It’s been lovely to have had our first guest at the cabin this week: Kit, Daisy’s older brother.

Even at 18, Kit is taller than his dad, so we expected to be a little cramped indoors. But actually it was okay. Daisy slept on the sofa with him, each having a portion of the L shape. Leaving me and Sarah up the ladder in the roof.

Having somewhere to lay our heads has been a preoccupation this week. There is absolutely nothing coming on the market. And if anything does come up it’s snapped up as soon as you can log into the website. We went for a viewing of a flat which was part of a house a few days ago, only to be standing outside the property with half a dozen others.

We left without seeing it. We figured we didn’t stand a chance, as it was an easier choice to choose a Dane. Not least because they probably had a Danish bank account, which we don’t yet have.

Fortunately, after a lot of effort, we found a place for a month. A beautiful, small apartment in the centre of town. The man who lives there is out of town for a few weeks and wanted to rent it out. It has two bedrooms, a galley kitchen, a living/dining area and a small wet room.

We can even use his car if we want.

Problem is, we have to move out of the cabin on the 3rd October and we can’t move in to his place until the 9th. Which means a trip to the hostel again, probably.

During the week we took the opportunity to go for a sauna. The place we went to is right in the middle of town opposite the police station and looks like the kind of building that ought to be a thirties cinema. Between 130 and 3pm you can get onto the Wellness floor, where there is a spotless array of showers, steam rooms, saunas, plunge pools and jacuzzi. We felt clean for the first time since we arrived.

Kit enjoyed walking on the beach and was very lucky with the weather. We’re having an Indian summer here. It’s official.

Saturday morning we took our Trangia burners down to the beach and cooked a lovely breakfast in the sunshine. The sea was calm as a mill pond.

We’re only 49 km from the airport so it was an easy trip to drop him off for his lunchtime flight back to Stansted. We did a little drive to Ebeltoft, en route, which is across the bay from where we live. Then we stopped for a bit to eat at a roadside truck stop. It was a bit like a burger van with an American style breakfast bar, surrounded by a conservatory. Next to it was a bit chopped off of a small ship: the bridge and a bit of decking.

Inside, a lovely pensioner cooked the best chips we’d tasted for a while - our decline into eating as badly as the Danes seem to has begun.

Parking at the airport was a doddle. And the first five hours were free.

To be honest, in that time you could fly to the UK and back and still not get charged.

We enjoyed the view of the blank runway from the cafe bar upstairs called the Kok Pit.

With that, our independent traveller was gone.