Oh Goody, It's Friday

I wake up later than usual (just before 7am) feeling pretty excited about finally leaving this grotty hotel. The hotel is a different one from the one I posted about last week, and much worse, which serves me right, I suppose.

The guy comes in with my room-service breakfast (who would have thought I'd ever get sick of those?) and tries to have a chat, although it really should have become clear after 5 days of this routine that grunting is about as much conversation as I can manage before my third cup of coffee.

Once he finally gives up and leaves I turn on BBC Breakfast. This is when I find out Michael Jackson died, and it sort of throws my whole day off, to be honest. It's like realizing this is going to become one of those "Where were you when..." events, and you'll actually have to remember this dingy hotel room with those awful floral-print curtains forever.

Which explains why I'm still a bit shell-shocked when I finally wheel my suitcase into the office, but apparently no one at BM cares so I get over it and conduct yet another client interview. And I have to say, I'm pretty good at these, and by the end of the half hour Janice is putty in my hands. There's even an outside chance she might name her new puppy Res. Great puppy name.

I break up the rest of the day's slide-producing monotony with a quick Itsu frozen yogurt run, some blackberry messengering with an OBT friend, and Wimbledon streaming in the background, until it's finally time to go home. And that's when I have a serious "OH F***!" moment, as I drop my ring into the locked confidential papers bin. I burst into tears and a few minutes later there are three people fluttering around explaining how "the young lady lost her engagement ring". I don't correct them, in case it makes them sort it out faster. It doesn't. Apparently I need to wait until Monday.

So despite my eagerness at finally getting a couple days at home, I'm pretty grumpy when I climb into the Eurostar. Especially because my eternal hope that I'll meet a hot, bilingual guy in the train is once again dashed as I realize I'm seated by myself. Eurostar should seriously consider running a little dating service on the side for some extra cash, especially for its Business Class passengers. All those people travelling to and fro across the channel for work surely have lots in common, and it would make for a much more entertaining trip. Granted, if you and your date don't click, 2h15 can be a bit long, but maybe they could have an eject button or something.

I'm telling you, there's a great business idea in there somewhere...