Welcome to the New World

It’s been a pretty weird day. For a start, so far, it’s lasted about 36 hours. It started at 4am in California, which is the time I’ve been getting up recently because… well, jet lag. It is now 11.15pm in Copenhagen, and I have gone through all manner of planes, trains and automobiles so I can get here in time to take a well earned vacation with my family.

My family is currently in a Travelodge outside of Luton airport. As I say, it’s been a pretty weird day.

So, I’ve been in America for the last week. In the run up to the inauguration the mood has been odd. People themselves were just getting on with their lives, but in the meantime this weird old man was sending out hate filled tweets, getting riled at the media and generally behaving in a manner unbefitting to the leader of the most powerful nation on earth. I’ve been trying to avoid writing or tweeting too much about Trump since I try to keep an open stance on people, to not take sides, and I’ve been finding it pretty hard to write about Trump in a way that doesn’t reveal my belief that he is an idiot who would struggle not to heckle his own acceptance speech.

However, in the week when he takes office to international protest, spends his first day in office complaining that the media accurately reported his inauguration turnout, and inspires the press to send him an open letter in which they state that they will be actively seeking to dish the dirt on him while he remains openly hostile, it’s hard to ignore the man.

I flew out of America on the 19^th, the day before he became president. It wasn’t intentional, but my wife was, in her words, ‘delighted I was getting out before it all got nasty’. Even so, I was bombarded with travel alerts suggesting there might be higher than normal levels of political protest in the countries I was visiting. When you get a travel warning about unrest in Denmark, you know things have got to an odd place. Denmark is the friendliest country in the world, famed for its concept of hygge (roughly translated as cosiness), and welcoming to a fault. If they’re getting worked up about someone, you know he’s not Mr. Rogers.

Back in the UK, my family were trying to get to the airport. Unfortunately, chaos on the roads meant the taxi didn’t get to them until half an hour after they were supposed to set off and didn’t get to the airport until five minutes before the gate was due to close.

I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to get through airport security in a hurry, but I can assure you it doesn’t become easier when the next president of United States is currently sending out a message to terrorists roughly along the lines of ‘come on then if you think you’re hard enough.’ My family’s bags were searched. Thoroughly. They found, and confiscated, a dangerous consignment of cheese scones before my family were allowed on their way. I don’t know when cheese scones made it onto the dangerous items list. I supposed if water, shower gel and toothpaste are in there, it was only a matter of time.

Needless to say, my family didn’t make it. They were turned away at the gates, and they were forced to rebook their flights and head to a hotel to await the following morning.

So now, I’m in a hotel in Copenhagen on my own in a room for three. My bag contains a pack of orange biscuits that I didn’t previously know were weapons of mass destruction but I am now eyeing with suspicion, and I have no-one to share them with because my family, who I bought them for, are not here. Meanwhile, in America, the king of orange is dancing with his wife at a ball where no performers wanted to perform and no celebrities wanted to attend. In his own mind, he is the most popular man in America.

As I say, it’s been a weird day. I wonder what will happen tomorrow.