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Because I left my bags at the hotel and stayed at my friend's place, I had a lack of useful things like fresh clothes or deodorant. Luckily, my friend's kids had a ready supply of Axe deodorant.
Which was nice. Now I smelt like a wannabe date-rapist. I hoped nobody at work would notice the stench of synthetic teenage pheromones.
After a morning at the office, we went back to the hotel in a very hot coach, and I clambered out feeling like death, nauseous and overheated. Lunch was derisory; my fault for being a vegetarian in France. First the waiter told me that fish was a vegetable, and when I was unconvinced, he strutted off and scraped the fish into the bin, then returned the dish back to me. Hmm. Nice. Then while everyone else had steak, I ate some fried peas. I wouldn't want to start a diatribe about the French and food, but ... well, I would like to start a diatribe, but I'm late, it's tired, I don't know how to construct a sentence properly.
The day went well: I had a presentation, people laughed, I went to a meeting, thought I was going to die from a burst kidney, resolved never to drink three litres of water in ten minutes ever again.
The evening was harder: back on the coach of doom to Geneva for dinner in the office, then into the coach of doom for the world's longest drive, pausing to dump out half the passengers at a Holiday Inn in a field, then back to the hotel, where I ended up in the bar by accident.
When I got to the hotel this morning, my room was an utter tip. The guy I'm sharing a room with had left a mess of sheets and blankets everywhere. To be fair, he was dying from jet lag from flying in from Seattle. But in Asia, we don't have jet lag, so I'm going to stomp upstairs soon and bang the lights on, then chastise him for not keeping things tidy. That'll be nice. And it's nice to be nice.
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