Conference Weirdness

I have spent much of the past week languishing in a hotel "oop-north" with 50 of my colleagues. It was the usual thing: Arrive late at night after a full day at work and a five hour journey and then don't so much as look out of the window, let alone go outside for two or three days. Apparently we had some bad weather this week, which I completely missed as a result of my imprisonment.

What is it about conferences that make twenty and thirty-something professional men think they are 17 again? I go to a few of these sort of events every year and every night without fail, the men will go out on the lash. Cue two dozen twenty five to thirty five year olds running amok around the hotel at 3am knocking on residents' doors "for fun" and vomiting in plant pots.

The next day the lads huddle as close to the door as possible, occasionally popping out "for some air" or "to take an important call from the office". Their eyes are bloodshot. Some even fall asleep on the table in front of them (or in the toilet). They are faced with the overwhelming urge to go back to bed and order room service. Yet in a sado-masochistic twist they must sit through seven hours of discussions on the VAT treatment of a lease surrender for a reverse premium. Hah!

I always think these sorts of events have an air of Big Brother about them (the Channel 4 show, that is). You are cooped up with a group of people you hardly know, you have no contact with the outside world, and are made to carry out all manner of strange tasks. On the down side (yes, it gets worse) you don't have the chance to vote anyone off and the chances of OK Magazine offering you a six-figure deal for your story are slim.

Still, at least you don't have to do the washing up.