They’ve roped Ffion into Voice of God for the conference. Right now they are all practicing the presentations etc. Power Point and speakers and musical intro outro etc. I’m in my comfy trainers and it feels like a whole new footworld. That said it’s still only eleven o’clock. It’s been quiet enough that I could go on a coffee run. Just helped the Monkey Shoulder guy build his stand, just in time. Now it’s about making sure the table wine is cold enough and considering I slung 40 bags of ice into the freezer yesterday I think that can be achieved.
Guinness just got sent seven full barrels. Often there’s no exit strategy and I can’t imagine they’ll all go in the few hours we have with all the other choices, despite the fact it was Paddy’s day yesterday. Hannah is running around the stage upstairs while I’m mostly desnagging suppliers. It’s nice to think there are good friends who are known and used by these guys now, some of them more frequently than I am these days. We have to look after one another as we work our way through this shitstorm.
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Does the “D” stand for diplomat? My T-shirt has D3 on it. I’m not sure what the D actually stands for but I’ll take it. Defused a little moment between two neighbouring concessions. Now a calm moment waiting for a briefing…
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I’m waiting for a speaker outside and noticed the ash buckets in the smoking area are being used as bins. Sent a photo to the WhatsApp group. I can fucking guarantee you that it’ll be me with the gloves on once this guy shows up. But a man can dream. There are eleven of us after all.
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Slow moment. Waiting behind the audience with my speaker. Luke did the bins bless him. I had a moment to respond to an email from my agent.
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Not for long but now another snatched moment. They’ll all be going up for dinner in ten minutes. String quartet is practicing the imperial march from Star Wars. Everyone seems to have enough ice. It’s about to go mental downstairs when they all fight to be first out. And suddenly I’ve got to get three sets of earplugs…
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It’s midnight. Feet hurt. I’ve been pouring out open table wine. Sad job. I think the DJ winds up in 30. I’m trying to get ahead of the load out.
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It’s about to get very very busy in here and they’ll all want to ask me things and I’m knackered.
Apparently she’s Titanium. She often is. She never sounds bored of it. I’m happy for her. They are mostly too pissed to dance and loads of them are gone. Doesn’t stop her from being Titanium. Maybe nothing can?
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Oh my poor feet. Lift going up. *Stairs* lift going down *stairs* repeat until feet nothing but bruise. Then repeat.
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Very nearly finished. Dropped my room key somewhere, have driven Bergie to the hotel and waiting for the others to let me in the hotel so I can talk to reception and get into my room to grab my stuff. Then fifteen minutes drive home and I’ll be asleep in nice sheets with cats and I don’t have to wake at any particular time …
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I’m home I’m home! My feet are bruises. It’s only just gone 3am. That’s actually pretty good going. Fourth year in a row ticked off and it is extraordinary to be part of Shimmy’s team for this. She runs a tight ship with humour and perspective. Zzzzzz
AlBarclay 