The Joys of Business Travel

Just back at my hotel after a client meeting in Amsterdam. Now I'm not one of those who goes mad for a spot of International roaming but I didn't mind it in the old days. That is to say, in the GOOD old days, the days before of the 'No-frills' airline.

Because of "Economies" (the Latin word for cutback I'm sure) we are now obliged to travel in this godawful manner for all business trips. So there I was this morning at 6 am on a bus (they don't let you walk down a nice heated airbridge to the plane oh no) to a QuesyJet flight from Liverpool John Lennon Airport. Can I just say here, what a wonderful idea that was, to name a regional airport after one of its favourite singing sons? I think London should follow suit, they could call Heathrow 'Chas' and Gatwick 'Dave'.

Well I was the only person on the bus (and hence the flight) who was actually travelling on Business. There I was, best suit and tie with my nose directly adjacent to the armpit of one of a very loud and raucous group of women who were all wearing Tee-Shirts with "Barbara thought we were having her 40th in Sunderland, but we're off to Amsterdam, Yorkie Girls on the p*ss tour 07" emblazoned on them. Now that is a lot of words to fit on a Tee-shirt, regrettably both Barbara and the rest of the Yorkie girls all had the physique to accommodate such marathon syntax easily!

I wasn't prepared for the boarding procedure, I remember doing a case study on Southwest airlines (who pretty well invented the No frills concept in the US) once, so deep down I knew about the 'no-assigned seats' rule, what I wasn't ready for was the mad scramble across the tarmac as the bus doors opened. It was every man for himself, a war zone, elbows were flying, there was kicking, punching and eye gouging, small children were trampled underfoot in the rush! Looking back, I feel a little sorry now, perhaps I should have eased off a bit but it is terribly important that one is able to get one's Swiss Laptop bag safely stashed in the overhead bins!

Anyway, I quickly got my comeuppance a couple (she was wearing designer clothes, yards of cleavage and belly showing, this pale pink in the cold morning air and at stark contrast with a face that was a colour known to Dulux colour charts as 'Dale Winton Orange', he was short, round shaven-headed and clad in a football shirt and WAY too much Burberry. The sprog had one of those names that is pointless and bound to irritate (Callum or Cody or something similar). Thing is, the kids spent the entire journey turned round and stared at me over his seat top for the whole journey. I swear he didn't even blink, not once, the only time he moved at all was to wipe his nose on the seat back (Advice, next time you are on a QuesyJet flight, if you are in seat 22E, do NOT put your head back on the head rest!

Finally got to Schipol and landed at that wonderful new runway they have there, the one that is actually in a different time zone to the rest of the airport. After a 20 minute taxi, I swear you could almost see the airport! Waited an age for passport control while watching some poseurs going through the retina scanning line (no queues, no need to show your passport, straight through, no messing - god they looked so smug!). After waiting an age for my baggage, finally managed to make it to the station and the client. Now back at the hotel contemplating a depressing room service menu (they actually call the food 'Fayre' with a 'Y'. Just realised, I have to repeat the entire journey experience tomorrow, oh god, perhaps I should phone down for some hemlock!

Sunday Night

Typical Sunday so far. Forgot the hour went forward (or did it go back?) and got up late, couldn't decide whether the meal I was supposed to have was breakfast, brunch, lunch or afternoon tea so ended up having neither. Spent the day walking Millie the stupid dog, trying to avoid having it dislocate my shoulder whilst chasing after ducks. Millie has the worst sense of smell of any creature on the planet. I once read that a dog can smell and spoonful of salt in a bath tub full of water - oh Yeah? If that's the case, why do they shove their noses right into one another's bottoms eh, you'd think it would take their heads clean off!

Millie is a disappointment all round, is supposed to be a retriever but never actually grew into being one. It is so embarrassing walking it when people ask "How old is your puppy" and you have to say "Three actually".

The very WORST part of dog walking though (other than the obvious one of picking up the poo ( tip for new dog owners, only ever do this DOWN WIND)), is coming across tweedy, middle-aged f-idiots who look at you and say "Oh, are you Millies Dad"?, to which I invariably reply "Yes, can't you tell, she has my eyes", (memo to self, tweedy, middle-aged doggie Frau's do not do irony).

Now sitting in the lounge watching Jane bloody Austin because Mrs Guru got first dibs on the remote. It's not that I dislike Jane bloody Austin (although I do), it's just so irritating listening to the needlessly long dialogue. Why are all the sentences so long?! "Oh Mr Darcy I declare that my friend Miss Bennett was recently, and most unexpectedly talking of you when I blah, blah" - was Austin paid per word or something? I mean bloody hell the entire thing could be over in a fraction of the time, have they never heard of brevity? If a bloke had written it, it would be all over ages ago and I could now be watching Peter Kay who is on the other channel!

What is it about Sunday nights? I have NEVER liked them, right from when I was a kid and it was Black and White Minstrel show on TV, Sing something Bloody simple on the radio, bread and butter for tea then bath and bed! Even now I get that 'school tomorrow' feeling!

Have a client presentation tomorrow, will spend much of the morning in a glass-lined goldfish bowl pretending to be a conference room fielding inane cliches such as 'what are the deliverables on this project?" or "What are the leveraged synergies associated with the downsides"?