08 May 2006

A new chapter in the ongoing soap opera

Every night it’s a different city; a different hotel. Yet they could all be stamped from the same cookie cutter. Taipei, Osaka, Tel Aviv, Crolles, Durham (the Geordie one). Last night, Manhattan.

You get into the city before dawn, enjoy a twelve hour session of corporate chicken shit and general turd-pollishing, eat a “working lunch” (salmonella sandwiches), sign the papers and dash back to the hotel to grab a few hours of kip before the next flight.

Our sales guys live for this sort of thing, but it makes me grumpy. I just want to be home, or failing that, I’d like to be on an interesting bar stool (Hotel bars suck).

Despite this pain, I’ve learned a lot.

It’s almost impossible to bet a good bacon buttie in Israel.

Likewise, in Japan. In fact, their concept of western food, in particular Italian, is, erm, interesting.

If everyone picks up a bottle at duty free, the resulting whiskey ration can be made to last almost a day. I suspect our entire sales department has drinking problems. Next time I shall keep the liquor, but only because I’m concerned about their health.

Durham has a charming castle that was built during the late Chav dynasty. It is one of the few castles in Europe that has survived both the Spanish-American war and the onslaught of English football hooligans.

While it is a scurrilous myth that French people smell, I certainly do after 27 hours of travel.

Travel broadens the mind.

Apparently, I must have my head up my arse.


And that's the way I likes it.