Today

I've been in Brighton all week at a conference. The weather's been boiling hot and I've had to wear smart suits and try not to look as though I'm sweating freely when visitors came to our stand. People said, "what beautiful weather", and I said, "I haven't seen it yet!"

One the day's work is done, there is the pleasure of being in Brighton with all its lovely cafes and street scene. Partly for this reason and partly because of the proximity of friends and relations, Paul likes to accompany me.

Our bedroom at The Metropole purported to have airconditioning, which at no time purported to be actually working. Our room overlooked the back and was overshadowed by other tall buildings, so not a breath of air ever made it into the room.

So sleep was a fitful affair and taken lying starkers on top of the bed.

In My Day

Which takes me back to the Brighton conference in 1994. Equally hot, maybe more so. Our hotel (The Old Ship) didn't even pretend about the aircon. One night, after a particularly pleasant evening involving a fair amount of alcoholic intake, we went to bed hotter than ever. Middle of the night, I need to use the facilities. So, barely conscious, I stagger, starkers, out of bed and make for what I believed to be the bathroom door. I open the door and find myself staring down a long corridor with a carpet that I don't recognise. A voice from behind me says "What are you doing?" "Going to the loo," says I. "Well, the bathroom's that way!" explains my rather more wide awake spouse. I shut the main bedroom door and do what I have to do.

By the time I got back to bed I was fully awake and running a variety of "Carry On" scenarios through my head. What if the bedroom door had closed behind me? What if Paul hadn't been with me? How would I have got back into the room? Visions of me, naked, carrying a pot plant to hide myself, or ripping down curtains to drape around me while I woke up the night porter horrified me for the rest of night.

Which explains why I like to take Paul with me on these bashes.