Danish weather update

In keeping with Tecumseh travelogue tradition, I'm checking in from Copenhagen, in town to interview Carlsberg's CEO. (A big moment for my little mag.) Their global HQ is atop the city's tallest building, above a working maltings. With the dust from the grain there's always an infinitesimal but real chance of an explosion, which would decimate the Danish brewer's braintrust. It's something that always crosses my mind as I rocket up in the lift to the 15th floor.

But this will change: this cathedral of brewing, where so much of the initial work understanding the mysteries of yeast was undertaken in the 19th century, is to be closed, a city centre site that is worth more redeveloped.

The site speaks of Carlsberg's family origins. The gates to the brewery are shouldered by four elephants, symbolising those of the founders' eight children to make it to adulthood. Two of these beasts are adorned with swastikas, etched in stone before the Nazis usurped these ancients symbols of Indian health. Admittedly, they are a strange sight in today's modernity and it's a somewhat brave non-PC decision on the part of the brewery to allow them to remain.

Otherwise, it's below zero and the city is quiet. The rainbow-coloured lights of Tivoli are on, but no one is home, its gates shut and windows shuttered. It is also snowing, the kind of snow that I like best, light, big flakes blown and thrown about by a gentle wind. It envelops the city centre in a blanket, muffling noise and creating a Christmas Eve stillness. The streets are empty.

Lazza