[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 Scandanavia’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.