Barcelona is a fantastic city. So good, in fact, they don’t like to let you leave. Our Olympic standard lurking at the airport was finally terminated by the most surreal announcement I have ever heard. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to apologise for the delay to this flight from Barcelona to London Heathrow. This entirely due to the fact that it is snowing in Stockholm”
I kid you not.
Now while anyone with a beard and a serious expression can convince me that the flapping of a butterfly wing in remotest Chile ripples the space-time continuum such that it begins hailing buffalo in Croydon, BA are clearly talking nonsense.
They weren’t alone. In a three day period, I was assured an evenings entertainment with my peers would be jolly fun (it really wasn’t), the trip back to the airport would take between seven and ten days (it didn’t) and the conference we were attending would be *edited for reasons of job security* (As my German friends would say “This is a joke, Ja?“
It‘s been a while since I’ve thrown myself to the wolves of a technology conference. And it’ll be a while before I do so again. Hotel rooms too hot, dinners too long, willpower too short, people too dull, flying too shit, Alex too old and cynical.
There were upsides. Grudgingly I learned a little, talked a lot and found many people who wanted to drag a difficult project from the abyss of possibly disciplinary action. I also managed to rush out -“ while others were snout down in the free bar -“ and take some pictures.
Like I said, it’s a great city. It would be great to come back swapping work for my wife, a big camera and a hotel room not superheated directly from the Earths core.
Yes I know I am an ungrateful bugger. No, I don’t really care.
* Remember the song? Okay that’s not an actual lyric (but a gold star to anyone who can tell me from which Queen track it was from) but close enough.