It’s also a running joke amongst leggy blonde Danish women that English men are the worst looking in Europe so the mainly male (and British!) cast are already bemoaning the fact that they are never going to get laid.
On wrap the cast head to Christiania; a hippy commune in Copenhagen where the yoga-practising inhabitants live for free and there is a not-so-jokey sign which says, ‘You are exiting the E.U. NOW.’ The place has the air of a Hans Christian Andersen tale on acid with its beautifully crafted sculptures, the open sale of hash in the aptly named ‘Green District’ and walls of fantastical graffiti. A vegan dinner of indistinguishable tofu-based substances in the midst of this bizarre yet distinctly Scandinavian setting felt like a fitting end to my time here.
Bags packed and I flew back for the opening of the lavish Omega House in Greek Street Soho to soak up the vibe of the London Olympics. The venue, home of the old House of St Barnabas, has undergone a massive overhaul and has been converted into a beautiful cocktail bar cum restaurant by the Olympic’s official sponsors. With Jarvis Cocker looking unmistakably dishevelled on the decks and a porcelain-skinned Nicole Kidman stalking around the patio, my excitement about being in London for the games outweighed all my taxi driver’s bitching about London being dead and not being able to use the Olympic lanes.