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Buses and bycicles

September 27th, 2010

An article published on the BBC news channel claims that “the average commuter spends 139 hours a year travelling to and from work”. Discounting holidays, that represents almost 3 hours per week. I suddenly feel very sorry for myself, as I spend about two and a half hours getting from home to work and back every day! But my own miseries and self-pity left aside, I wondered – how do people spend those precious hours?

London is definitely not a good place for the avid car aficionado. Lack of parking spots, expensive congestion charges, and LOTS of traffic make commuting by car an expensive, tiresome and overall dreadful experience. And then we’re not even talking about environmental issues yet. Even for those who love their car more than their new born baby, working in Central London, you’re better off looking for alternatives.

A popular option is rail transport: tube and train. These are usually extremely crowded, and I always feel like a country-girl as soon as I set foot in the stations, getting stressed and wound up simply from the amount of people crawling around. For some reason, when I’m in there I can’t stop thinking of ant colonies.

I usually take the bus myself, as I live in one of those far far away neighbourhoods where even the nearest tube station is a bus ride away. To pray every day no road works are taking place is part of the ritual. The bus does take quite a while even without the road works, but on the other hand, I can usually sit back and relax with my book, until the bus drops me off at the door of the workplace.

But overall, the winner of my best-way-to-get-to-work-award, by far, is the bicycle. Surprisingly, I don’t see many people using them to come to our conference venues. Has to be said I don’t have one myself – I consider my house way too far and the London climate way too cold – but I truly admire those who do cycle to work every day. It is a marvellous invention: one doesn’t pollute the environment, bikes are very cheap to buy, maintenance is close to zero, it’s entertaining and on top of all you get in shape!

But as all good things, even cycling has a downside. A BIG downside. It makes you sweat. Can you imagine sitting in a cosy conference room, all day long, next to a very admirable but oh so sweaty colleague? Hmm, ok, I admit… I am suddenly very happy I don’t see more delegates arriving in their cycling gear. But here goes an idea for the local councils: installing public showers and changing rooms next to the Boris Bike stations might just be what our London Cycling Scheme needs!

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When the remedy is worse than the disease

September 21st, 2010

Maybe some of you have read this blog a couple of weeks ago – I mentioned how we were trying to find ways to donate our surplus food to charities. This ended up being a lot more complicated than at first sight may seem.

We have, almost every day, a certain amount of delicious, healthy and fresh food that we don’t want; others want delicious, healthy and fresh food, that they don’t have. The equation seems simple, right? Wrong. After a week of e-mailing and making phone calls, contacting many charities to find out if we could make anybody happy with a free meal, I realised that, due to health and safety regulations, it is actually impossible for charities to accept and redistribute food that isn’t wrapped and does not have a use-by date written on it.

Now, our food is all fresh and prepared on site, which is why it is so fantastic in the first place (I know, modesty is not my forte). Obviously it isn’t wrapped and doesn’t have a use-by date on it! It does make one wonder. Health and safety regulations need to exist and be complied with, evidently: who does not want to be healthy and safe? But in some situations I think that the rules fail to remember their original purpose. Or, as Sir Francis Bacon put it, “the remedy is worse than the disease”.

With pain in my heart I conclude that we have to continue throwing our food in the bin.

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Last Sunday was one of those days

September 15th, 2010

Last Sunday was one of those days. As an intermittent shift worker I was called by the god of money to work. I was under the impression work would be a little light tinkering, maybe a doze and a long stretch of the Archers on the Iplayer, how wrong. The conference organised by some scarily efficient Chinese went wrong from the off, who was at fault, I have no idea. The theme internet trading, we were chosen as a venue partly because we can guarantee connectivity. Well now I know not on all lap tops. I had no idea there were different generations of Wi-Fi (pubescent, adolescent, spotty teenager, granddad the list goes on) We have learnt (the very expensive way) to guarantee connectivity you need to have some control all the equipment used (and ideally the users to) At our America Square Conference Centre we routinely supply delegates with top of the range standardised laptops, we will have to start at Cavendish Conference Centre.

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What a waste…

September 3rd, 2010

As many of you know, at Cavendish Conference Centres all food is prepared on site by a small team of dedicated caterers. This allows us to provide luscious lunches, including starters, warm meals, salads, cheese platters, seasonal fruits and much more, using only the freshest ingredients. We can suit all individual needs – vegetarian, lactose free, vegan? No problem, nothing is impossible for our amazing chefs!

There is, nonetheless, a downside to all this deliciousness:  Many days we have a big food surplus, which painfully ends up in the bin. But this is bound to change! We are looking into possibilities of redistributing the surplus food through charities that work with disadvantaged people in the community. If you have any experience with this kind of initiative, tips or advice, please do let us know!

We’ll keep you up to date, more news on this topic to follow soon!

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Utterly English

August 24th, 2010

Having only recently moved to England, many charming details have been catching my attention. It’s the little things that brighten up my day and remind me time and time again that I am, undeniably, living in London.  To start with, the expressions – it is absolutely wonderful to come into work early in the morning, and hear a bright “Hello darling, how are you today?”  Just the darling makes everything all right, doesn’t it? Even the rain ceases to matter.

But the loveliest bit of conversation was when my colleagues commented on a high-tea they had attended over the weekend. Quoting (very) freely:

“It all looked amazing, very posh, almost too nice to touch. But the one unmissable item, that we dream of and live for, the true essence of high-tea, was missing: scones!”

What followed was a passionate discussion about scones, the best place to get them, the ideal way to eat them, the perfect cream and favourite jams to put on top, and last but not least the tea – with milk! – to go along. 

It made my day, more English impossible!

And after so much talk about scones, the next day dear Rachel brought some in for us all. I have to give it to you, I’m sold: they are delicious. Maybe an idea to start offering at our conferences?

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What Will’s word is worth.

July 16th, 2010

Every morning it’s the same routine, dash from the house and pray that the very pretty Irish girl is at the bus-stop, if she is huge sigh of relief…if not, minor panic that I have missed the 06.05 bus. This is despite the fact that it may only be 05.58, this particular bus seems to be very illusive and at times I began to believe that it really didn’t exist as irrespective of being earlier and earlier it never seemed to materialise. The young lady in question seems to be at the bus-stop before me more often than not, there are though, occasions when I am there first and others when she is neither there nor does she arrive after me. Then comes the realization that the big red E3 bus has eluded me yet again and I have a wait until 6.28 for the next one. Timing is in our business crucial, as I refuse to be late in opening up for business in the morning.

While waiting at the bus stop I watch the van delivering the Metro whizz past signaling that my morning read will be waiting for me at the station when I disembark, either the early bus of the dreaded later one. I can remember when the Metro first came out being a little reticent of being I think the term was “seen dead with it”. I have been a reformed man for a long time since well before the credit crunch once the reality economic intelligence had prevailed…. free is good, we like free. A fact which I discussed with one of the clients that we met for dinner on Wednesday evening, this and the now redundant but much loved London Lite and the London Paper how I miss them. Despite being free now, the Evening Standard is no longer the same read in the evening.

Though I shouldn’t admit it, I enjoy the pure unadulterated joyous trash that is the celebrity columns – who’s up, who’s down, been there, done what and so forth. It is tomorrow’s chip paper, frivolous un-taxing to the brain, fodder for the water-cooler or diet Coke break?

This morning the same routine……early bus despite a detour of actually catching it another story perhaps. Irish girl missing though, possibly she is still sitting at our bus stop and hasn’t seen the sign that the road is closed and there is a diversion in progress.

Got to Turnham Green station and picked up a crisp copy of the Metro alighted the District Line spoiled for choice for a seat at this hour in the morning and began to read.

Past the headlines a little way in I catch sight of a familiar face, two actually in town at the moment for a premiere with their son the star of said film. I mentioned I was at dinner with some of my work colleagues and some clients at the Dorchester on Tuesday Night. It was recommended by a colleague who did not attend as a good place to go as there was always an interesting mix of people there. On Tuesday night it was a bumper night. Pele, the current England Manager and Jemima Khan or is it Goldsmith again now. During the evening I went out to catch some air through the restaurants private entrance there to find a trio of photographers lying in wait, cameras at the ready. Being my mother’s son I approached them and asked who they were in wait for, they were non-committal on whom it was and so ensued some friendly banter.

They mentioned that there was a famous actor in town with his family and who were staying in the hotel. He asked if I was eating in the restaurant and to which I answered I was. I was then quizzed on whether they were in the restaurant to which I replied that I hadn’t seen them. He said was there anyone else famous inside, to which I smiled and said perhaps there was but I couldn’t divulge such information tongue firmly in cheek. The banter continued me being cryptic, him egging me on for details (Mrs. Doyle in my head with her go on, go on, go on, GO ON!). I took my leave and returned to the table which was now abuzz with the comings and goings of the celebs. Despite my best efforts I didn’t get a chance to impart who possibly may be making an appearance this was discovered prior to me being able to utter it from my mouth.

Hushed voices saying “he’s here”, frantic attempts to catch a glimpse from our table, trips en masse to the powder room, travelling at a snail’s pace and rather obvious peering and very slow, painfully obvious glances into the private booth. Reports on what had been seen and heard from these reconnaissance missions. The paparazzi had been correct so their wait had not been in vain.

We notice eagle eyed that Pele is ushered into the private booth, another meet and greet he having earlier acknowledged the presence of the current England Manager. 9 pairs of eyes continually scanning the room for fresh arrivals of celebrities. They seem to have decided to go elsewhere this evening or to have stayed in. More fresh air for me and further discussions with the awaiting photographers, I feel it only fair to affirm that their earlier piece of information is in fact true.

On my way back in, I turn the corner to take the stairs down to the restaurant and notice a number of guests leaving. I apologies as you do, for interrupting ascent of the stairs. To my surprise, I get a flash of pearly white teeth, a big smile and an extremely cheery “How are you Sir?” from a tall, slim t-shirt wearing young man. Smiling back I reply “ Great thanks , how about you?” It is Will Smith and his beautiful wife Jada, who I can see is eager to leave with their other guests, I clear the stairs and make my way back to the our table. I do note that their children Jaden and Willow are not with them perhaps Jaden is having some last minute “Waax on, Waaaax off” sessions with My. Miyagi prior to the premiere, or should that be with Jackie Chan.

Getting back to my table I impart the story of my encounter to which I get questioned with words such as he said “What he called you SIR?”, “Will Smith called you what?”. I explained that this is the norm for many Americans and is a form of politeness. It is not a confirmation of superiority nor would I expect it. Every day at the Hallam Conference Centre or indeed at any of our other venues I must say this upward of 100 times. It is etticate, being civil and polite and for the want of not knowing somebody’s given name the correct form of address. Do I feel that this undermines me, I don’t! What it does define is I am totally comfortable with myself, my role and indeed who I am.

My lasting impression of Tuesday evening apart from the great company at dinner is not that Will Smith addressed me as “Sir”, but that he has not lost sight of the fact that being polite and courteous costs nothing but always makes an extremely positive and lasting impression. It made my wait for the bus for 30 minutes at Shepherds Bush on Tuesday evening but a fleeting moment as I played back the evening in my mind and made up in part for my 4 hours sleep before starting my daily routine the next morning.

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