Day 2, I left everything that happened in a Jagermeister shot tube somewhere before a notorious graveyard, but after the rock-climbing centre that had body popping hipsters pouring out of it.

The day began at 4, We had a new Nanny looking after us. He was brilliant, told me that the only reason men move to Copenhagen is for the women. Can see why, porcine delights, squished faces and pert nipples. Angel DELIGHTS!

As we were walking towards NORREBRO, where the second day of festivities begins, we pass a window with a family of stuffed foxes dressed in mourning suits and strained smiles. “My favourite bar” the guide says. “Oh be careful of the baby dolls heads hanging From the ceiling”.

He meant these:

“And take your camera with you to the toilet” That’s a new one. I fobbed that off as a Danish fetish. This was how I determined what loo to use and what sex I am:


Apparently they initiated a midget casting to get these exactly the right proportions.

So after I had bumped into a goat in full leathers riding an Ostrich while talking to a bird with the head of Father Christmas’s elfin daughter, we joined the street parties. We danced constantly until they ended at 10, when everyone moves on to the various after shows (we wandered into a rock climbing centre!).

What’s genius about the festival is that if you tire of a genre of a song, merely move 10 meters down the road and you are greeted by another party with another vibe, each corner has its own niche .

Marthe, my darling Nutella flavoured Norwegian beauty flew back . I was in search of a new pig to play with.

Until the next time!