The Start:
How do you make a factory trip to Fritz Hansen sound
exciting?! I don’t have any videos to show of the automated machines pressing,
pumping, cutting, painting, and sanding their products. I have little memory of
the ins and outs of the detail of their product. But most of all, I fear that
the end reader wouldn’t be bothered for the most part to hear of a whistle stop
tour around the Danish firms production facility.
Further more, the fun, jokes, laughs and giggles came about
not far and few between, but from the result of the classic ‘had to be there
moments’ that then dictated the resulting and unrelenting piss taking.
But never the less, given that it was an out of the ordinary
adventure for a new kid in the designery world I’ll do my best to fill in the
gabs of one boring anecdote to another with tales of mystery, wit, charm, and a
dabble of ridiculousness (actually this never happens) all based on the
concrete reality of the two day venture to Denmark…
The Phone:
…The story starts a couple of days before when the demons at
work played host to one of the least accomplished, yet successful thefts of my
time. Through pure ignorance and content, I (the target) ignorantly and
foolishly positioned my phone in a pocket. The evil doers and subsequently and hopefully
wholly guilt ridden players targeted my ignorance and called foul play,
removing what I owned from previously mentioned ‘pocket’, and allowed my
materialistic position to abandon I, it’s owner, and left for the sweaty palms
of it’s ill minded and dirty victor of which now claimed ownership.
It left me £150 poorer (gold insurance isn’t as golden as I
thought) and without a telephone, and more importantly at this stage an alarm
clock. The trip to Copenhagen was due to start at 6:20 when a taxi would
deliver me to Heathrow, however through shear fear of not naturally waking up,
I attempted to stay conscious for the evening, resulting in 20 minute naps for
5 hours until the hand reached 6 o’clock and I could dress myself.
The Airport:
The missing phone caused further problems once at the
airport. Excited about laying eyes upon the gleaming Terminal 5, and suffering swathes
of disappointment as the grandeur of the port that I was so expecting seemed
never to transpire. I searched for my compatriot travellers that, according to
the flight info were waiting at gate A…..or B…., D,…or G. Now as helpful
information goes, and given the size of the airport, this was ridiculous, so I
paid due curtsey to the automated check-in, collected my flimsy ‘ticket’ and took
to security.
After being confidently groped, patted, and shouted at for
numerous ill doings in my etiquette whilst attempting to navigate the removal
of belts, shoes, jackets, coins, pens, more coins, paper you don’t even need to
remove, passport, ticket that you mistake as rubbish, wallet, phone, i-pod, and
another coin, I eventually found my group upon the plane and unsurprisingly,
and very, o so very thankfully we flew without crashing to Copenhagen.
Plane lands, passports checked, bladders duly emptied, bus
found, ‘pimp’ section delineated (see picture), beer opened, beer drunk, Fritz
Hansen promo speech delivered, British flag spotted, factory found, bus
stopped, we entered the factory for our tour.
The Whistle Stop
Tour:
I had previously written a rambling smoosh of nonsensical
and ultimately dull anecdotal hopelessness that should be consumed by no good
person. So I’ve refrained from describing anything more, will drop a couple of
photos in…and leave it at that.
Jans:
We were taken for dinner to a local foodie basement
garnished with the stereotypical inhabitants of Denmark, reached the bottoms of
a healthy volume of wine, and shown the door. We were then taken for drink to a
local drinky basement garnished with the un-stereotypical inhabitants of
Denmark, reached the bottom of an un-healthy volume of white Russians, whilst
under the scrutiny of a fellow punter named Jans, offering games of tennis,
rugby, and chess, whilst convincing us of his submarine selling business and in
the process, looking indescribably silly. But I suppose who were we to barge
into his local and claim superiority, so we indulged in his anecdotal prowess
and licked up the ramblings of a drunk.
The End:
…so that’s one of the two days…mirror the events and you can
build your own idea of the second day. I’ve wasted enough your time, and can
only hope that this particular entry doesn’t leave a lasting impact and it can
disband from your memory in due haste.
I’m off to waste the time of cat…
(the travelling peeps having a 'casual' sunday lunch on of course, Fritz Hansen product)
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