Monday 12 March 2012

Kel Loves Orange Soda

I won’t go as far as to name the Angel Hotel in Abergavenny, but I have a small issue with the hotel I stayed at – then had a meeting at – in Wales today.

It’s juice.

This is the second meeting I have had there. Their breakfast is nice. The room service food is overpriced but good (which is just room service food). The lunches are a fine buffet affair. But they don’t do juice with the lunch. I know they have juice; I had some at breakfast in the morning and it was rank. They don’t even bring fresh water with the food – or refresh the tea and coffee. What is it with the people of Wales? Do they not have beverages with food? It’s not a fucking soup kitchen in Harlem, I am not asking for handouts. They are charging about a million pounds per head (exaggeration) as a delegate rate for the meeting.

My question is this: have I overreacted by hiring an assassin to kill all the staff and their kin?

Double Dragon

One of the guys in my meeting today definitely doesn’t like me. Even though he is Welsh this bothers me. My ‘not caring what people think about me’ attitude only extends to people who like me; I also don’t really mind people not liking me who have a reason (having met me/worked near me etc). This guy has no reason whatsoever.

Accordingly whenever I interact with him I tend to try to agree with him and offer more help than is strictly necessary*. Am I being paranoid? Well when I tell the people in the room that as I am moving on this is probably the last time I will see most of them and thank them for being a good group to work with, he doesn’t get up and hug me; he also doesn’t stand up and announce “You’re fucking special, Philip, working with you has been a once in a lifetime opportunity.” Maybe he is going to write me a letter.

Seriously, though, at the end of the meeting I am pretty sure he shakes everyone’s hand but mine. At one stage he had almost left (it’s really hard writing in the past tense again: Rob Lowe gets in your head, I tell you) and he turns back to say goodbye and shake the hand of a woman behind me. I did say goodbye to him but was too scared to hold out my hand in case he ignores it: he is Luis Suarez to my Patrice Evra.

He is a grown man for crying out loud. I am but a manchild. Why would he snub me? The only conclusion that I can draw is that he is fucking really gutted that I haven’t sought his blessing on my move to the new job.

My question is this: have I overreacted by hiring an assassin to kill him and his kin?

*I actually do this to most people when I am working, but keep it under your hats: I am a modern day Ebeneezer Scrooge (from the main bit of the film when he is a shit, not the end bit where he becomes really nice) if anyone asks.

My Game Face

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