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With two of the SOL members AWOL or otherwise financially challenged I had a lack of resource in the wingman department. SOL is an international enterprise, so I put in a call to the London field office. The previous year we had inserted an asset deep undercover in London posing as a mild mannered office worker for a major metropolitan infrastructure firm. His motive was, of course, ulterior. Thanks to a ‘rubulation’ technique he had personally pioneered, all of his finger prints had been effectively removed (unfortunately it had left him with the permanent inability to open new Tesco bags). This meant he was the perfect man for night raid missions; untraceable. He could get in, do what he had to do, and get out, before anyone could raise the alarm. Or worse, get his telephone number.

However, his recent field reports had become a concern. Simply put, he was not getting the results we were expecting. We could’ve pulled the plug, terminated the mission. But SOL looks after their assets. We organised a 5 night training mission. Destination: Copenhagen.

I met Dave at Stansted for a mission debrief over a burger and a pint. He has a certain inimitable style when it comes to telling tales but for the sake of this, he indicated he had been harrying the Spanish. Unfortunately the Spanish in question had returned to Spain and intelligence was unsure as to whether she would be coming back. Without wishing to get too graphic, Dave’s options seemed to have dried up. We pondered Sophie Ellis Bextor’s improbably ginger children then found our SleazyJet flight to Denmark.

Our forward reconnaissance unit, Sherriff Davies, had flown out a few days prior to establish contact with the local fixers and arrange our Forward Operating Base. He had set us up in the Danhostel, a self awarded ‘5-star hostel’ and potentially target rich environment. We got ourselves established, requisitioned some transport and set about infiltrating the local populace. Once settled in, the Sherriff and I began to apply the training regime. To break Dave down we carefully applied pints of beer at regulated intervals. To build him back up we fed him burgers, lots of burgers. Each day was finished at 5am with Burger King’s aptly named ‘Night Meal 3’ consisting of a Whopper, cheeseburger, large fries and drink. For others wishing to follow the regime, it can be seen in further depth here:

Due to the stresses of his original training, Dave suffers from nightclub induced narcolepsy. Ordinarily this just provides many hours of entertaining coat buckaroo but I needed him awake for the training to work. We had our top men reconfigure the regime to account for this, cunningly building in a second period of monitored sleep late afternoon. This did the trick.

With the program well underway, we were able to explore the city. Copenhagen is well worth a visit simply to experience some of their excellent language. Here are some examples we particularly enjoyed:

One alarming feature of Copenhagen is the sheer quantity of TBJs everywhere we looked. Concealed TBJs, sneaky peaky TBJs, balls out TBJs, bike mounted TBJs; TBJs of every flavour. Perhaps as a result of this we noted an astonishing number of MILFs; fully fledged MILFs, sprog drop imminent MILFs, double pram MILFs. Honestly, it’s amazing.

The training seemed to be having the desired affect. Dave was as excitable as I’ve ever seen him. We put this to the test by taking him to Copenhagen’s many and varied drinking establishments. It was at one such area – the Meatpacking District – I was mooching about waiting for Dave and the others when a girl walked past me and said “At skjorte er den forkert kulør blÃ¥!”

I shrugged and pulled a confused face, but she came back over.

“Your shirt,” she said “it’s the wrong colour blue.”

It was my Captain Awesome T-shirt, so I knew there was nothing wrong with it.

“Err, thanks” I said.

“No, that blue is from last season, it’s out of fashion. Why did you come to Copenhagen?”

“Well, one of my friends used to live out here, so he’s been showing us around and I’ve got a friend with me, who should really be around here-”

She stopped me.

“No, why are you here?”

I tried again. “Well it’s just a sort of holiday, so we’ve been going out and stuff-”

“No.” She moved slightly closer to me, her chest millimetres from mine, “why are you here…?”

“I… oh”

I knew exactly what to do. I ran away to my bicycle, found Dave, the others and we went to find another bar. Phew!

Copenhagen is a party hard kind of a place, well worth a go. Dave’s mojo had been reinstated and had also enjoyed the supersizing benefits of his 15 burgers. Don’t go for the weather, but go for a good time and an eyeful of TBJs.