Copenhagen

Awkward encounters with models, girls in the mist and smoking a J.

In the Louisiana: At Luciano’s House, 1973. F. Gertsch.

I went to Copenhagen last weekend.

It always takes me by surprise that I’m allowed to do things like this. Drive myself to an airport—on the motorway, no less—and board a flight on my own.

Like a real adult.

The food options in Heathrow’s Terminal 2 were unpreposessing. Overpriced disappointing burgers; overpriced disappointing sushi; overpriced disappointing dumplings.

I opted for Pret which, if perpetually disappointing, is at least cheap. This is why most people eat here: it is the least you can pay to be disappointed.

A woman with a clipboard approached. Oh wait, it’s not a clipboard, it’s an iPad. Nobody carries clipboards for market surveys anymore, come on Jill. She wanted to ask me questions about the food choices. Someone is obviously wise to the limits and delimits of the current T2 food offering.

The questions were detailed.

Who made the decision about where to eat today? [I’m sitting alone so I think this is fairly obvious…