The Diary

22 July 2003: What this column did on it's hols! (Day 8)

Our final day in Denmark, and after breakfast, a short walk to the nearby station to meet some of the others needing to get to Copenhagen Airport at the same time as us (although not all were on the same flight), but prior to that, several jars in the bar above the business-end, the object of the exercise being saying goodbye to Ivor The Not-So-Terrible, his good lady wife, Gitte, not forgetting their two small offspring. Although we were comparatively early getting there, Sauce and Long-Haired Mick, drinking Cokes, would you believe, already occupied pole position, hard by the entrance. After spotting them, we informed our dynamic duo we would be back shortly, as we were going to look inside a nearby shop. ?OK,? said our trusty two, so we then set out in search of edible souvenirs for ?Im Indoors?s workmates. We couldn?t find what we required in that establishment, so we then decided to check out another, which necessitated passing the bar once more. On seeing us saunter by again, an exasperated Sauce demanded to know wot the cowin?ell we was after? ?Sex aids!? replied this column brightly, at which point I observed from the corner of my little eye our hero?s jaw descend at approximately six feet per second...

Having finally sorted out what we really wanted at the other shop, we then returned to the bar once more, only to find Sauce?s face still an absolute picture! Not long after our arrival, we were then joined by Gary, Richard, Paddy, JJ, BJ, and, last but not least, Ivor and Gitte, plus offspring, the younger of which instantly made a bee-line for Long-Haired Mick again! It was rapidly becoming clear that it was going to end in tears for this young man come the time for Mick to join the train, but before that sad moment arrived, we spent the next couple of hours talking about the tour, the laughs we?d had, plus some rather heated discussion concerning burning issues surrounding recent events at our favourite football club. Sauce, who?d been particularly vociferous on those occasions when the conversation turned to some particularly contentious topic or another ? the controversy surrounding Meggo?s man-management skills and the youth policy (or rather our assertion there was a distinct lack of one) springs to mind ? finally agreed to differ. All this with the conversation punctuated at intervals by young Rasmuss?s demonstration of the OB battle-cry, with Mick joining in for the sheer hell of it, and to please the youngster. Oh, and I forgot to tell you yesterday about Al The Phantom Piddler; his train left for the airport at around two that morning, and our hero had elected to travel at that unearthly hour in order to save the expense of an extra night?s hotel stay! Steve The Miser would have been dead proud of his frugality!

All good things have to come to an end, though; for Mick, Sauce, us two Dick Eds, Gary and Son, Paddy, JJ and BJ, time, tide and airport trains waited for no man, and so we all had to make our way to Platform Four, with our Danish friends present to see us off, of course. Quite an emotional time for us all as the train approached; hugs and kisses for Gitte from all of us, and a special one from Rasmuss for Long-Haired Mick. As I?d suspected, the lad was quickly in tears, and, if the truth were known, so were we! A promise from both Danish adults to try and take in an Albion game at The Shrine some day, and it was into the carriage and away, all of us deeply lost in thought for some considerable time.

An uneventful journey via our old stamping-ground, Copenhagen Station (at least we didn?t have to change this time) brought us to the airport and, along with our father-and-son combo, to the SAS check-in desk; Sauce and Co were on a different flight! Thinking we were being pretty cute, we managed to join the shorter of the queues, only to find that the blokes in front of us were members of an orchestra, or something, and were refusing to consign their valuable instruments to the tender mercies of the airport baggage-handlers! A flurry of phone calls ensued, and we waited, and waited... Eventually, the problem was sorted to mutual satisfaction, and we were all squared away as well. It was only after we?d passed the security checkpoint upstairs that we discovered We Were Not Alone! It wasn?t just the fact we bumped into Roy Hayden?s entourage there, also Mike Thomas and Linda, realisation rapidly came that we were booked on the same flight as our favourite football team! Strange, that, because scuttlebutt had it our finest were staying until Thursday to do yet more training! It just goes to show, you can?t get the moles these days... A pre-flight pause for a bite to eat, and an amusing interlude: the sight of the Soup-Dragon, looking distinctly harassed, haring down the main thoroughfare as if his life depended on it!

A stroll to our designated gate, accompanied by some very familiar faces, then onto our aircraft. A surreal safety-demonstration then followed, hosted by a stewardess who was introduced as ?My dead-gorgeous colleague, Tanya? Chortles all round, especially from Houlty, seated two rows in front ? if ever there was a prize awarded for dirty laughter that bloke would win in a walk! ? so I suspect that this particular member of the cabin-crew had already been thoroughly chatted-up by our finest! Fast work considering we?d only been on the plane some 20 minutes...

With the minimum of fuss, the crew then buttoned-up for the flight, and we left the embrace of Mother Earth, and Danish soil, dead on time. A shame about the in-flight meal, though; those butties contained smoked salmon, and ?Im Indoors is allergic to fish! Just as well we?d noshed at the airport, then; after making suitably-sympathetic noises to my other half, I spent the remainder of the flight observing the scenery 30,000 feet below, visibility being rather good, there was so much to see out there. We finally made landfall in Blighty about an hour and forty-five minutes after take-off; out of the plane, through passport-control, and into the reclaim area once more. At least our luggage wasn?t so tardy arriving this time, although there was a prolonged wait for our stuff to emerge from the carousel. The monotony was quickly relieved by a couple of passengers from another recently-landed flight, one a Dingle, the other a Baggie. The more unsavoury of the pair appeared to cotton on quite quickly to the fact that an entire Albion side, plus support, was occupying space well within gobbing-distance; at first I thought he was summoning up his few mental resources to have a go, but then appeared to think better of it, which was just as well, really. As for the Baggie, although he was wearing an Albion shirt ? part-timers don?t normally bother ? and passed within a couple of yards of Hughsie and several of his playing colleagues, he still remained in blissful ignorance of being in such close proximity to his heroes. Eventually, the penny did drop ? and just like Sauce, earlier that day, so did his jaw, with a resounding clang! As my late mother would have put it, his eyes came out like organ-stops...

We had originally intended to grab a taxi home straight off the rank, but as Gary and Son were travelling back to Hill Top, and had a taxi pre-booked anyway, we agreed to chuck our lot in with them. A great idea; unfortunately, none of us had reckoned with the sheer incompetence displayed by that company. On exiting the building, Gary searched for the expected cab, but of it, no sign. One hasty call on the mobile later revealed the fact the firm had mistakenly booked the job in for a week later! ?Don?t worry,? they said, ?The roads are quiet, we?ll be there within 20 minutes?. Personally, I had my doubts; ever tried getting through Brum at the tail-end of the rush-hour? I wasn?t too surprised, therefore, to find us still standing there like idiots some 50 minutes later. Mind you, if we?d thought we?d had it bad, we had to spare some sympathy later on for poor Paddy, who happened to be on the same flight as us. As he told us, somewhat indignantly, SAS, in a strange departure from all accepted security procedures, had managed to leave the guy?s suitcase on the plane, and as far as our fellow-Baggie could tell, both luggage and contents were currently winging their way back to Copenhagen! Oh, whoops... Just as we were all about to chuck our hands in and throw ourselves onto the mercies of TOA Taxis, our tardy steed arriveth! Whoopee! A minibus this time, but at least it was our means of getting home, which we did, dead knackered, around 45 minutes later.

Good trip? You bet: in my estimation, the best of the lot, not only because of the football and the new location, more because we?d all made some marvellous Danish friends, who also regard the beautiful game and its followers a major part of their day-to-day life. I?d really love to see Ivor and Gitte at The Shrine some day; I?d like to think we?ve done enough to persuade them to make the short journey over the North Sea to the Black Country, but even if they don?t, our new-found connection between GD and their own magazine, The Tiger, will ensure the friendship between the two sets of supporters continues for many years to come. I?m also pretty certain that come the start of the 2004-05 season, we?ll be booking accommodation in Denmark once more, watching more games, having more laughs, and, hopefully, renewing some old acquaintances. And, you never know, maybe, just maybe, I?ve persuaded some of you lot reading this to try a pre-season tour for yourselves. Great fun guaranteed, and the more, the merrier. Aw, you know you want to! Come on in, the water?s warm!

 - Glynis Wright

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