Of course, it took a fair bit of time to get there. Two hours and eight minutes, to be precise. That's how long the train from Manchester Piccadilly to London Euston took. The train that tilted from time to time, and did nothing for my travel sickness. The train with free Wi-Fi and an onboard shop. The train that drove me to bigger and better things: my two days as a mover and shaker.
* * *
I've never had much cause to think of myself as a businessperson. Life has never much required me to wear a suit. But as we get older, and our careers progress, such occasions are bound to crop up from time to time. Which is how I found myself travelling down to London, to attend a conference dedicated to young leaders.
In preparation, I had purchased a brand new business suit, as my old one was looking decidedly rough around the edges. It is important to make a good first impression, after all. I even packed three ties. I own five ties altogether, although how I've accumulated so many I have no idea. They just seem to turn up from time to time, buried amongst the debris that builds up in any bedroom. I lugged a heavy travel bag onto the train, sat myself down, and spent the entire journey writing. Every single word I penned I'd somehow lost by the time I got back to Manchester, including one of the most perfect paragraphs I have ever been responsible for. My attempts to put it back together again from memory have completely failed.
* * *
As soon as I exited Euston station I was comprehensively lost, in that I had not bothered to research where my hotel was located and thus didn't have the slightest idea how to find it. For about five minutes it seemed reasonable to assume that I would remain lost for the rest of my life, but then I rooted around in my bag, pulled out a couple of maps that were rather lacking in detail, and managed to gain my bearings. I immediately walked past a film set, which is how I imagine every day in London must be for those who live there.
Upon arriving at my hotel, the girl who checked me in was both in training and a very colourful character. She engaged me in humorous banter, but due to creeping exhaustion I was of no use to her, either as a straight man to her comedic stylings or as a human being offering normal conversational responses. Toward the end of our exchange I attempted to crack a joke of my own, but it fell flat. Both of us were glad when our dealings were complete.
The room I stayed in was modest but well-appointed. There was a Bible and everything. I skimmed through it, making a mental note to replace Anthony Powell with Genesis as my bedtime reading. Switching on my computer, however, my worst fears were confirmed: no free Wi-Fi. The only two options were to bankrupt myself paying BT Openzone rates, or begrudgingly go without. There was a TV, but I hardly ever bother with TV these days. Unless I stream it, of course. With nothing else to do, I filled up the kettle and put it on to boil.
After a cup of tea came the realisation that I needed something to eat. I briefly considered finding a restaurant of some kind and eating there, alone, but as time was getting on I decided that I wanted neither the bother nor the expense. I remembered that on my way to the hotel I had passed a Sainsbury's. I contemplated wearing my new business suit to Sainsbury's - being anxious to take it out for a spin - but decided that the formality of the dress would not be in keeping with the occasion. I headed back out, trudging past the film set once more, this time paying a bit more attention to the trailers. There was one for a guy called Guy and one for a guy called Josh. And one for Nat and one for Chloe. And an entire trailer dedicated to an unnamed dialect coach.
When I arrived at the supermarket I was disappointed to discover that I had left my wallet at the hotel. The duck and hoisin wrap I had been hungrily eyeing up remained on the shelf as I exited and walked past the film set for a third time. By that point the novelty had worn off. I spent the minutes that followed traversing the hotel's corridors pretending that staying there was a profound meditation on loneliness and isolation, just like Lost in Translation. After an interminable period I had finally secured a sandwich, and just about had enough time to eat it before I fell to sleep.
* * *
The conference itself was great. Lots of networking and keynote speakers. Presentations and teamworking activities. The type of stuff they don't teach you in schools, because they're too busy teaching ancient mathematics with no practical day-to-day usage. They taught us how to get ahead. And who doesn't want to get ahead? Better that than standing still or heading backward. Alternative culture has a lot to answer for, teaching generations of individuals that ambition is a bad thing. And the only lesson I remember from school is what an Oxbow river looks like.
A lot of people had iPads and iPhones. All I had was a water damaged Samsung that refuses to send text messages. But in the cutthroat business world, you can't let such disadvantages get you down. At the end of the first day, we walked by the canal toward Camden, en route for an evening of free food and drink. All dressed up with somewhere to go. The luxury of the surroundings suited me far better than the fluorescent lighting of a takeaway joint serving tragic fried chicken and soggy fries at three in the morning. And when servers are constantly topping up your wine glass, it becomes impossible to tell whether you've consumed two glasses or two bottles.
Alas, all good things must come to an end, and once the conference wrapped up I was simply a commuter, elbowing past people in a desperate dash for any available seat. As the train pulled out of London Euston I knew one thing: I had well and truly departed.
