The Little Mermaid. Four in the morning. Bakers have started their days work, night nurses have done their rounds and party goers are giving it the last heave ho before falling into a taxi or their own pool of vomit. It is a time reserved for the insomniacs, the incontinent and the insane. However, on this particular morning, it is the time five of us have to stir from our beds in Oxfordshire to ensure we get to Heathrow on time. Kirsten, by dint of breathing for very nearly five decades, is reaching a milestone birthday. And it comes to pass that in celebration of such an auspicious occasion, Grant, Karen, Chris and I find ourselves heading for the airport to catch the 0710 to Copenhagen. Ann would have been with us but the gods have decreed that instead of 6 heading north, we are reduced to being an infamous five. Terminal 5 at 6 in the morning is about as much fun as pulling ones nasal hairs with a pair of pliers. The staff do their best to ensure frivolity is kept to a minimum and jokes about men in beards armed with bombs are shelved in the name of sanity. After all we dont want the rubber fingered glove of security investigating our treasured dark orifices in search of plots, plans and prophecies of the coming caliphate. Breakfast, such as it was, was taken at the the unimaginatively named Eat after we had checked in. I hope this trend for brevity in naming establishments does not catch on or we might see pubs simply called Drink, petrol stations called Drive and toilets labelled Shit. Lord knows what an escort agency would then call itself. The flight is thankfully uneventful as it should be. Boredom is an underrated feeling especially on an aircraft. Excitement can be a good thing but when you are at 30,000 feet it is best left in the pages of the novel you are reading. The most excitement I really want when flying is trying to figure out how to open the small plastic milk carton that comes with what passes for coffee. The sun is out, the sky is blue, its beautiful down there as we land. Hardly a breath of wind and summer is definitely lingering around as if it is afraid of missing something at a party its just been to. Summer should be thinking of going home before it gets too pissed and wakes up with the winner of the wrinkled and halitosis graced face like a slapped arse contest. But no, summer has decided to stay. Bags dropping and checking in at the hotel is quickly followed by beers ordered and lunch taken in a charming little square. The first impressions of Copenhagen is of a city at ease with itself; young and old and vibrant and quiet and pulsing with life but not in a loud in yer face way. A city of islands and waterways and a hint of Amsterdam in its canal and Bavaria in its buildings. If we reduce a city to one word, this one is Charm. Or perhaps Beer. But right now, that four in the morning is beginning to tell. Im sitting on my elbow and have no idea where my arse is leading my wrist. The little mermaid is sitting on her rock safely contemplating lifes richness and wondering if she should just call herself myth.
Posted on: Fri, 05 Sep 2014 20:51:36 +0000
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