pan fried lobster tail arrived, it was the same at three or four prawns. Tasty but, you know, not enough. If the starter was a disappointment, then the main course which supposed to beef was a major disaster: four shavings of cured beef, two pieces of fried seaweed and a smear of sauce was it. It was really quite funny.
I order a second beer.
The desert arrives, two pieces of what tastes like cheddar and two tiny crackers. And that was it.
I retire to my room and ponder a trip down the road to Maccy D’s, but decide against it in the end. I watch a re-run of a Barcelona game on TV, then call it a night.
Tuesday
I am awake at about six, five in proper British time, but you know, hen in Denmark use their time I suppose.
I have to pack, but skip the shower, only to realise later in the day that I have no trace of allergy at all. How odd.
I check out, have breakfast, which is mainly bacon rolls and coffee. Lots of coffee. That done, I am left with a 15 minute drive the factory,a nd wait for my colleagues and the customer to arrive. Deep breath, here we go again!
The day goes OK, and at four in the afternoon we are done, and I am left with a 140km drive to Arhus. Now, I have described Denmark, or Jutland anyway, as like being a slightly hilly Norfolk. Which it has been pointed out is damning with faint praise, and Simon maybe has a point. But Jutland just rolls along, mile after mile, unchanging, fields, woods, farms and small towns. Looking over the countryside, which in Norfolk would be dotted with church towers, is just fields, woods and farms into the distance.
I drive on, and as the light fails I make it onto the motorway, drive north into the middle of rush hour in Arhus. I am staying at the Comwell, which is easy to get to, and even more surprising has parking spaces. Lucky me. Even luckier was that I am given a suite on the 5th floor, with space to stretch out and relax, even if it is for a short time.
At six I go for a wander to try to find the way to the city centre and a place to have a drink. In a similar story to Rat Trap, I had reached down into the pocket of my work jacket I had last worn in March last year, and found 99Kr, enough, as it turned out, for 3 bottles of Christmas beer.
I walk past the railway station and down the long main street, lined with shops, all of them decked out for Christmas, which in the case of toy shops is fine, but opticians? Christmas glasses anyone?
I make it to the main square, and find the Irish bar I know was there. I grab a bottle of beer, settle down to watch more football on TV, not sure if it was live or not, not that it really mattered. I get a call from my old friend, who used to work for the customer but now works for us, where am I, and should he come and join me? So I tell him, and in 2o minutes he arrives, buy me another beer and we chat.
We move onto a place to eat: a steak restaurant that also brews its own beer. Another one of them win/win situations. The beer is good, the steak is good. It is ten, and time to walk back to the hotel, past the dregs of Danish society that is out and about at that time, in the rain. I take some shots of the streets, but not having my proper camera, all fail. Oh well.
The alarm went off at quarter past five. Still the middle of night as far as I’m concerned, but there is a train to catch. Once upon a time I would be excited to be travelling anywhere, let along on a plane to Denmark, but as this is something like my 35th business trip this year, it is beyond routine, I hardly think about it, other than to make sure I have passport and travel information with me.
We have coffee and I make the final checks before it is time to leave. Dawn is in full flow outside, with just a sliver of the old moon visible with the diamond light of Venus showing through gaps in the clouds. It seemed a good day for travel.
Jools dropped me off at the station, I get my ticket and wait on the platform for the train. Despite being November it is very mild. I switch on my phone and check on mails, I respond where appropriate and make some calls. Means I am up to date already, and so I can relax on the train. Saying that, the train quickly fills up, as the tired and well dressed city types board and read the latest lies in the red tops.It is High Tide as we pass Shakespeare Beach, with the sky getting lighter in the east all the time, I could even make out the lights still showing on the French coast some 23 miles away, but they were an hour ahead of us, and onto their third or fourth coffee of the day I would imagine.
Yes, the journey is routine, but still traveling on a train built in Japan, on tracks that lead under the sea and unbroken all the way to the far east in Russia and China is a remarkable thing. But still my eyes droop.
Once in London I have less than two hours before my flight, but I don’t panic. Onto the DLR and 20 minutes later I arrive at the airport, get my boarding pass, check in my case and go through security. I am next to the actress Maureen Lipman, I speak to her briefly, and at some point between that and getting my bag back the other side, I lost my wallet.
The shock of that certainly woke me up: I knew I had it a moment or two before when I transferred it from my jeans pocket to my coat. But once I got my coat back, the pocket was empty. The staff checked everywhere, it wasn’t to be found. I emptied my bag, all my pockets to prove to them it wasn’t there. I was now worried.
And then, a voice goes up from behind me asking whose wallet this is, holding up my wallet. It was on one of the seats beside the scanner. Must have flipped out of my coat as I picked it up.
Panic over.
I go for breakfast, and owing to my new-found egg intolerance, my choices were very limited, so I have porridge and maple syrup, which was just about OK, but being charge seven quid for it was really beyond laughable.
Time to board the flight, and I have a seat near the front, although not on the pilot’s knee. I strap myself in and we are ready to go. Being in the front row means I get served first with drinks and cold breakfast, which by the time I move my watch forward and hour is just about lunchtime.
We fly over thick cloud covering Essex and Suffolk, the North Sea and most of Holland. It parts for a time as we cross the Ijsselmeer, the closes in until we are on final approach to Billund. But then being Denmark, you wouldn’t expect anything less now would you?
I get given a Mitsubishi 4x4 thing to drive, I program the sat nav and set course for north west Jutland and back to Ringkobing.
Autumn is just about over up here in Denmark, a storm at the weekend meant that most of the leaves were now on the ground, leaving a golden carpet. But then again, despite it being just one in the afternoon, with the thick cloud above, it still felt like the light was fading. Anyway, I had two meetings to attend once I got to the hotel, all by the wonder that is Outlook, so I press on, along familiar roads as I travelled up here many times last winter and spring.
I have an hour to spare once I arrive at the hotel, I settle in and connect to the wifi, ready for the first of the meeting.
Those done, I seem to have volunteered to redo the work I spent all of Friday doing, which is par for the course. That’s Wednesday taken care of!
I watch some TV, but it just seems to be Danish language versions of the same crap that fills British TV outside of peak hours. I scroll through them several times just to be sure.
Outside, the wind had picked up somewhat, and this meant that the plan to go on a wander to look for an alternative place to eat was never going to happen. The hotel had a new restaurant open, we were each given a small glass of non-vintage Danish sparkling wine to celebrate, the menu had changed a little, but there was just the four choices of each course, but there was the addition on an a la carte menu. I chose three of the 5 courses from there, and ordered a Christmas beer and waited.
I forgot was a la carte meant, tiny portions, so when the pan fried lobster tail arrived, it was the same at three or four prawns. Tasty but, you know, not enough. If the starter was a disappointment, then the main course which supposed to beef was a major disaster: four shavings of cured beef, two pieces of fried seaweed and a smear of sauce was it. It was really quite funny.
I order a second beer.
The desert arrives, two pieces of what tastes like cheddar and two tiny crackers. And that was it.
I retire to my room and ponder a trip down the road to Maccy D’s, but decide against it in the end. I watch a re-run of a Barcelona game on TV, then call it a night.
Tuesday
I am awake at about six, five in proper British time, but you know, hen in Denmark use their time I suppose.
I have to pack, but skip the shower, only to realise later in the day that I have no trace of allergy at all. How odd.
I check out, have breakfast, which is mainly bacon rolls and coffee. Lots of coffee. That done, I am left with a 15 minute drive the factory,a nd wait for my colleagues and the customer to arrive. Deep breath, here we go again!
The day goes OK, and at four in the afternoon we are done, and I am left with a 140km drive to Arhus. Now, I have described Denmark, or Jutland anyway, as like being a slightly hilly Norfolk. Which it has been pointed out is damning with faint praise, and Simon maybe has a point. But Jutland just rolls along, mile after mile, unchanging, fields, woods, farms and small towns. Looking over the countryside, which in Norfolk would be dotted with church towers, is just fields, woods and farms into the distance.
I drive on, and as the light fails I make it onto the motorway, drive north into the middle of rush hour in Arhus. I am staying at the Comwell, which is easy to get to, and even more surprising has parking spaces. Lucky me. Even luckier was that I am given a suite on the 5th floor, with space to stretch out and relax, even if it is for a short time.
At six I go for a wander to try to find the way to the city centre and a place to have a drink. In a similar story to Rat Trap, I had reached down into the pocket of my work jacket I had last worn in March last year, and found 99Kr, enough, as it turned out, for 3 bottles of Christmas beer.
I walk past the railway station and down the long main street, lined with shops, all of them decked out for Christmas, which in the case of toy shops is fine, but opticians? Christmas glasses anyone?I make it to the main square, and find the Irish bar I know was there. I grab a bottle of beer, settle down to watch more football on TV, not sure if it was live or not, not that it really mattered. I get a call from my old friend, who used to work for the customer but now works for us, where am I, and should he come and join me? So I tell him, and in 2o minutes he arrives, buy me another beer and we chat.
We move onto a place to eat: a steak restaurant that also brews its own beer. Another one of them win/win situations. The beer is good, the steak is good. It is ten, and time to walk back to the hotel, past the dregs of Danish society that is out and about at that time, in the rain. I take some shots of the streets, but not having my proper camera, all fail. Oh well.
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