[Well, my SEO professor said it was much better than Sports Bars of
Europe #7]
Feverishly scoured the Interweb looking for alternative sports bars in
Copenhagen. Once I saw the address of my previous
haunt, the marvellous 'Irish
Rover', my mind was
instantly made up.
Tomorrow morning, when the customer politely asks me what I got up to
last night, instead of 'Caught up with my email and ordered room
service', I can now proffer 'I spent a glorious, unforgettable night
up 'Jorcks Passage'.
Inspired, I ran down the 19 flights of stairs down to the lobby to get
a city map which I strive to hold the
right way up. The pretty, blonde
Danish receptionist couldn't be more helpful. She pointed to the
hotel (D2) and passed
me the map with a knowing smile; 'I am hearing this
place (G7) is very popular with the
English business men, if you are knowing what I am meaning'.
Even with the map the right way up, I still got lost. I passed a large
City square surrounded by an ice rink and then the street signs ran
out. Desperate, I opened the map and accosted a young lady in a
lonely, darkly lit street asking for directions to 'The Stroget'.
Instead of running away, mugging me for my phone or accusing me of
date rape, she replied 'Yes. I am going that way so you can follow if
you like.'
We got chatting and it transpired she had a late night at work as she
was planning for Scandinavia's largest fashion festival in 10 days.
Inevitably, as we hit 'Stroget' and the designer shops, our pace
slowed to a crawl as we stopped to admire this year's autumnal designs
in a very fetching brown.
This was going nowhere. I don't like shopping, particularly when the
outlets are closed. Kick off was approaching fast. I could feel that I
was really close to Jorck's Passage.
I had to nip this relationship in the bud. Now. 'Do you fancy coming
to watch Eng-er-land play Spain, love and maybe get a kebab later ?'
My glamorous, shapely, dark haired Danish escort suddenly recognised
her best friend and ran away.
Got a Leffe
and secured a blissfully unobstructed view of the big screen upstairs.
After 20 minutes of boredom, the incessant Danish flirting started
again. Personally, I blame that (3 day old) Lynx aftershave. I asked
the beautiful waitress a perfectly innocuous question: 'Is it possible
to order some food ?'
She leant over, plunging her cleavage over my pint, and whispered
breathlessly 'If you can wait till after the match, I can give you my
very own Special for 10 Crowns'. I was speechless at this unsolicited
but very welcome advance until my neighbour, an Irish student
bricklayer, translated: 'Yes. Surely. You can have a Irish Rover Beer
& Burger international friendly football special for just 10 Kroner'.
Sigh. Another chance gone.
Oh and here comes the match report. A very uninspiring, mediocre team
in white lost 1-0 to an unadventurous team in red with silly haircuts.