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What a fascinating dinner. What a fascinating day, in fact. Tonight, though, at dinner in an old orangery in the grounds of where Ewan Blair lives when he’s not collapsing in a drunken stupor in Leicester Square, there was a wide variety of nationalities arranged around our table. One Spanish, one Dutch, one Belgian, one Swiss, one South African and two Brits. The lady from Spain said no more than half a dozen words throughout the whole meal and instead spent her time sculpting fairly good wild animals from the soft inside of her bread roll. The Dutch and Belgian guys dominated the conversation, with the Swiss guy chipping in from time to time. The South African guy and I acted mainly as observers, chucking in the odd comment now and then, but most of all I was trying to soak up all that was being said. It would have made excellent fodder for the book. Unfortunately, though, the good wine to good food ratio was rather unbalanced and instead of a head full of ideas and experiences I’ve come back with one full of fuzzy dizziness.

From beginning to end, though, the talk was of journalism, and the things that have happened to people on trips. As with all such occasions when several journalistic nationalities come together everyone settles on English, which is a good thing as I’m still a bit shaky on anything in German other than asking someone if they’d like to have dinner with me, and in French I can measure up for a new coat and book in to a hotel, which wouldn’t have been much use.

In spite of the fact that we all do our jobs in different countries, though, it seemed that everyone had had the same experiences. We all knew the same scams and tricks. We had all been in trouble with the police while in America at some time or another. We all knew about the profiles, and the Dutch guy told us how he polluted his on every trip to make sure that whatever it said it would never be any use.

Eventually it degenerated into a ‘what’s wrong with America’ discussion, so it’s probably best our token American was safely tucked away on the opposite side of the orangery with another bunch of random nationalities. Then again, she’d come out with some strange words herself during lunch.

It was me, her, an Austrian guy and a Hungarian. We sat there eating very slowly, paying an inordinate amount of attention to our food so that we wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact with one another and have to strike up conversation when she asked where we all came from, volunteering her nationality as American.

We went around the small table, and then she said ‘So, no French then. I guess we wouldn’t like them anyway. But nobody likes Americans. I didn’t vote for him, though - I hate him.’

Uncomfortable silence.

Hmmm…

She seemed to be suffering come kind of shock and awe at the experience of being somewhere foreign, talking with wide eyes about how much history we have in the UK.

I wasn’t particularly in a mood for talking, I must say. I was doing my best to keep awake, as I have been doing all day. Nothing to do with the meetings - they have been very interesting. More to do with getting only four hours under the duvet last night then having to walk to the station this morning, being comprehensively carless for the next few days.

It was a good journey, though, and I enjoyed the train ride across country out of Paddington. I love travelling west where the hills get steadily hillier the firther away you get from the capital. I love Bristol, too. It always strikes me as an exciting, yet manageable city, surrounded by beautiful scenery.

HP’s labs, the point of this visit, are about eight miles out of the centre, and very heavily guarded. They wanted ID on the way in - I gave them my driving licence - and then called ahead to prove that I should really be there before they even opened the gates into the campus. Once inside, though, it’s surprisingly similar to Microsoft HQ in Settle, although there are more hedges and slightly fewer lawns.

The buildings are the same anonymous blocky constructions from the outside and inside it’s the familiar short-sleeved-shirt and jeans environment where scientists spend all day playing. It must be bliss. They’re coming up with some great stuff in the process. A lot of what I saw today won’t be in the shops for another twenty years, but it was fun to play with the prototypes, and although I don’t think I’d buy any of them myself they are great inventions.

All I want to do now, though, is collapse into bed and have the first good night’s sleep this week. Nobody seems to have stayed up or gone out drinking, in spite of the fact that we’re staying in the centre of the city in one of the best hotels I’ve had in the UK. Perhaps the fact pretty much wherever you’re coming from on business by plane Bristol needs a change in either Amsterdam or Paris means they’re all worn out.

Lightweights.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, May 21st, 2003 at 11:59 pm and is filed under Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.