The Diary

18 July 2003: What this column did on it's hols! (Day 4)

Sorry for the rapid truncation of last night's offering, folkies, but I hadn't realised the lateness of the hour?.. A couple of belated mentions for various Baggie people at last night's 1-1 draw. I'm doing this one against my better nature - purely because I don't want to be responsible for dropping one of the poor sods in it, but he insisted, so a big 'hello' to the following: Matt Wheatley, Ashley Payne, and Wayne Ferris, who before and during the encounter bravely flew a thundering great St George's flag with 'Smethwick' writ large on its horizontal red stripe. Incidentally, remember Fernando Dervald? He turned out for us, briefly, and got booked a lot, as we recall! He now plays for OB, and was plonked underneath said flag watching the game with avid interest. The reason for my misgivings? It's just that Ashley is currently on the sick with (genuinely - the offending hand's thoroughly swathed in plaster!) torn ligaments, and will be 'on the box' for an awfully long time. I'm still mentally wincing as I type this?.. Additionally, a leetle more about that bet Gitta (the female half of an OB-supporting combo, her beloved is called Ivor) had with the OB player. If the player had won the wager, Gitta had to wash this gentleman's sweaty post-match socks (it could have been worse, just think about it!), and if Gitta had proven triumphant, the deal was the player concerned donated his team shirt to the lady. Just as well, really, the whole thing ended in a diplomatic draw. One other discovery? The hot dogs sold in the (relatively) posh bit above where the hoi-polloi (us!) stood were not only better than those sold below, more 'extras', etc - they were a damn sight cheaper! I know, because 'Im Indoors fetched me one at half-time! Somehow, I don't think the locals have quite got their heads around the concept of 'executive facilities', be they hot dogs or otherwise?

Off to Roskilde to do the 'cultural bit' today, courtesy of one of our Danish Baggie friends, Michael Morsch, together with his son, Matis, who kindly offered to show us the sights. Roskilde is plonked plumb-spang in the bit where Copenhagen is located, across the large suspension bridge I mentioned the other day. When we left Odense, it was trying to rain, by the time we arrived at our destination, it was a close approximation of a monsoon! And then we had to find our meeting-place, 'The Dome'. Only 5 minutes away, we were told, but nothing dome-like could we see, until the local tourist office revealed all - what we thought was a church with two steeples also enjoyed the blessing of a hemispherical bit stuck on the end. That was The Dome? Huh. I could have sued under the Trades Descriptions Act - no wonder we couldn't find the bloody thing. Still, our soggy frustrations didn't last long. Michael (plus small son) appeared right on cue, and proceeded to introduce us to the delights of its interior. It transpired that the church was the Danish equivalent of Westminster Abbey; 40 of their kings and queens are buried there, the first in 1080 or thereabouts, including the former regal lady, who popped her clogs around three years ago. So grief-stricken were the population, 200,000 souls turned up to see her planted. You'll not be surprised to hear that the Danish Royals are distantly related to ours; something to do with Queen Victoria, who may not have been amused, but whose ancestors were rather fecund.

On then, to The Viking Museum, but first, a look at some sand sculptures outside, with a quick detour by way of a early 20th century reproduction of a grocers' shop thrown in. Hint: think 'Black Country Museum' here. The sand-sculptures were what they said on the tin, but very skilfully carved. All depictions of Norse gods and godesses, with the image of Odin, the Valhalla's head honcho dominating the whole lot. Incidentally, there is a Black Country connection here: the town Wednesbury gets its name from Woden, one of the Norse lot (Woden's Borough = Wednesbury, eventually). As for the ships, it's taken 20 years to piece all the fragments of ships together to make these exhibits. Originally, there were five old Viking ships sunk to prevent another lot of Vikings invading a local fjord; they were rediscovered around 1968, and a lot of painstaking work went into restoring them to a semblance of their former glory. The end results can be seen in the museum - wow, but I certainly wouldn't have the patience to work in a similar field, like assembling a vast jigsaw without a pretty picture on the box to go by. When we exited the museum, Michael's little shaver had a birthday party to attend, and I was cream crackered anyway, so we reluctantly headed homewards again, courtesy of Danish Railways, the sun coyly peeping through the rapidly-retreating clouds as we approached Odense once more. Time for a king-size blow-out at an Italian restaurant hard by the station (Odense, early on a Friday night; so quiet, no people out on the razzle, as you'd normally expect!) before heading back to our B and B for the night. One disappointment; it appeared that our Baggie-supporting counterparts had taken invisibility pills for the day. When we returned, we looked in our usual haunts, but of Baggie-believers, there was not a whisper!

Tomorrow, it must be OB Odense? A 6 pm. Kick-off, this one, as it?s the second course of a 'double-header'. This game's going to be a much tougher proposition to the previous two as OB finished fourth in their heap last season, and qualified for the UEFA Cup by winning on the last day. According to Gitta, they've made four useful signings, three on 'frees', the fourth unofficially cost 60 grand. Quite a splurge, as fancy sums simply don't get bandied around in Danish footie. Albion do 'tenacity', 'strength on the ball', and 'workrate'; the Danes do passing skills rather well, and we'll probably get passed to death. OB do have ambitions of bettering themselves this term. I suspect we'll come away from this one the losers. One odd thought; again, according to our Danish friends, there'll be segregation in force for this one! I'm still trying to come to terms with this novel concept for a Danish friendly. Segregation? US? Sure, we'll out-sing 'em, eat 'em out of sausages, and probably drink 'em out of lager, but start a punch up with the locals? More chance of the ghost of Lord Nelson having a second pop at the Danes on the Oresund!

And finally, all together, now... "We're not worthy, we're not worthy!" A Danish lad, Morten; a mention. Yep, he's Danish, like bacon, butter and sausages, but other than that, what's so special about him? Simple. How many people do you know who regularly flew the thousand or so miles across the North Sea and back to watch our lads during our promotion season? And, just to make it official, the lad invested in a home season ticket that season as well. Unless you know better, of course?

 - Glynis Wright

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