It’s late on Sunday evening, and I find myself sat at a pretty nice desk, in a nice hotel room, in a hotel I’ve visited before, a couple of hundred miles from home.
It’s a training course.
For the next five days I’m going to be sat in a classroom, learning all about something complicated that I’ll be using over the coming months and years. Just to make it all a bit more fun, I’ll be sitting an exam on Friday to obtain an important piece of paper that says I am a brainiac.
The hotel is great. This evaluation is based on the daily tray having four biscuits on it, and two sachets of really nice hot chocolate. This might sound ridiculous, but when you’re stuck in a no-name hotel, the little things become amplified.
It will be interesting to look back on what I wrote during my previous stay, to compare and contrast. I suspect my incarceration late last year in the Hilton has tempered thevenomousspite I might otherwise have written.