Hotel Hobbies

I've just awoken in my hotel room, with that initial feeling of disorientation. A couple of moments of self inquisition Where am I? Why am I here? elicited quick answers. The third question Why am I ? would take a little more thought.

I am in a faceless corporate hotel at the behest of a faceless private sector conglomerate in a faceless midlands town, well Wolverhampton to be honest (it might actually be a city, I'm not sure). We never really forgave Wolverhampton for deserting Staffordshire. I always arrive at these big relatively posh hotels with a sort of childish relish, like it is some sort of treat. Though to be honest when you've stripped away the veneer and the overly servile staff its not really different than a Blackpool B&B. After all a room is a room, a bath is a bath, an underpowered wired in hairdryer is an underpowered hairdryer and a bed is a bed (actually it isn't, this one is huge and dreamily comfy! but you get my point). I have resisted the urge to follow the teachings of my TV guru, Ross from Friends, who believes when staying in an expensive hotel it is your right nae duty to help yourself to as many consumables as you can. Toiletries and stationary are obvious, batteries from the remote and bulbs from the lamp less so. In fact I have let my guide down so badly I haven't even touched the tea and coffee!

Anyway its time a got myself moving instead of Blogcrastinating. We are doing something called Job Matching, which is unfortunately not matching Debt Collectors with a pack of ravaneous hyenas but something to do with Job Evaluation, Job Descriptions and Job Specifications but not sadly Bob a Job (a blast from my 70's past!). I am having trouble focusing (Well duh! says any reader of these endless parentheses, parenthesise, parenthesises, oh well brackets!), now I have found out that one of the managers used to have a much more interesting job. Dean is a lovely, personable man who is like Danny DeVito's cockney cousin. Anyway he dropped in conversation that after leaving the RAF, he worked for Prime Ministers flying them all over the world (Not sure if he flew the plane, he was something called a Loadmaster). Anyway he worked for John Major (a really nice guy who still sends him Christmas cards, and Thatcher (spit in the waste bin!) who was a bit unapproachable but worked amazingly hard). Of course I was suddenly full of questions ranging from "Where was the most dodgy place you through into?","Yemen" to "John Major & Edwina Currie! what was that all about?", He couldn't believe it either. I wanted to ask him if he thought it was his duty for the nation to push Thatcher out the airlock at 15,000 feet, but thankfully resisted it.

Anyway (I really use anyway too much! any suggestions for an erudite alternative?) so much for nonblogcrastination (check that! spell checker), the weather is fab and I still have my eyebrows to pluck.

Adendum. For no particular reason I have Shrek the Third on my TV. Well actually the reason is that I had free hotel movies along with internet access, and I didn't fancy "No Country For Old Men" violence at 7 am!.

Anyway again, Ive just done my hair and makeup and noticed I look worryingly like Princess Fiona, just less green! Oh well, I suppose its an improvement from looking like Shrek! ...