The Diary

20 July 2003: What this column did on it's hols! (Day 6)

The circumstances of our departure from the Skibhus I?ve described already; it only remained to take ourselves to our new location, luggage and all. As the place was, in effect, a youth hostel, we knew we weren?t getting The Ritz, but what did surprise us was the receptionist?s curt but efficient enquiry as to whether we wanted sheets, or not; if so, that would be several kroners for the privilege! Blimey? At least we had our own facilities this time, but the downside was bunk beds. Oh well, judging from our nocturnal activities during the earlier part of the tour, that room was going to be designated for sleeping purposes only, so as long as our bye-byes were clean and trouble-free, it didn?t really matter. Once we?d sorted our gear out, we decided to take the rest of the day easy by grabbing a couple of books and taking ourselves off to a nearby park for an hour or three. It was the work of a moment to select a suitably-shady haunt, and then chuck ourselves under it; it was still scorching-hot, although the air lacked the previous night?s sultriness. Believe it or not, so hectic had our social whirl been on this trip, this was the first time we?d had a real chance to get our noses into the reading-matter we?d brought with us. Once the shadows had lengthened, we left the park, and prepared for our evening foray into town to nosh, then to meet our fellow-supporters. On Long-Haired Mick?s recommendation, we chose Froggies, an Italian-cum-Danish place; their Parma ham salad was delectable, as was their refreshing ice-cream-cum-fruit-cocktail dessert concoction. Following that, we didn?t have to look far for our lot; there they all were, in Ryan?s Bar, now (thankfully) quiescent after the unsavoury events of the previous evening. A swift one, then on to another hostelry not far from the one we?d frequented the previous night; once in there, we then made the discovery that Sauce, Mick and a couple of others had spent the day at the seaside; what?s more, while there, they?d once more bumped into the omniprescent Ivor and Gitte, plus sprogs! Apparently, our heroes had all elected to dress in the manner of the stereotypical Englishman abroad, long trousers, legs rolled up to the knees, shirt-sleeves, plus, in one instance ? no names, no pack-drill! ? the classical knotted hanky on the head! As Gitte remarked ? yep, she also rolled up later that evening! ? they might as well have had a notice above their heads saying, ?I?M AN ENGLISHMAN?! What made it worse was the fact our heroes had ? accidentally, honest! - chosen the ?nudist? end of the beach to commence their sun-worshipping activities; apparently, their somewhat unusual beachwear was a source of great amusement amongst all those tan-seeking Danish ecdysiasts!

A word, now, about Long-Haired Mick. I?d never thought of our Black Country companion being possessive of any semblance of paternal instinct, but this tour certainly brought it out in abundance. Surprising, really, as to those who don?t know him, Mick can present quite an intimidating appearance. Long, straggly hair, balding in front, rotund features, hoarse voice, usually surrounded by beer-bottles; it?s only when he finds something funny, and his whole body shakes with jelly-like mirth, you realise he?s just an old softy, really! The cause of all this uncharacteristic behaviour was Gitte?s youngest, Rasmuss, who can only be around five or six years of age. It seemed to me that from the outset, the pair of them really hit it off, and before you could say ?Gary Megson? the little Dane was a permanent feature of Mick?s ample lap. Mick?s Danish was minimal, and Rasmuss?s English was non-existent, but football proved to be common ground for both, and before we knew it, Mick was performing a passable rendition of the OB battle-cry for the benefit of the little shaver, who, for his part, was quickly learning how to ?boing? with panache, and lapping it all up like gravy. Proof positive of their mutual admiration was provided that Sunday night; no sooner had Mum found us, little Rasmuss spurned the maternal caress, ran to Mick?s open arms, then snuggled into his ample abdomen with glee. Amazing! Good to see, especially as thanks to Sauce?s efforts, we?d secured a place for the whole family on our coach to the Horne game the following evening, a discreetly-done, Sauce-inspired whip-round amongst all those present at Gitte?s place prior to Saturday?s game raising the necessary dosh. Let?s face it, after their amazing hospitality that day, it was the least we could do to repay them.

Another late night, then, but not quite as late as the one that preceded it. Just as well, really, as both this column and its other half was quite knackered after the excesses of the previous day. The fact that, unusually, our room was blessed with the joys of triple-glazing, also ensured we enjoyed peaceful slumbers that night, despite the railway station being in remarkably-close proximity to the building. More adventures tomorrow?

 - Glynis Wright

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