Bones, Eggs & Crowns

ftr-danish-jes

Jolly Roger, Humpty Dumpty and the Danish prince.

A Happy New Year!

One from the heart here, and please excuse me for being so Frank. After all, my name is Jes, not Frank, so I guess we’re kind of the 2018 version of the one-man James Brothers’ Gang: I’m Jesse and I’m Frank.

So, yes, Frankly and straight from the heart: A very happy new year to you all. Hoping this one will be better than the last. Well, not that 2017 was so bad after all. Our Danish politicians had all the fun they could ask, and even the rest of us were slightly amused.

A free sitcom featuring the coalition government parties and their support, The Danish Folklore Dancers’ Party, DF, trying to write a law of the budget for 2018 and forth. The Liberal Alliance, one of the coalition parties, threatening to throw down the budget in the last vote just before New Year’s eve and thus provoking an election. The government overthrowing the government.

Meanwhile Denmark had banned the burkha, cleverly disguising it as a law against disguise. Guess Santa will be thrown in jail next Christmas for being masked and anonymous.

The budget went through the needle’s eye after all, but only just. After a cease-fire over Christmas and New Year the liberals will be back on the stage with their claims for lower taxes for the richest, and The Folk Dancers will be claiming new restrictions cast upon residents of other colours and beliefs. And, mind you, the folk dancers got the police horses back, never forget that. The special horse force was shut down in Denmark in 2012, but now Lotte, Jolly Jumper and Bukefalos will be back on the street enforcing law and order in Copenhagen, assisted by their uniformed riders.

Only trouble, though, Lotte, Jolly and Buck have probably gone to the eternal slaughter houses long ago. We can’t have mounted police on wooden horses, so what do we do? Anybody got a horse for sale? A trained one. One who can find his own way home, if his uniformed rider has to get off the saddle and take a leak or arrest somebody.

All the Queen’s horses and all the Queen’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again, nor can they make the prince consort happy again. Prince Henrik of Denmark is still unhappy about not being the King, and he still refuses to be buried together with his wife, Queen Margrethe II in the cathedral of Roskilde.

On top of that the doctors have, during the year, passing us like a ball on the tennis court, diagnosed him as suffering from dementia, and I really suffer with him. Though he probably hurt his wife profoundly, I still like him. Intelligent, humorous, creative. A bubbly toast to Henrik, may he rest in peace whenever and wherever it may be. And may he be a king in his next life.

Me, I’m just sitting here in my rocking chair in my apartment in Denmark in the rainiest conclusion of a year for 33 years, rocking back and forth, pondering a year past and one to come. It’s Sunday, and my wife Gretha and I are going to say a gentle and quiet farewell to another tennis-ball, only this time it’s a year and not a ball, and it won’t be returned. Our partying will not be like in our younger days, just a good dinner – lobster soup, Chateaubriand and a good old bottle of Gigondas. Maybe a nocturnal dance in our stocking feet listening to Dylan’s Forever Young. And no explosives.

On the 3rd of November 2004 the worst catastrophe here in peacetime happened as a fireworks factory in my town of Kolding blew to smithereens along with most of the surrounding neighbourhood. By sheer luck “only” one, a fireman, lost his life. But I can still hear the frightening roar from the explosions and the fire. So no fireworks for este senor, por favor. Just maybe a big cigar and some candles. That’ll do.

(Feature: Danish Corner)

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