The Diary

17 July 2003: What this column did on it's hols! (Day 3)

Right then, here's a poser to start with. How many Baggie folkies out there can name me five famous Danish people? Stumped? OK - here's how to impress your mates with your extensive general knowledge. First off, there's Tycho Brahe. Who's he? A mediaeval astonomer, that's who. Continuing our foray into the world of science, there's Neils Bohr, the nuclear physicist who did much to ensure that a mushroom-shaped cloud erupted over the sunny skies of Hiroshima almost 60 years ago. Thirdly, there's a chap called ?erstedt, who dwelt in the realms of electromagnetics. Fourth? Easy. Good old Hans Christian Andersen, he of the many childrens' fairy stories, and who also grew up in Odense. Ironic, really, that he made so many children happy, as he had a bloody awful childhood himself and couldn't wait to get the hell out of the town once he'd grown up. Last (but not least) we have good old King Canute himself; His Majesty reigned over much of this part of the world (although he didn't try to play silly buggers with the tide), but the strange thing is, the local farmers still take his name in vain when wishing to invoke abuse at something or other. That last one's dead true, trust me, I'm a gynaecologist??

So what else have we all been up to today? Er - well, apart from tonight's game, (see Neil's match report for details) we've mostly (mis)spent it in Ryan's Bar! No kidding, most of the Baggies here seem to gravitate towards the place like iron filings towards a magnet. It all started this morning when 'Im Indoors and I set out with the perfectly good intention of going to Odense Zoo. After our usual gut-busting breakfast, and much conversation with fellow-Baggies Neil, Jean, Alastair and Son, plus Ritchie, we caught the bus into town, pre-booked our return tickets to the airport at the train station, headed back to its four-wheeled counterpart with the express intention of heading on out to where the beasties hung out - and then it started to rain?.

A quick change of plan was indicated - we were only wearing Baggies shirts, shorts etc; not ideal foul-weather gear - which consisted of walking toward the Hans Christian Andersen Museum. Trouble was, the flaming place was closed for renovations. Plan C? That came in the form of a delightful outdoor re-enactment of all the great man's fairy-tales, by actors in appropriate constumes, with someone dressed as HCA doing a running commentary, with songs by the cast as appropriate. The Old Farts among you, remember the Danny Kaye biopic in the late 1950's? Well, all the songs came from that, and very charmingly performed they were, too. Not normally my scene, but I was entranced by the whole thing, and so was the other half of the bargain.

Following that, we were about to head for the town centre, and were passing - yep, you've guessed it already - Ryan's Bar, when we happened to espy a familiar-looking figure waving from without. Norm The Bartlam, it was, so we simply had show our faces there, Not so long after that, we were joined by the rest of the Baggie crew, including Sauce and Co (incidentally, how many people can say they've seen Long-Haired Mick toting - shock, horror! - a two-litre half-guzzled MILK container!). Strictly therapeutic, I'm assured??. Of course, the inevitable happened, and the falling-down water began to flow in quantity once more; not long after that, we were joined by our Danish companions of the previous day, the OB Odense-supporting combo. Amazingly, Gitta elected to join us for the Kolding game; no problem there, as we gallantly volunteered to - erm - fill her in as to who was hot, and who not in the wild and wacky world of West Bromwich Albion. Oh - and one other thing, she immediately captured everyone's heart by a totally unsolicited cry of: "I HATE ASTON VILLA!" There then followed a linguistic session with a subtle difference. Our Gitta is rather good at picking up dialect: she lived in Dublin for quite some time, and talks with a distinctly Danish-Irish brogue once the affluence of incahol has exerted its lubricating effect, so 'Im Indoors and I (with more than a leetle assistance from Professors Long-Haired Mick and Sauce!) decided to give her a crash-course in pure Black Country! Tell you what, she didn't half pick it up well; within a matter of around twenty minutes, she was "Ar, bostin'", "Yo'm yampy, yo' am" and "Cowin' 'ell!" with the best of them. Not quite "The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain," but Professor Higgins of Pygmalion/My Fair Lady fame would have applauded wildy, and chortled "By George, I think she's got it!" with glee.

By the time our little lesson finished, it was time to embark on some serious footie-watching, so once more, we engaged a considerable proportion of the Odense taxi service to get us to B1909's ground: this time, we took the eminently sensible precaution of getting Gitta to do the ordering.

More tomorrow, got to go, now, late at night. Ta ta.....

 - Glynis Wright

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