America's Got Talent

But Britain hasn't. Only slightly more ridiculous than putting Anne Robinson in pebble glasses and a black suit is having Piers Morgan judging a talent show. It's a bit like Paris Hilton giving driving lessons.

It'll teach me to channel surf. Strangely compelling TV, though. I had to turn off as David Hasselhoff's eye lift looked like it might give way at any moment...

Stop Bus, Stop

Steve and I are sharing a mutual hallucination, which is somewhat worrying.

Last time we were out here, we were quite certain we saw a double decker, open topped red bus, driving around SF. The mystery only deepened when we blagged our way into one of the top local hotels, and drove the concierge mad while she tried to figure out what we were talking about. She had never heard of such a thing.

It got worse yesterday.

In front of us, as we were crossing the road, was a Y reg open-topped double decker bus, with adverts on it for a Chinese restaurant in Aberdeen. I tried to get my cameraphone into operation in time, but all I caught was a fleeting glimpse of it driving into the distance. I suspect that when I do download the photo, it will be nothing but a hazy blur.

Our plan is to grab a passer-by next time we see one of these visions, and see whether they can see it as well. So apologies in advance to any San Francisco-ites who find themselves accosted by two wild-eyed and slightly jet lagged Englishmen. You are not on Candid Camera, I promise...

Suite Spot

One advantage to checking in late is that if they have run out the type of rooms that you booked (we went for "moderate"), you generally get upgraded.

Or maybe it's only if your name is Steve Hebditch! I was very happy with my room until I saw the cavern that is Steve's suite. I am sure it is no more than befits his exalted status (I cannot help but have a tiny bit of room envy...)

San Francisco, 3pm.

Well, it rather depends on your time zone. The clock says it's 07.20, and my body is dangerous caught between the two. I once read a wonderful description of how the body moves faster than the soul, which takes a few days to catch up. Martin Amis, I think.

Anyhow, Steve and I have arrived in SF, with a fun-packed diary of meetings. We're seeing our PR people this morning, and are then off to a number of super secret meetings over the next few days with a number of companies I'm not allowed to mention. If it sounds like fun, it's not, trust me. International business travel is one of those things hat ought to be given out as a punishment instead of community service. I often wonder which god I offended when I find myself doing e-mail at 3 o'clock in the morning in an Identikit hotel room.

Actually, to be fair, this is quite a nice one. It is the Fairmont's 100th anniversary, so I was able to get an incredibly good deal, cheaper than staying in some of the other roach infested hell holes we've been consigned to in the past out here. And it kind of makes up for my computer crashing, and my cheap airfare for this trip turning into a not so cheap one in the time it took to reboot the PC. I could have bought myself a new laptop with the money! Ho hum.

I am trying to turn Steve into a hand baggage only traveller at the moment, even lending him my spare carry-on wheelie bag, but sadly he was laid low by a dodgy Chinese over the weekend, and was unable to retrieve it from the office. It wouldn't be so bad, but his is always the last bag off the belt, for reasons neither of us can quite ascertain...

Why here as well?

I already have my fair share of ranting space elsewhere on Blogger, but that is in danger of becoming confused, frankly, as I want to keep that as a neat little summary of my crusade to keep St Margarets a nice place to live.

This is more of a random selection of infrequent jottings.