A quick turnaround after my return from China, and a two week trip to the US. My flight from Shanghai was late on Saturday and it was gone 5pm when I arrived home. Sunday was a blur as I laundered and packed enough clothes for a two week trip (my wife and I have a deal that we do our own laundry. This is based on ensuring that I don’t wreck her clothes by washing at the wrong temperature/speed).

11,15 am on Monday and trusty Paul arrives to take me to my holiday home, Heathrow Terminal 4. I check in for the flight and guess what, it will be an hour late. Head to the lounge, lunch , email, calls, (you get the idea).

Apart from the delay, otherwise uneventful flight. Land in Seattle, immigration fast, baggage fast, and soon I am on my way to Bellevue. I am staying in the Westin, the building that kept me awake on my first trip there (see “Sleepless near Seattle” on my blog).

The Westin building is quite strange. The upper floors seem to be apartments and these have balconies, but the lower hotel floors do not have such ornamentation. This gives the building a lop-sided feel.

I check in and went up to my room to find it has no net curtains, so you have to close the curtains in the daytime to change your clothes- unless you are an exhibitionist.

Unpack and freshen up and off to a dinner for a team I am on. This is at the Rock Bottom Brewery Restaurant on 106th Street. I’ve had some meals here before and it’s ok, if not what US folks would call “upscale”.

We have the upper floor and it’s great to meet Caroline, Stijn, Eric, Roy, Anja and all my old friends. Eric tells me about his recent move to Israel, and being so far from his parents.

We have a pleasant evening and it’s an early night to counteract the jetlag.

Tuesday and the first day of a three day HR conference. Just great to hear the integrity of our leaders, interspersed with funny vignettes from international teams. The Canadian and Central European teams do very funny presentations on what is unique about their geographies, we have a useful functional team meeting and off to the conference party. This is in the “Parlour” a nearby bar and pool hall.

I am persuaded to play pool with Roy from Japan, and get to demonstrate that my pool playing is as good as my waltzing.
I am soundly thrashed (many times).

Have a chat with Ian from China. He has a clash with a course he has to deliver and a key meeting. I’m still fond of China so I offer to teach the class for him.

Next day and some more great presentations, The Germans do another great vignette involving Lederhosen, Bavarian dance and a clapping sequence (Bom Bom BOM. Bom Bom BOM) that provokes an impromptu chorus of “We will Rock you”.

The one dud note (for Europeans at least) was a motivational speaker- to preserve his identity let’s call him Billy.

Billy is a man who has pulled himself up from a tough upbringing. Billy is a successful motivational speaker (allegedly) whose brother is in prison for murder (or something terrible). Billy bounded on to the stage dancing to the tune of Bachman Turner Overdrive’s “Taking care of business”. He wore a sharp suit and designer shoes. I was already uneasy.

Billy is also a man with limited cultural awareness.

An American colleague who has worked in Europe has written a great document on how to present to Europeans (and it’s not bad advice for Asia either).

Some of the key messages:

• Always remember that English may not be the audience’s first language
• Speak clearly, and not too fast
• Avoid hyperbole, slang and cliché
• “Don’t expect the audience to respond easily
1. Asking them to cheer, shout or applaud something or someone often goes badly
2. They may respond out of politeness, but will often be embarrassed and uncomfortable doing so”
• “Avoid using expressions based on the US educational system e.g. Kindergarten, 12th grade, etc (I know German speakers have Kindergartens too)
• “Never assume that someone or something famous in the US is known in Europe
1. Most American sports heroes/ terms do not translate
2. You need to give background for historical figures”
• “Many big American brand names are virtually unknown in Europe
1. Sears, Advil, Tylenol, Gatorade, etc.”
• “A lot of American TV shows are seen in Europe, but certainly not all of them
1. So don’t assume everyone knows “Jeopardy”, “Friends” or “Survivor” etc.”

Billy was an object lesson in breaking every one of these tenets.

He talked at supersonic speed, laced richly with US slang. He encouraged the audience “If you agree with me I want you to shout back “ABSOLUTELY!!”. Do you agree with me?”.

Some of the audience shouted back half heartedly, some close to me muttered things other than “absolutely” which I cannot repeat in a family blog. People from Korea and China went slightly pink.

Billy told the tale of his upbringing and his tough life- he spent a long time telling the tragic tale of how he missed the NFL draft (whatever that is- though Billy obviously thought it was important). By now his audience were 2/3rds confused and by cleverly banging on about sports he cunningly alienated many of his female American listeners too.

Billy’s message can be summarised in three sentences

• You want to have something badly to achieve it (“emotion produces motion”)
• If you try hard enough you can achieve anything
• If you haven’t got there you haven’t tried hard enough
(I’ve always had a problem with this kind of thinking- I’m all in favour of effort , but no amount of it can fully compensate for a complete lack of aptitude).

Billy, however, managed to spin this stuff out for an hour, and as time went on the audience became more silent, with the kind of hushed expectancy that happens as time slows down, and the train wreck is inevitable.

It all went spectacularly wrong when Billy was building to his climax.

The cause was actually quite innocent- in that Billy was telling us about the importance of us finding our personal niche- which he pronounced “nitch” instead of the French “neesh”. My colleague Richard from France whispered to me in French “what does he mean, nitch?” “He means “neesh”” I replied. Richard laughed and whispered to his colleagues.

As Billy was building to the heart-rending climax of his death- bed reconciliation with his estranged father, (his father was on the death bed, not Billy, life isn’t fair), his emotional appeal was distracted by a wave of hilarious laughter from the French speakers as “nitch” was translated.

You could see the sweat on Billy’s brow and the slight look of panic, confused that his tried and tested deathbed story should cause hilarity in the audience at his most bathetic moment. At this point I think he decided to cut his losses and finished rapidly, leaving his international audience wondering how much he had been paid for that speech.

A telling and poignant moment came in the ensuing coffee break as Billy sat at a desk waiting to sign copies of his self- help book. There were five people in the line out of an audience of around 500.

Many including me picked up an unsigned copy (they were free after all), but poignantly, the day after the conference, as I cut through the conference area to get elsewhere, I saw piles of his book, painstakingly autographed, lying abandoned in the deserted conference hall. I wonder what the hotel did with them.

Dinner that night with some colleagues in Seattle, where every question in conversation that prompted a positive answer, was met with a loud and ironic “ABSOLUTELY”. My very good friend Caroline, (she of the Belgo- Swiss chocolate war” was at her scathing and witty best in her comments. “ABSOLUTELY” was a staple response in many emails in EMEA for many weeks afterwards, so I guess Billy was memorable in one way.

The following night we had a team dinner at a local restaurant. This place specialised in fondue. The service gave the impression that when the order was placed the food was put on a plane in Zurich to be delivered to the restaurant, so long did it take to arrive, but I did enjoy my boss’s tale over dinner. The previous night he had attended a dinner given in honour of the Indian HR team, where the main course in the set menu offered had been beef.

I wish I could claim I made that up- but no, it happened.

On my way back to the hotel, I passed the Rock Bottom bar, and was amazed by some brilliant live music coming from upstairs. I had to go in and investigate. Heading up the stairs I saw a three piece band who were quite simply brilliant. “The Popoffs”, as they are called, if seen from behind, look like teenagers with their gelled hair and youthful styling, but when you look at their faces it’s apparent that they are much older, and their faces suggest that they have lived hard and fast, and possibly not been unacquainted with chemical substances- the two guitarists have some facial similarity with Keith Richards.

However they are incredible players, and their set is basically all cover versions of bands like the Beatles, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Bowie, etc.

There are many tribute bands who can do good copies of their chosen heroes- the Popoffs can do almost anybody. They even played a couple of requests, including a very respectable version of “Bohemian Rhapsody”. A three -piece band who can do a very good version of this without backing tapes have got to be good.

Amazing stuff -I was told they play every Thursday at the bar- to paraphrase Mark Knopfler “The boys can play”. My plans for an early night went out the window as I enjoyed some great music.

The end of my first week and the prospect of another live concert in Seattle on Friday evening, but that’s another tale.

A trip to Paris for a multi-day, multifunction activity. Journey to the hotel uneventful.
For a change, we were to stay in a hotel in the city instead of La Defense, the business district. We were booked into a hotel called the Concorde near Gare St Lazare. We were thinking of holding a large conference at the hotel later in the year, so had agreed to have a meeting there to try it out.
Walked into reception to find a beautifully ornate painted ceiling and wonderfully ancient décor. A key to my room, and I found that there too the décor was still wonderfully ancient but far less entrancing- indeed I doubt the room had seen any modernisation in the preceding 40 years. With all the electronics one carries around nowadays just one free power point isn’t enough. Nearly 200 Euros a night to stay in an antique.

Called my colleague Catherine who I had agreed to meet for dinner. As we left the hotel I was accosted on the steps by a deranged guy who picked on me to yell a string of obscenities, mainly around the fact I was staying at such an upmarket hotel. Not sure why my personally staying there was such a moral outrage, but there you go. Catherine’s French wasn’t up to following the full tirade, but she obviously understood the emotion. “You really are a dangerous guy to travel with, they just pick on you”, she said.
Anyway, my new friend decided to go and terrorise someone else, and we crossed the street to a likely looking bistro.

As well as its haute cuisine, France has so many places that serve unpretentious, excellent food. This was a fine example, and Catherine and I put the world to rights over some great food and wine.
Woke late next day- the clock on my mobile was reset for some reason so the alarm didn’t wake me.
Belated breakfast with Catherine (who called me when I didn’t show), and we tried to hail a cab to go to the office. It was obviously tunnel vision day for the cab drivers, and after several minutes of being studiously ignored by passing cabs we walked around to the station itself and joined the queue in the taxi rank.
We finally got to the front of the line and were picked up by a Chinese looking cab driver. I asked him to take us to the office, giving the address as Esplanade Charles de Gaulle in La Defense.
I don’t know what the odds are, but possibly we had found the worst taxi driver in Paris (a significant achievement as standards of awfulness are high).
Our friend had not heard of La Defense (“La Defong?) . He had not heard of Charles de Gaulle (not easy in France). He did not really speak French. I was sufficiently out of the line of fire but Catherine told me he had rank halitosis (bad breath) as well. Yes, I am just born lucky.
Anyway after a bumpy start and several near misses with angry drivers (he wasn’t great on driving in a straight line), he stopped at some lights and drew out a map book, together with a pair of glasses.
Now I really was scared.
Find yourself a couple of regular sized clear beer bottles and using a glass cutter, saw off the bottoms insert them in a wire frame, et voila! You have the same pair of spectacles.
Call me a wimp but the idea of being driven by a driver with such eyesight I thought was terrifying .
After a while I recognised the route and started directing him as best I could, as we didn’t really have a language in common. We finally made it alive, (if with elevated blood pressure), to the office.
A great day with Anja, Catherine and Benoit, followed by a cab back to the hotel. We met for a drink, and went for what Benoit described as a “one block” walk to the restaurant. This proved to be a 20 minute “one block” walk. I was in the middle of telling Vanessa about my Istanbul adventure when I had a call from my colleague Jacky. As I hit the “accept” button I was in mid stream and Jacky asked me what I was doing with “two prostitutes”. I told Jacky that was no way to describe my esteemed colleagues.
We arrived at the restaurant, to meet with Caroline (the Belgian chocolate advocate- see “The Belgo -Swiss chocolate War). Caroline had been looking after a vacancy in South Africa, and was now inducting the new South African HR manager, Sandy. We had a terrific laugh, and you could see Sandy wondering whether she had joined an asylum (I’m glad to say she is still with us and just as insane).
A day of meeting in the hotel itself, trying out the facilities. The check out service was as antiquated as the wiring and decoration, but it was the effortless disregard for customer satisfaction that really annoyed me. The conference rooms were grim, the food poor.
After lunch we rebelled, and walked to the Madeleine, to a specialist food shop called Fauchon. We stocked up on expensive goodies, and took a group photo.
Back to the hotel to conclude the meeting, and then a taxi (This time with a competent and French-speaking driver, without obvious vision defects or personal hygiene issues), to another hotel Concorde, (Lafayette) next door to the Palais de Congres.
This was a hugely impersonal, modern conveyor belt money -making machine, which made the previous Concorde look like a haven of friendliness. I went up to my room, which had great views over the Bois de Boulogne (only the trees- nothing racier), and made an abortive attempt to join a conference call to the US.
After some email I went out to see what there was in the immediate area. I identified a likely restaurant for later, and called in at a deserted bar. The lady who was the proprietaire, was as ever trying to place my French accent and asked me if I was Quebecois (I wondered whether this is a Parisian insult).
Off to the restaurant, a Chinese which prided itself on speed of delivery over customer enjoyment. The lady at the table next to me had one of the really annoying spoilt tiny dogs that look like overgrown rats and which make a lot of noise. I’m not in favour of animal cruelty but was beginning to think an exception might be made.
A voicemail told me that Eileen, a colleague who was helping with the next day, had arrived, and together with Colin, a team member, we retired to the (allegedly) English pub across the way.
Eileen proved to be a great character and we agreed our plan for the next day.
Early start and off to the room for our conference. I quickly learned that we had not received all the materials. Great.
We were half an hour into the day when a booming voice interrupted our meeting. I wasn’t sure who was making the noise.
I was not “on stage” at that point, and went next door to argue with the amplified monster. It turned out to be a sound engineer. Looking at the notice, the French Institute of Hepatologists (hope I remembered this right) had an awards luncheon, and this guy explained that he had 36 radio microphones to test.
I guess I irritated my new acquaintance, because for the next hour and a half we were drowned out by an imbecilic “un… deux…trois…a… bay… say” (1 2 3 a b c), as he tested all 36. A series of complaints to the hotel conference manager simply produced a series of Gallic shrugs. Try running a conference with a moron yelling at you through a microphone (or 36).
Dinner with Eileen in the evening, who proved to be a great character. Joining the merchant navy at 17, she had prospered as a lone female sailing all over the world , and in her 30s become an IT guru. That’s feisty.
We impressed the waitress by ordering largely offal dishes (which the French do so superbly). I love the French word “rognons”, meaning kidneys, it’s very descriptive, and my rognons were excellent (to coin a phrase).
Next day meetings at “La Defong” and finally to the airport by train.
I picked up a voicemail from trusty Paul, telling me that many flights to London were being cancelled due to high winds devastating the country. He suggested Eurostar, who were full (and ended up cancelling several trains too). Arrived at the airport so see that all flights to the UK were cancelled. After 4 nights away I didn’t need this.
I joined the lengthy queue for the BA desk. It seemed to me that salvation had arrived, when a lady passed down the line handing out letters saying “save time- don’t stand in line-call our reservations office”. I called the number to hear a recorded message “The office closes at 5.30pm- please call tomorrow”. Another BA publicity coup.
My wife sent me a text telling me that a fence and a large brick wall in our garden had been blown over by the wind. Great- I’m stranded in Paris and my house is blowing down.
Anyway I could see this line would take hours before I got to the desk, so I called our travel agents, who twenty minutes later called me back to confirm that I had a room in a hotel in Roissy. I felt sorry for the people who would now have to stay in line, but I was free and headed for the shuttle bus stand to get to the hotel. The navette (shuttle) arrived within minutes and I was duly checked in and installed in my room before 7pm.
Roissy is a small village next to the airport (it’s often called Roissy Charles de Gaulle). I’ve stayed there before and it’s quite a nice friendly place with only a few restaurants , and a massive collection of airport hotels ranging from the Marriotts etc, to the French chain Premiere Classe, (where you can stay for less that $30 US a night, as long as you don’t mind wafer thin partitions and hearing every sound in the rooms either side). I walked from my hotel into the village. The wind was already very high and it was not a pleasant night to be out.
I went into the first bar I came to (didn’t want to stay outside any longer than necessary) and saw there were just a handful of men at the bar. Clearly few people were venturing out in the wild weather.
I ordered a beer, and thereafter was ignored by the other people, given that they a) didn’t talk to strangers, b) were absorbed in two critical activities -namely playing some obscure game with dice which meant one of them losing a lot of money, and more importantly working overtime to maintain the appropriate level of cigarette smoke in the bar.
The latter activity was a real challenge, since every time the bar door opened a significant volume of fresh air blew in, but these guys were professional and stuck manfully to the task of maintaining a fog inside the bar, with considerable success. That’s dedication- they produced enough smog for Los Angeles.
After a while I felt suitably warmed up to risk looking for a restaurant, and walked down the high street in the high wind. I passed a Chinese restaurant where I had eaten in my previous stay. I remembered the service had been very arrogant and was determined to go elsewhere. This wasn’t the night for leisurely choices, so I plumped for another down to earth French place just down the street. Again the place was crowded, and I had to squeeze my way into the one available table. I can’t remember why, but I had some problems with my visa cards and would have to use one where I wasn’t sure I could remember the PIN code. I had just enough Euros left to pay anyway but this would leave me with no cash left.
Anyway, as with my first night dining with Catherine, this was another plain but delicious meal, and it was a wonderful feeling after the stress, and the walk in the storm, to unwind with good food and wine.
The only downside was the appalling English group that sat next to me, who refused to speak a word of French and insisted on having their conversation at the loudest volume. Sometimes I am ashamed of my fellow compatriots, and I worked very hard on seeming French so that I would not be associated with them.
Anyway, a long time later, my Visa card having worked, a warm, nourished, and wined Gary made the walk through the wild weather back to the hotel. The glow of well-being was sufficient to keep me warm despite the wild weather. After such a disastrous start it had been a really enjoyable evening.
I had to start early- in my joy on receiving the message that I had a hotel and flight, I didn’t check on the time of the flight, so caught the first shuttle before 7am. The navette was full of the service staff who keep the airport and its hotels running. Not much fun being out on this dark, freezing morning, and the mood was gloomy.
Arrive to find my flight is at 9.40am. It’s grey and gloomy but it seems the winds have blown themselves out. We take off on time and on landing at Heathrow I have to take the train to the London offices. It won’t be until evening that I’ll get home to assess the damage to the house. Another week of Parisian glamour.

(Note. For non-native readers, a “turkey” is US slang for a failure or a disaster).

December 11th 2006 and my second trip to Turkey, to attend a meeting.

I had been with Sun in 2000 and my impression, on a trip where we were completely chaperoned, was that it was a brooding and possibly risky place.

My faithful driver Paul took me to Heathrow and we arrived at 8.00 for a 9.40 am flight.

Check in uneventful and I was soon drinking a coffee after a short wait to clear security. Said hello to a colleague in the lounge on the same flight. Boarded on time, and ensconced in my seat. Said hello to different colleagues as they went past to their seats.

Then a classic BA announcement from the captain.

“We have a couple of issues before we can take off. Firstly we noticed an engine problem inbound, so we need to fix that. Also there is a problem with the baggage hold door which we need to be able to close properly before we can leave. We’ll get back to you.”

I was tired on a Monday after a busy weekend so dozed for a while. About an hour later came the next update.

“We’ve fixed the engine, but we can’t fix the luggage door so the plane cannot fly. We are negotiating for another Boeing 767 and we’ll be in touch”.

Another wasted hour. At 11.30 the captain came on again. “We have the other 767 landing at 1pm, so we will bus you to that when the passengers are off it. In the meantime we will serve you lunch.”

Lunch consisted of a miniscule bag of nibbles and a plastic glass of water . Yum yum.

Finally at 1pm we were bused to the other plane and returned to our seats.

Radio silence for about an hour and the captain came on again ( a different captain as the original crew had used their flying hours).

In a hugely embarrassed voice he said. “You won’t believe this, but the luggage truck has just hit the baggage hold and rendered the door unusable. We can’t now use this plane, so we are trying to negotiate a different plane as both 767s are now defunct.”

Finally around 2pm the captain came on again.

“We’d like you to disembark and we’ll give you vouchers for refreshments. If you can use the lounge please go there.”

Although I can use the lounge, I (with other colleagues) insisted on collecting vouchers just in case, then we went to the BA lounge.

This was an example at BA at its worst. We were already four and a half hours late and the receptionist was doubtful about letting us all in. If you are over 4 hours delayed this is the time to make a client-friendly gesture.

Ensconced in lounge and grabbed some lunch. We had barely sat down when the announcement came. “BA 676 to Istanbul is cancelled. Please go and collect your bags and go to the ticket desk to try and rebook”.

I had expected this when they asked us to leave the second plane. I am convinced they had already decided to cancel but asked us to leave to prevent a riot.

We bolted down some food and went back through passport control to the baggage hall. An hour’s wait for my bag, and some colleagues’ bags also.

Then I had an event which told me it would not be my day. Walking through customs an officer asked me where I had come from. “Nowhere “ I said, but he would not believe that I had not left Heathrow and had a brief look at my bags anyway.

Long line for the BA ticket desk. I would have guessed a 2 hour wait, but Sarah who had got through faster, came back to tell us that all later flights were booked.

It wasn’t worth my while to travel next day as I would arrive too late to justify the trip. I resolved to fill in for a senior speaker at an event we were running in London on Tuesday.

Nonetheless I called at the BA customer service desk (30 minute wait) and asked for the name and address of their Chief Executive. They told me they “were not empowered to give this information” and gave me the email for their customer services department. I have dealt with these people before (guess you can tell). I cannot figure out why a company would pay a team of half educated gorillas to deal with their angriest customers, and I have been struck livid by some of the crass responses I have received.

(Just to give you an example, I once wrote a complimentary comment card praising the supervisor (Dolores) and her team for a great service. The reply thanked me and assured me that “Dolors” (sic) and HIS team would get to hear about my praise.) A customer service triumph.

Complained that I wanted to write to the top but they would only give me the monkeys’ address (found it in two minutes on the web at home). Well done BA.

Took the bus home. It’s an hour or so, but if you have wasted a whole day another hour doesn’t count.

January 8th 2007.

My first trip of 2007. Ready at 7 am for (normally) trusty Paul, who didn’t show. Called him in some concern, as I knew I had to get to Istanbul for an audience of 20+. Paul had assigned another driver and told him 8am, but fortunately the guy was free and arrived about 7.20. Still potentially doubtful to get to Heathrow in time for a 9.40 flight, but after 40 minutes of gridlock the last 20 minutes was amazingly clear and checked in at 8.20.

This time the flight took off more or less on time, and I thought that at last I was getting there.

Landed almost on time in far better weather than London, and joined the battle to buy a visa. Then through passport control and to a taxi. Showed the driver the address. The hotel I was staying in was opposite the Hyatt and was called the Ceylan Intercontinental (probably a joint venture). I pronounced Ceylan as “Saylan” but the driver kept saying “Jaylan”. I repeated “Intercontinental” and couldn’t understand why the guy seemed not to know the address.

We set off with me in some doubt as to whether we were going to the right place.

The road from the airport runs beside the beautiful Sea of Marmara, and the view was idyllic.. I was struck by the number of Turkish signs which have taken the sounds of English words and respelt them to become Turkish (for example you can take a “feribot” to cross to the other side). I also saw an “ambulans”.

We turned inland and went down a long street with an amazing number of musical instrument shops and mosques, and eventually crossed a bridge over the “Golden Horn”

Large numbers of men were fishing from the bridge, as well as a number of stalls selling bait.

We arrived at the “Jaylan” and a porter who spoke very good English welcomed me but stole my bags in a military operation. I couldn’t communicate with the driver so asked the baggage thief to ask him to make out a receipt including a tip. The driver promptly asked him to write the receipt and handed over the pad, at which point I realized that the cab driver couldn’t read, and that I had only got to my destination because he had recognised the sound “Intercontinental”.

I don’t like cities where you have to go through airport style metal detectors to enter a hotel.

Checked in and up to my room. 45 minutes later no bags so went downstairs (email withdrawal symptoms) and found them unattended. Took my bags (porters unhappy at lost tip) and went back to my room.

Checked email and prominent was one from Amex travel. I was flying on to Prague from Istanbul, and the only flight was with Czech Airlines. Czech Airlines don’t do e-tickets and they don’t hold tickets at the airport either. I would have to call in person at their offices which they claimed were open until 7.30. Checked the map and realized the office was 5 minutes walk from the hotel so set off about 6.30.

Arrived at the office to find it closes at 5.30. Thank you Czech airlines.

Turned to go back and found a man about my height attempting to rip the pocket and my wallet directly from my jeans. Pulled his hand away and he left me with my wallet intact. About 100m down the street someone else tried the same thing.

I should have taken the hint, but determined to see a little of Turkish life I called in at a normal looking restaurant. Sat down and ordered a beer while I looked at the menu.

As I was studying the menu, I was joined at the table next to me by a man and two women. A quick look at them and I had the feeling that the ladies were “working girls” so resolved to finish my beer and move on.

The guy tried to strike up a conversation, and with British politeness I answered him while trying to make it clear I wasn’t interested in getting to know him or his colleagues.

My new “friend” proposed “a toast to our English friend”. I was a little confused at this point as I knew there was a scam here. My first thought was that he would try to slip something into my glass so I kept my eyes on this as we clinked (nothing introduced).

Finished my beer and asked for the check. The proprietor arrived and I couldn’t believe my eyes- converting to Euros it was about 600 ($700+).

Pointed out that one (small) beer does not cost 600 Euros, and the proprietor launched into a story that I had invited my friends to dinner and I had to pay for their meal, and the ladies “champagne” (cheap white wine with no bubbles), and that I had to pay for two hours of their company each.

Two other waiters joined him in an attempt to intimidate and block the way to the door.

The proprietor started haranguing me and it was obvious they were trying to get me to move to the back of the restaurant where I would be less public. I decided my best approach was to be very loud and very public, so argued at top volume and said he should call the police (not sure they would be much help but I wasn’t going to concede any liability). They then went into a well rehearsed routine where the guy who had struck up the conversation said it was all a terrible mix up and he would pay half the bill.

“Yeah, right” I thought, knowing that he was clearly in on the scam and this would still part me from 300 Euros.

In the end I put down a note which would have paid for 5 beers and said I was leaving. They made a half hearted attempt to stop me but I made a non violent but determined walk which meant pushing past them. A really unpleasant experience.

On the way back to the hotel I was accosted by two more guys who were desperate to get to know me, but decided that was enough excitement for one day.

Back at the hotel, and reported the incident to hotel security, who were not interested.

I hate hotel food and especially room service- I hate the quality and the expense, but tonight room service pizza felt like all the adventure I wanted. It was disgusting but I didn’t have to risk my life to get it.

Next day ran a session for some of our Turkish managers. Told some my story- some were quite nonchalant and told me to expect it. Hmmmm.

Second evening I had dinner with some of the delegates in the hotel again- I wasn’t going out for any reason.

Morning running a session at the office, and a dash in a taxi to the airport. Traffic crazy but “fortunately” my driver was psychotic so he negotiated it very well as long as you can accept the odd heart attack en route.

Istanbul airport demand you check in 2 hours ahead even for a European flight, and I could see why. You go through a metal detector just to get inside. Then you have a long wait in line (no auto check in at all). Then an even longer wait at passport control when the border police exercise their job satisfaction by looking miserable and keeping you waiting a very long time, as they examine every passport minutely. I think they are trying to memorise the dates and destinations of travel of each passenger. Maybe there’s an exam at the end of each day.

Finally airside and time for a disgusting lunch- should have gone to Burger King.

To be honest, I was glad when we took off, after my experience, and won’t be rushing back.

Noticed that the lady in front of me was carrying a kitten in a pet basket, and spent some time wondering why someone would bring a cat from Istanbul to Prague.

Flight uneventful and landed more or less on time.

Stopped by customs again (I must look shifty) but eventually through.

Prague Airport taxis have clearly been working on their image and are much nicer than they were years ago. Safely at the hotel, made some calls and sent some items with deadlines.

Set off in search of a restaurant. After the earlier experience it was great to walk down quiet streets. I walked down a cobbled street and found a great (if idiosyncratic) restaurant. It was called something Italian like “Big Luca’s” or similar. Tried to agree a language to speak,(I speak virtually zero Czech). Enjoyed a hearty meal with no pretensions, and a couple of absurdly cheap beers (which according to the menu had a very dangerous alcohol content so I stopped at 2).

Out next morning and off to the Czech sub. The Prague hotel I stayed at (Corinthia Towers) has its own cabs and they are a complete rip-off. For a three minute drive I was charged half the price of the trip from airport to hotel.

Spent the day working with the Czech management team on a presentation. A great bunch of people.

Due to the lucky timing of my trip, the evening was the Czech subsidiary new year party.

The country MD, Michal, (a truly fantastic guy) drove me to the venue. As we left the building he asked who else was coming in his car. Massive declines all round. “You drive too fast” said a colleague.

We got into his car and I began to realize that she wasn’t joking. I understand that Michal is a pilot, and as he accelerated out of the garage I was expecting him to lift the flaps for take off. Arrived at the venue a few minutes later with my blood pressure significantly elevated.

The venue was exceedingly trendy. As we descended the stairs we were met by welcomers, dressed like monks but wearing eye masks (sorry, I have to report what happened). They let us into a basement, which had very dim lighting, and which was done out in a very Gothic style, with church- style statues. A big video screen was showing excerpts from (rather tasteless) vampire movies (although thinking about it I am not sure how many tasteful vampire films there have been).These scenes mainly involved naked vampire women covered in blood and writhing around with each other. Enough to put you off your food.

There were a whole set of waitresses who brought round drinks and canapés on trays and collected empty glasses. Their (insubstantial) costumes were mainly black, they had the regulation eye masks and little black capes also. I think they were supposed to be vampires, but the effect was more like a Batman convention for transvestites.

The festivities were interrupted on occasion, sometimes by a young guy in a tuxedo who sang songs from the Frank Sinatra era. In one sense he was musically pitch perfect. Every note was just as flat as the previous one.

Every few minutes the lights would flicker and a loud burst of horror film cinema music (“Da Da DAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!) would sound out. At this point a lady in evening dress, carrying a candelabra would come around the partygoers and lead someone away outside the room..

I have no idea what she was doing with them, but I noticed that most of them did seem to come back, and they had the eye masks too. Had you been watching me when she appeared you would have seen me discreetly moving to the opposite end of the room- I just wanted to have a quiet evening. Quite an idiosyncratic place but I enjoyed myself.

A good day on Friday working on presentations with Michal and Martina, and back home late Friday to pack for Paris on Sunday, and another week of adventures.

A trip to the US to attend a conference. On the familiar Sunday BA 49 to Seattle, and as there were many of us flying to the same conference, there were many colleagues on the same flight. A relatively uneventful flight (or so I had thought).

Landed about on time, and managed immigration/ baggage control. Aileen, a colleague of mine mentioned that she had booked a car and offered me a ride, which I gratefully accepted. On the way in the cab I realized when taking something from a pocket, that my wallet was missing. I think it had slipped out of a pocket on the plane. I was flat broke with no cards. In fact on one level  I was lucky as I normally would be alone- at least here I had friends with resources.

Checked in at the hotel (another colleague using her credit card to guarantee my room) and spent two miserable hours cancelling my credit cards and ordering new ones. Nobody loves  you when you have no credit.

Down a few minutes late to join Aileen and the others for dinner. Aileen kindly went to an ATM and drew me out some cash, as well as paying for dinner.

Uneventful Monday, though I spent the first few days finding colleagues I could take cab rides with to conserve my limited cash.- conference interesting, and on Tuesday after returning to the hotel discovered I had two new temporary cards, one from Amex and one from Mastercard.

The Mastercard was decorative- a real design icon- but didn’t work- wonderful. Fortunately the Amex one worked though I could only visit places which accepted it.

The conference was great, with many international groups presenting. I particularly enjoyed the Indian HR team who spiced up their presentation with their own Bollywood song and dance routine- beats Powerpoint.

We also did an exercise involving collecting carabiners  (the kind of clips mountaineers use for clipping ropes to themselves etc).  Not being a great mountaineer I’m not sure how I will use the six I collected. I’m open to offers.

Conference included a big HR Party, including a band who accompanied many colleagues in a sort of live karaoke. Some of my colleagues should know better, and we  had some renderings of various songs which I can only describe as unique.

Another evening and dinner with my colleague Anja. It was a chance to test out my Amex card,  and to my relief it was accepted. Before leaving, Anja asked if she could smoke a cigarette outside the restaurant. Anja is not really addicted- she just likes one or two at the end of the day, so we sat outside in the mild evening while she enjoyed her cigarette. I was horrified when she told me she had smoked in her non smoking hotel room- as I had seen a notice threatening a $250 cleaning fee for misdemeanours. (She got away with it.).

As we set outside we were approached by a guy asking for a handout. His story was quite interesting, claiming he had left his wife, kids and mother in law in a car with no fuel, and needed $5 to buy a petrol can. I was able to tell him honestly that I had no cash, so instead he scrounged a cigarette from Anja, at which point the urgency about his family miraculously disappeared.

The last day of the conference was  a training day and we had a choice of classes. As we were planning to bring these classes to Europe, my colleagues and I had split up to make sure one person was at each one.

I had chosen a class on consulting skills. Bad decision. The primary tutor (an external guy) was dire. When “Being Monumentally Boring” becomes an Olympic  sport I have no doubt where the gold will be going. I was polite and stayed for the whole thing, but the majority voted with their feet and only 6 from 25 remained to the end.

Friday morning was exciting. A meeting for the EMEA HR folks, organised by Albert, the HR Director. Albert always has interesting meetings. We gathered at 7am to catch a series of minibuses, which drove us down to the lakeside. There we boarded a series of seaplanes to take us to the venue. This was a slightly nerve racking experience. If you are used to flying national airlines you are somewhat insulated by the décor and don’t often think too hard about safety. On this plane we were much more aware of the plane’s age and the running repairs. BA it was not.

About 10 of us boarded and we were evidently very tense, and there were many black jokes. Ralf showed a magazine with the headline “The right to die”, and Martin cheerfully pointed out that today was not only Friday the 13^th, but that also adding up the date (I didn’t follow the method) made it the unluckiest day for 450+ years. Thanks Martin.

Tension rose as we taxied on the water, and there were some screams as on taking off, a wing strut was hit by a flying goose. I owe Maike an apology- you can get cheese from a goose if you hit it with an airplane (see- “In search of goose cheese”).

Anyway we rose into the dawn with spectacular views over the lakes as we flew into the dawn and made the short flight to Kiana Lodge. Kiana Lodge is a conference venue on another lake,  and we landed on the water and taxied to the jetty, disembarking to enjoy the dappled sunlight on the waters.

A great meeting, where we took advantage of the fantastic surroundings and held meetings all around the beautiful grounds. A salmon lunch was followed by a talk by a Native American Indian about the local area, the summer residence for the Native Americans after whom Seattle is named. His words were somewhat disjointed, yet I was aware of the depth of history and tradition which underpinned him. Fascinating.

More buses as we drove to the ferry to sail back to Seattle. On the way we passed a native American Indian gambling resort. I was a little surprised to see this- the state of Washington is quite paternalist and seems to ban any stuff that is fun. Anyway judging by the traffic they were going to have a busy time. Maybe the citizens of Washington rebel at the weekend.

A wonderful  ferry ride in a blustery wind and we were back in Seattle. I had expected the meeting to last all day so had booked to fly home on the Saturday, so I was staying the night in downtown Seattle.

I checked in at the Westin and walked down to Pike Place Market by the waterside, looking at the stalls- including the famous fish-throwing stalls. It was too early to eat so I stopped in a bar/restaurant for a beer. The bartender was making a big deal about being Hispanic, and was mocking a waitress who had clearly started that day. At one point he called her over. “Know my favourite song at the moment?” he said. “No” she said. “It’s called ride the white chick” came the reply.

I think he thought it was a cool chat up line. I was thinking more of potential harassment lawsuits.

Dinner in an Italian restaurant, one where the tables are grouped around a central cooking area, and you can see your food being prepared. This gave me the chance to listen to the chef swearing as he cremated my main course.

On the way back I heard the sounds of a blues band coming from a local bar. It sounded good so I went in for a beer. I was engaged in conversation by a slightly drunken guy who claimed to work at the Westin. He was pretty morose as he detailed the unreasonableness of his ex girlfriend who would have nothing to do with him, and his regrets at not seeing his son.

OK, I did come in to listen to the blues, but not the spoken version. Still he had material for a lot of songs.

Next day I walked back towards Pike Place to find somewhere to have breakfast (I hate paying hotel prices).

Found a place that claimed to be a Cajun/ New Orleans restaurant and ordered corned beef hash. This is normally a bland affair but these guys took Cajun very seriously and I felt like I was eating a vindaloo.

I mooched around the downtown area, and was struck by the huge number of down and outs in the centre of the city- very sad to see.

I’m a terrible creature of habit so went back to the first bar I had been to the previous evening. Our Hispanic would-be Lothario was not on duty, but I was privileged to be served by The Most Incompetent Bartender On The Planet.

TMIBOTP was amazing. I would have paid admission to see him. His service was a litany of frustrated customers. He showed fantastic ability to jam up the electronic ordering system  to require a reboot. He brought steaks to professed vegetarians, whisky to teetotalers.

I asked him politely after an hour what had happened to my lunch. A few swaggering taps on the touch screen and he was able to announce that he had absolutely nothing in the system, a big problem as even he had enough memory to remember that we had talked about it.

 When I came to pay  TMIBOTP told me my Mastercard didn’t work, or maybe he couldn’t get it to work, so I had to spend more precious dollars in settling the bill.

A brief walk back to the Westin, and a cab to the airport. Fortunately Seattle normally has a fixed fare from the city centre, so arrived, and having settled the bill with a tip had $2.50 left.

An uneventful flight to Heathrow, and trusty Paul to drive me home. I didn’t have any cash of course so had to write a cheque.

And the wallet? This was a long saga. Some weeks late I received a call from BA- my wallet had been found on the plane and two weeks later courtesy of Fedex I got it back intact, including all my cash.

A month later there might had been a sting in the tail, as someone had obviously tried to buy something with one of my cards. I am so impressed with the identity fraud guys at credit card companies. I travel all over the world, and pay for things in places I’ve never been before, but they still spot the rogue transactions every time. However they figured out that buying tobacco pipes by mail order in Wisconsin would be out of character for me- whether this is because I’ve never smoked, or whether they couldn’t believe I would go to Wisconsin, is maybe a secret they prefer to keep to themselves……………..

A trip to Zurich and Paris, the first one for  meeting. Flight to Zurich uneventful, but I was struck by how much the airport seems to have expanded- had to get a train from the gate to baggage claim. Into a taxi and was reminded how hard Swiss German can be to understand if you are not a very good German speaker. Anyway finally arrived at the Swiss office and our meeting began.

During the afternoon a lively debate broke out on a vital work-related topic. Caroline from Belgium had brought a box of Belgian chocolates to share with the team. Sonja, our Swiss member, opined that while Belgian chocolate was good, the Swiss variety was clearly superior. Naturally Caroline did not agree. The debate continued for some time and they finally agreed to settle this with  a blind tasting the following day. Sonja called her husband and deputed to him the task of obtaining the appropriate Swiss candidates (he seems well-trained), and we got back to work.

Our day finished, we went into town for dinner. On a balmy evening, we had a pleasant drink in the garden of a trendy bar on LimmatQuai (close to the river), and then off to a restaurant. It was a balmy evening and great to sit outside for our meal. A great evening was a little spoiled for me, when I called home to learn that my teenage son had been mugged on the train coming home from school. It’s probably that I am away too often, but it feels powerless to be hundreds of miles away when these things happen.

Back to the hotel in a more somber mood, and then a midnight conference call on budgets. Talking about budgets until 2am is not the most fun part of my job, but a necessary evil when we have to unite all three time zones which are exactly eight hours apart. I knew too that I would have to repeat this tomorrow night and the following one too.

Finally to sleep, and woke tired. Another day for our meeting, and the big chocolate showdown. I was amazed how much thought Sonja and Caroline had put into the test. We were all blindfolded, and they had cut the chocolate into pieces and fed them to us on spoons. (Apparently a chocolate aficionado would know which was which by the shape of the chocolates so they were cut into unrecognizable shapes. Voting was close but by a vote of 3 to 2 the Belgian chocolate triumphed. Sonja was amazed, and was telling us that she could not believe that anyone could choose chocolate made some months ago over the fresh item purchased only yesterday. As someone for whom chocolate holds no interest, and who has no pretence of expertise, I think it merely proves if you have unqualified judges you will get a random result. I could easily have voted for the Swiss variety 10 minutes later.

One funny thing was that someone took photos and they were circulated afterwards. The Irish HR Director Anna, was very struck by a photo of me tasting my chocolate, and she drew attention to the fact that Caroline (who had administered the chocolate to me) had  her hands out of sight below table level, and implied an alternative theory for the look of pleasure on my face. Where are the harassment lawyers when you need them?

Anyway, back to Zurich airport, and a contretemps with Air France. I am so used to e-tickets and turning up for the airport with just a passport and a flight number, that I was unprepared for the flood of bureaucracy. The lady at check in sent me to the sales desk, who wrote something unreadable on a piece of paper and sent me back. The lady at check in was upset that I had did not some information for which I could not see the point ( I exaggerate to make the point but it was something like the dress size of the lady who issued the ticket).

Finally managed to get a boarding pass, made a few calls and onto the packed plane. Whatever else one thinks of Air France, their in-flight food is excellent and I had a very tasty snack on the short flight.

Arrived at Charles de Gaulle, and we landed at the furthest point possible from the terminal (somewhere near Marseille I think). An interminable bus ride to immigration. The sole French passport officer was minimizing the population of France by being painfully slow at letting people into the country. By the time I got through our bags were whizzing round the carousel.

It was a beautiful sunny evening, and the long taxi line was headed by a guy dressed in shorts who was aggressively shaking a tin, begging for money, walking down the line and accosting each person. I hate hard sells and refused to be pressured.

A cheerful driver took me to Massy.  In planning this trip I had originally planned to spend two nights in Paris, one to visit the French subsidiary , and the second day at European HQ in La Defense. When I tried to book hotels however I learned that due to the final of one of the European soccer tournaments between Barcelona and Arsenal, hotel accommodation on both the first night was tough, and on the second quite impossible- the hotels charge whatever they like due to the influx of fans which meant that only rooms at 500 Euros a night were available. Hence I decided to stay just the one night and was staying at an hotel Ibis in Massy. Ibis is not the most up market of chains but the choice was very limited.

My taxi was delighted, I was his last fare of the day, it was an expensive ride, and left him close to home, so he was happily chatting about the football.

Arrived at the Ibis to discover it does not have a restaurant, but was happy to see that there were some restaurants just a couple of hundred metres away. There was also a fast food chain called Quick. Quick is  a hamburger chain quite common in France, and it’s purpose to make McDonald’s seem like haute cuisine. On holiday in France I once took my family to Quick’s (they had a special offer) , and can effortlessly say it was the most disgusting food I have ever had in a “restaurant”.

Dined at a local Spanish restaurant, not very authentic but the wine was good, and back to my room to prepare for my second midnight call.

The sound insulation between rooms in Ibis hotels is never great, and between 10 and 11.30 I got to listen to the couple next door doing their bedroom gymnastics very noisily.

I guess it is fitting revenge that they after their exertions, got to listen to me droning on for two hours about budgets as they enjoyed their post- coupling moments.

Long day in the office next day and a big presentation, and the very expensive cab ride to the airport. The ride to Charles de Gaulle is rarely smooth, and it was hard work until we cleared St Denis, home of the “Stade de France” (national stadium) and where the soccer was due to be played.

Airport deserted (football fans already through). At immigration, another passport officer was maintaining the French population in perfect equilibrium by making it as hard to leave France as his colleague the previous night had made it to come in. Still, back on BA at least check in was easy.

Uneventful flight back, and on the ride back with Paul listened to the football commentary. Arsenal, the English team had been one nil up and conceded two goals very quickly at the end of the game, ultimately losing. As a supporter of their biggest North London rivals, it was hard to prevent “Schadenfreude” from overcoming patriotism.  I didn’t even try.

Dear all,

I was amazed by the response of the native English speakers to my last missive (entitled  “Of cookies, curries and teddies”).

The amazing bit was the percentage of you who wrote back saying that on reading that title you had assumed that the word “teddies” referred to the item of women’s lingerie, rather that teddy bears, which was what I meant all along.

Wash your minds out with soap.

My next trip was to
Copenhagen. An ungodly 4.45 am start to head for the airport.

A nondescript flight landing more on less on time.

I have not been to
Copenhagen for many years (only my second visit).

Last time I flew there it was with Unisys many years ago, with my friend Kurt  Essenbaek, (a Dane). I recall him telling me on that flight, that the airline we were flying on (SAS),, was short for “Salmon, always salmon), in view of the food they served).When I have flown with SAS this has been invariably true , though they didn’t serve this for breakfast I can report.

My first impression on landing was  about how much of the airport floor was covered in “wood”.

Given that I live in a country where IKEA has stores, I was trying to calculate  how many boxes of a floor covering called something like  “Bilbó”  would be required to cover it.

I wondered how many trolley loads it would take to cover this area, and pitied those who would be in the line behind (it takes long enough in IKEA even on a good day). Take my advice- don’t get stuck behind the
Copenhagen airport folks.

I was also irritated by the number of people who were not willing to queue at passport control and strode up to the front of the line. Don’t know what their nationality, but being a Brit I fumed and said nothing.

Took a cab from the airport, and was surprised that my driver didn’t speak good English, as in the Scandinavian countries this is very unusual. He punched the address into his GPS and seemed content that he knew the way.

I was a little alarmed when on reflection I realised that the destination I was going to wasn’t necessarily in
Copenhagen. I had also  assumed from my previous trips that credit cards would be automatically accepted ( normal in Scandinavian countries- credit cards are normal and the price is the price- you don’t have to tip).

It was evident that deep snow lay by the side of the road and that winter still had some grip.

 I hoped that the £100 I had changed would at least get me there if the credit card didn’t work.

My concern was diminished a little as we drove around the ring road.

Many Scandinavian words look like German words. My English schoolboy lavatory humour was amused  by a sign .(The German word for “to drive” or “to travel by vehicle” is “fahren”).

Hence when I saw a sign saying “Fart kontrol 3km”  I guessed it was  a radar speed check (and sniggered).

I couldn’t however adequately translate “Husk fart kontrol”-  a prize for the best answer (Kurt you are excluded for obvious reasons…)

I was surprised when we arrived. I thought the guy driving me had asked for the amount in German. I thought I had misheard, so asked him to repeat.

He replied , and this time I realised that he was indeed talking German. I asked him why he spoke German, and he explained that he regularly drove German tourists in the summer, as they went North for the sailing.

We settled the bill amicably in German, and I was off to the Danish Leadership Institute- a very strong senior manager learning institute- I was impressed.

On leaving the institute, I climbed into a taxi to take me back to my hotel, and went back in time to the late 1970s.

My driver looked like he had stepped out from a 70s disco movie, albeit not quite from the “Disco of the desperate” mentioned last time.

“Feather cut”  hair , very open shirt,  hairy chest peeping, and yes, medallion. Yuk.

We drove to the hotel, with “Chic” and “Sister Sledge” blaring, and with me fighting the urge to blast out “Ah, ah, ah, ah, staying alive, staying alive” in a falsetto voice.

Just about made it, but it hurt..

The Radisson I was staying in has very small rooms (made up to look like cabins on a boat). It’s just a ruse to justify overpriced tiny rooms.

Spent some hours working, and about 8pm set out to find a restaurant.

On leaving the hotel (which I am sure is the same Kurt booked me into last time), I broke my cardinal rule for eating on business.

When in doubt, head towards the big church spires- usually this means the centre and hence  loads of commerce and hence choice.

I thought I had seen some restaurants on the way in and headed down the street away from the spires and realised I was mistaken. Not willing to admit defeat I went into an “Italian restaurant”.

The waitress spoke to me in Danish , of which I speak nothing. Trying to meet her half way I replied in Italian. She looked completely confused (probably my Italian) so we agreed to speak English.

Whilst seated I started my Danish learning campaign.

In my view two of the most important phrases to learn in a  new language are “please” and “thank you”, so asked her how you say each in Danish.

She had no trouble with “Thank you”, – “tak” same in Swedish, also “yes” in Polish.

However she thought for a long time about “please” and told me that she could not think of a Danish equivalent, as “Danes don’t talk like that”.

Anyway, Kurt, put me straight; I can’t believe there is no equivalent..

Next morning the “sausages” and “bacon” in the overpriced breakfast buffet were hideous. As the Danes produce such great bacon why does it have to be so bad in their hotels?

Taxi to the office and a really long day listening to presentations.

Several of us shared taxis back to the hotel. A colleague talking about how overstretched he was , said that the need to clone himself was overwhelming. He was greeted with a shower of derision as to why this would be a really bad idea, although we did agree that cloning would produce one person who might agree with him sometimes.

After a team dinner I had to work- I had picked up various issues from the day and wanted to tailor my presentation to recognize these. I worked until about 12.40 am.

Realising I needed an early morning call I dialed for reception. The call was answered promptly and I explained I needed a 6.30 am call.

The guy who answered was very attentive, but ruined it at the end by saying “and you are in room 1715, right?”.  “No, I‘m in room 421” I said.

Worried about the call not coming, I made enquiries as to why he thought I was in 1715 and established that he was not in the same hotel. (To “improve” customer service the Radissons in
Copenhagen – there are at least 3- have a system whereby if your call is not answered within a time limit it goes to reception in  another hotel. This improves response time, but does rely on the message getting back to the hotel you are actually staying at).

I tried calling reception again, and this time got the third reception (full set).

In view of the importance of getting up on time , I decided to go down to  my reception to book my call in person.

On arrival I saw the reason for the unavailability of the guy at reception. There was a lady, I guess about 60ish, who seemed to be a little (ok quite a bit) the worse for alcohol, and who was trying to check in. The guy was asking for a credit card imprint, and she seemed unable to find her cards (or didn’t have  any).

After a couple of inconclusive minutes the receptionist was a little exasperated  and said he would need to deal with me first.

I explained that I needed an early morning call, and the importance of it being on time.

Next thing I knew there was an arm around my shoulder and a husky voice, alcohol-fumed saying “I’ll give you an early morning call my dear”.

My new lady friend then burst into a song that seemed a distant memory,

“I’m gonna knock on your door, ring on your bell
Tap on your window, too” 

Anyway, I made my excuses in typical English diplomatic style and went to my room .

I’m not normally fast moving but I left reception at speed, unaccompanied (and to be fair, unpursued).

I was struggling to sleep. The song was bugging me as I was vaguely aware of it. I tossed and turned trying to remember the singer.  Finally, unable to sleep, I got up and logged on to a search engine to look it up.

Two minutes on the internet gave me the awful truth. I had been propositioned by a drunken, possibly penurious fan of “Little Jimmy Osmond”.

Of such things are mid-life crises made.

I am reminded of a comment by Joan Rivers. Allegedly Paris Hilton ( a Hilton heir), gained additional notoriety by her participation in a certain “home video”.

Joan’s comment was “How could she do such a thing – in a Marriott?”

OK I’m not cut out to be a toy boy (though six weeks younger than my wife).

The drunkenness I could comprehend- the poor eyesight- the desire for a room.

But the musical taste-Little Jimmy Osmond- I felt cheapened.

Eventually my natural optimism compensated. I reasoned:

a)      As the Jimmy Osmond song was obviously a cover version- maybe she knew the older version so wasn’t really a Jimmy Osmond fan

b)      At least it wasn’t the Bay City Rollers, (remember “Shang a Lang” or “Bye Bye Baby”)? If not- don’t try. Trust me.

Next morning awoken by the phone and off to a meeting. I was due to present for the first time to this audience.

My task of being vaguely interesting was somewhat eased by the guy presenting before me. It was nothing to do with him.

The room had no conference phone and a poor broadband link. Agreement had been reached that he would present via MS communicator. This worked great for a few seconds the night before, but two minutes of presentation demonstrated that the broadband  would not work for a 45 minute presentation.

To try and compensate a colleague tried calling the presenter ( who was in
Singapore), on his mobile , and placed it onto loudspeaker mode.

A profound idea, but my advice is,  do not try to present to a cavernous room using a tiny mobile as your amplifier. Just a thought…..

Anyway my presentation went down quite well, on the basis of being “slightly more interesting than 45 minutes of faint buzzing in the distance”.

The meeting ended and it was off to the airport. A sandwich and a beer while awaiting my flight. Was struck by the huge numbers of people smoking- way more than  you see normally- is smoking more common in
Denmark?

Anyway it was time to make my way to the gate, although the flight hadn’t been called.

Arrived at the gate to find the black hole of
Calcutta.

The gate was reached by going down an escalator. Given that passengers descending the escalator had to get off quickly as it was still moving, a complex game of chess was being enacted as the already overstuffed passenger quota tried to accommodate each additional body plus luggage, arriving at a rate equivalent to the escalator speed.

The congestion was akin to my trip on the overstuffed tram in
Dublin.

However the congestion was slightly eased by the complete absence of anyone  from the airline. I reasoned that they were either:

• Down buying fresh salmon at the docks
• Collecting another truckload of packets of “Snĩggë –Snöggã” to do a bit more of the floor

 Or else

• Watching our contortions on camera and having a laugh
• All three of the above. (given the time they took this is the most attractive theory).

When the SAS folks eventually arrived we boarded finally with no explanation. Danes may or may not say please, but SAS clearly don’t say “sorry”