Woke up startlingly early this morning and got my bicycle back to the rental dungeon on time. Although there was a light mist in the air, I decided a walk to the “old neighbourhood” was in order, so I headed west on Vesterbrogade trolling for coffee. Ended up at Musik Conditori, a bakery and café that Oliver and I passed last year on a walk to the park; had an excellent cappuccino and croissant outside on the patio under the awning and enjoyed the crisp morning air.

I caught the bus back to the city centre and took a nap in my hotel room for an hour to take the edge off the repeated days of intense activity, little sleep, an uncommon amounts of alcohol. Just as I was pondering my next move, Olle phoned with a lunch invite. As the Internet went down as soon as he hung up, I went out into the Copenhagenosphere flying blind, but through a combination of luck and a good memory, managed to navigate my way in, with Olle talking me in for the final block.

Lunch with Olle and Luisa was an excellent vegetarian burger at Chili, near the National Museum. The restaurant, like most of the city, was full of Swedish footballers making ready for the matach against Denmark later in the day.

Post-lunch we wandered and ended up at a large downtown bookstore. After a wander round the stacks there was an unexpected rendezvous with Henriette and her crew out on the street, which led us to a coffee at Paludan, a book store cum café where we all squeezed around a couple of tables and engaged in general merriment.

Just before 17h, Olle and Luisa and I headed off to Plex to see a performance of Herr Schreber, a performance that Olle had earlier sold me as a “variety show in English and Danish” that turned out rather to be a “musical theatre piece in Danish and English.” Nonetheless the show was delightful, something due in large part to the wit, musicality and invention of Pete Livingstone (the “English” part of the piece). The Livingstones Kabinet, an enterprise he fronts with partner Nina Kareis seems to bear much in common with Coleman Lemieux, to the point where they seemed pre-destined to collaborate at some point.

Post-show we headed to Sult, the café inside the Danish Film Institute for a drink, and then to Olle and Luisa’s place across down for a hearty dinner of dal followed by a “this is too late in the day, but it’s a Pavoni so I must” cappuccino. I rolled out around 10:00 p.m., caught the bus back to the hotel and promptly ran into Laurent and Andre milling about in the lobby.

Which is where I am right now, doing some cappuccino-fired late-nite blogging, and waiting for the Swedish footballers to return for some late-nite revelry. At which point I will go to sleep.