Be careful what you wish for. (Adult Swearywords)




Wow. Thursday, the FirM (HADSL) chaps all went for supper in the Flying Fish. Excellent food, screaming babies, bad service. Take your pick. So by 11pm I was convinced I'd head to bed. So we got Paul Mooney up, went to Kimonos and well - lets just say Mr Self Control wasnt home.


F**k. Mark from the London Domino Co-op is an amazing guy. Pretty, yet Ginger. Amazing developer, despite Ginger. And can basically drink a rugby team under the table. He came up and said 'Oh, gotta buy you a whisky'. Yeah. Cool.


Well, the tumbler was full. And so was the next one. Call it half a bottle. And then Warren - some friend eh - got me and Gollum - sorry Kerr - up to sing 'I would walk 500 miles'. B*stard. And once we got booted out of there (having nailed Kerr's Highland Park earler this week) retired back to the Dolphin Rotunda, emptied my mini-bar and took down the lovely bottle of Bunnachabain 12 year old that the amazing Julian Robichaux gave me for my birthday. It was on the podium at 11 commandments, giving the IBM lawyers more heart attacks. Once I'd actually fallen asleep around 4pm, Mooney walked me to my room and made sure I was okay. He's a real mate. He's done this before but this was thei first time I can actually remember it. ;-)


This morning was rather - well - liverish. Horrible. Nasty hangover. Didnt really lift till I'd taken my Barocca and a 4 pint water chaser. And then we went to the Florida Mall, where I sat and read the paper and felt old. And then we went to the airport with BagZilla, my new stainless steel flight case. Checked in Business Class (I didnt think the checkin lady actualy genuflected enough - I could get used to this). And then horror.



Yes. My first legit business class flight since leaving Stena (and Fox-Pitt Kelton). In eight years. And guess what - the bloody business lounge was closed. Sods. So we sat in the Outback Restaurant, and bought beer. And the server ASKED ME FOR MY PASSPORT.


Let us ponder this situation. I'm in a highly secure area. I've been X-rayed. My Colon is clean. I've looked right and coughed. My shoes are now irradiated. I look as old as the founder of IBM. Hell, I look older than Ray Ozzies therapist. And yet he still asks for ID.



I've never been in a police state before. And I dont think I like this one. I think the thousandth think on Obama's 'In Box From Hell' (Thanks Bush, you ignorant T*AT) might be 'Make America Tourist Friendly. Especially the bits around DisneyLand'. Perhaps.



I think the especially ironic thing is that this was a barman in a bar in Florido, who may not have had a passport. Not many Amercians do have passports. And yet he wouldnt serve me a watery bug-piss overchilled American beer till I'd proven to him that I was actually over the age of 16 - some three or four years younger than my DAUGHTER. Has Mr Personal Responsibility been joined by Mr Common Sense in the disused Attic of American Ideals ?



Anywhoo. Business class is ace. Aside from the 4 inch screen and VCR based movies. Okay the movies were current, but the tech is pure eighties. Okay the bed is fully flat, but the plane isnt, and I dont want all the blood rushing to my head. Cos its empty.