Disclaimer - This is far away from my usual work published on this site but my website is the best current platform for the creative partnership between my good friend and journalist, Joel Watson, who wrote this piece, and myself documenting our endeavours. We arrived in the Danish capital mid-afternoon after a two-hour flight from Luton and set about getting lost almost immediately.
We worked out as much when a pair of prostitutes sexually assaulted us on our way to the shop that evening. More on that later. We had some time to kill before we could check into our room so we dumped our bags and went off in search of coffee.
Quickly we found ourselves on a road that contained a length of hipster-looking cafes that ran alongside the old meatpacking district.
It was all very Shoreditch and the shelves were lined with board games, cycling paraphernalia and random decorative tat. We paid something close to a house deposit for two small coffees and played cards until we were allowed into our room.
After checking in, we met a friendly traveller who offered to show us to a wine bar that was supposedly having its happy hour. Sadly he was misinformed and the three of us ended up paying 10 pounds a glass for some, admittedly very nice, Argentine plonk. Not disheartened, we linked up with another resident at the hostel and the four of us went out in search of food.
