New York

The weekend is over (in fact it was a week this time, which made the goodbyes harder than usual, and the missing them less manageable) and now I’m on a plane bound for New York where I’ll be driven from meeting to meeting and probably get very little time to breathe.
By contrast, there will be plenty of time to eat. I fully expect to be fed at least fifteen times a day throughout the trip (thank god it’s only two days). It is little surprise that the American people are the size they are when you experience a typical business trip pretty much anywhere in the United States: wake up – breakfast in the hotel, taxi to meeting, breakfast in the corner of the meeting room (and before you say “hang on – you don’t have to eat two breakfasts”, just be honest with yourself – if the food is put in front of you and its free then I defy you not to eat it), coffee and biscuits all morning, lunch, more coffee, more biscuits, dinner and it continues. And just when you think it’s all over and you return to your room, get undressed, brush your teeth and approach the bed – there it is, taunting you – a little minty chocolate sitting on your pillow – the inclusion of the mint somehow suggesting that it can be eaten sans-guilt and that you might even get away with not having to re-brush your teeth.
I reluctantly reach for the little square, unwrap it, close my eyes and think of Mr. Creosote as it completes my day of gluttony. I need to go for a run…

Anyway – back to the plane – it’s Virgin Atlantic and the stewardesses are desperately trying to look like the ones on the ad (the one with the hoard of post-coital beauties, confidently strutting through the departure lounge on their way to ensure another plane full of middle-aged middle managers reach the climax they have been looking for – and failing to achieve – for so many years).
The reality of course is that out of the three in my eye-shot, I see (in order of attractiveness) a tank-shaped (that’s world war two tank rather than fish tank) brunette called Lisa-Marie whose voice does not match her physique (you know when you speak to someone you have never met on a phone over a period of time and then finally meet them? Whoever did that with Lisa-Marie must have had a shock), a fifty year old ex-headmistress called Shelley who’s nail polish has more chips on it than an Apprentice contestant’s shoulder and a nice chap called Bruce (no I’m not – that should give you an idea of how good things really are on board…)
Of course I’m being unfair (and failing to talk about food it seems) – they are all very nice and professional, and I’m getting a lot of work done, so top marks dear Richard.

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