France in Birmingham
Birmingham - I entered the town at midnight, but I didn't find the hotel until 1am. I drove all around the jolly old place and every time I seemed to be getting closer I was getting much further away. The road layout seems to have been designed by the Flying Spaghetti Monster in association with Mr Whippy after they both wedged their heads into a blender and presented the resulting mess on a piece of paper to the Mayor of Birmingham. There was one sign on a roundabout that had about 38 destinations. I don't know if there's a hand signal for 'I'm stopping in the carriageway for five minutes while I read the essay on this signpost'.
Ah well. The hotel was OK. And at £43 right in the middle of town I'm not going to complain. I wasn't really in the mood for networking at the training event. There was nobody there who I knew, so I didn't chat to many people. I wasn't totally anti-social, just moderately so. In any case, the main point of these events is the food. There's a really nice French Restaurant called 'The Bastille' which they marched us to for lunch. Simon wouldn't have liked it, everything was infused with cheese. I had the salmon, which came in a cheesy sauce. The menu was in English which was fucking disappointing. I wanted 'Legumes', 'Haricots Verts', 'Poisson', 'Brie', 'Croque Monsiuer', 'Baguette' et un petit peut extra pour mon argent. It may have been excellent food but if they have to put the menu in English then it might as well have been Gregg's for pasties.
The training event was at the University, so I walked through the campus on my way home. University Campuses are full of secrets. There are darkened laboratories where undisclosed experiments are carried out. Students of all nationalities wander about talking to each other in every language under the sun. There are the student digs, like rabbit warrens above the ground, cheaply built accommodation that looks sterile and uniform, but contains people of all descriptions having the formative adventures of their lives, becoming adults, becoming themselves. To top it all there's a stupid piece of modern art in a geometric shape, sitting incongruously in the middle of a park. There are so many forgotten, quiet areas that people walk past every day.
Ah well. The hotel was OK. And at £43 right in the middle of town I'm not going to complain. I wasn't really in the mood for networking at the training event. There was nobody there who I knew, so I didn't chat to many people. I wasn't totally anti-social, just moderately so. In any case, the main point of these events is the food. There's a really nice French Restaurant called 'The Bastille' which they marched us to for lunch. Simon wouldn't have liked it, everything was infused with cheese. I had the salmon, which came in a cheesy sauce. The menu was in English which was fucking disappointing. I wanted 'Legumes', 'Haricots Verts', 'Poisson', 'Brie', 'Croque Monsiuer', 'Baguette' et un petit peut extra pour mon argent. It may have been excellent food but if they have to put the menu in English then it might as well have been Gregg's for pasties.
The training event was at the University, so I walked through the campus on my way home. University Campuses are full of secrets. There are darkened laboratories where undisclosed experiments are carried out. Students of all nationalities wander about talking to each other in every language under the sun. There are the student digs, like rabbit warrens above the ground, cheaply built accommodation that looks sterile and uniform, but contains people of all descriptions having the formative adventures of their lives, becoming adults, becoming themselves. To top it all there's a stupid piece of modern art in a geometric shape, sitting incongruously in the middle of a park. There are so many forgotten, quiet areas that people walk past every day.