I’m fine. Really.

I only look like this when I’ve had my fill of mankind but it doesn’t actually mean anything. Other than just looking like this. I should explain…

We had a ‘team meeting’ this afternoon. I should explain that for the purposes of this the word ‘team’ applies to everyone in IM.

About 350 of us.

So we made our way to Great Russell Street (nearest tube: Tottenham Court Road), found the conference centre and received various briefings from the CIO down.

I have to say – and don’t tell anyone – that the quality was good to excellent and the information content was high.

You might be able to guess that things started to go a little wobbly afterwards. And you’d be right.

Outside the conference centre it was – in the words of Adrian Cronauer in Good Morning Vietnam – hot, damn hot.

So I battered my way through 3,500,132 tourists to the nearest Pizza Hut for
a) air con and
b) food because
c) I hadn’t even got back to SW London and already I couldn’t be arsed to cook.

Pizza Hut was air con’d and packed.

Did I mention that I had to slaughter my way there, like some kind of rock/goth/Roman warrior fuelled by a generations-old bloodlust?

Well I did.

Pleasantly surprisingly my food arrived muchly quick and I didn’t have to endure the unbelievably rude East-European tourists on the next table for longer than was strictly tolerable.

But if I’d had to stay a few minutes longer I fear that some of the EU’s newest citizens would be occupying a much cooler place.

Like the mortuary.

They were so abusively rude to the poor waiting staff – every single one of them. Treated them as if they were little better than unpaid serfs.

I left my waitress a massive tip as compensation and slaughtered another 1,132,473 tourists as I made my way to Tottenham Court tube station for the trip southwards.

Don’t people understand that if they walk in to a guy who is bigger and heavier and carrying more mass than they are, they’re going to come off worse?

That’s rhetorical because they obviously don’t.

Well, a couple now do.

And don’t people understand that if they walk in to a laptop bag that is crammed full of so many things that the big, heavy, mass-carrying guy toting the bag is favouring the weight, that it’s really going to fucking hurt them?

Yeah, see above.

I took the emergency stairs down to the Northern Line rather than occupy the same space as all the tourists.

Don’t these people have homes to go to?

No?

Well can’t they just fuck off out of my way?

Anyway, the tube was hot and packed as far as the first change.

The second tube was boiling and packed more as far as the first change.

The third tube was just hot.

As I walked through the hot streets of SW London I got aggressively pounced on by the aggressive beggar.

Told him to fuck right off.

That’s a quote.

Also gave him my best Vulcan Death Glare.

And what is it with the newspaper distributors?

If I wanted one of your poxy free London newspaper I’d take one.

When you thrust one in my face and I don’t fall on it as if it contained the results for next week’s 3.30 at Kempton Park will you please forgive me?

No?

Well that makes you a rude ignorant fucker then.

Anyway.

I’m fine, really.

I just hate people because the Tottenham Court Road experience made me feel as if I was not of the same species.

I will give great mention on the next podcast of The World’s Most Peculiar Gathering who were on the next table but one in Pizza Hut.

I can’t blog about them, my mind has boggled right out of my head.

B.