Gonna get myself connected

This is around the time of year when I usually spend a couple of days at a trade show in Barcelona. In fact, it’s exactly that time of year. I’m writing from my second-floor room at Pension Norma, which translates as ‘hotel rule’ according to my mobile phone. Either that’s very prosaic or my phone’s not really trying. My phone also tells me I’m 655 miles from the nearest pint of Harveys, so perhaps it’s simply feeling a little homesick.

It’s not only my phone that’s pining for Sussex. My wife, along with her teenager and cats, has remained at home. Despite the excitement of my trip, I miss them… and I’m sure they miss me. (Well, to be honest, three of them probably just miss my ability to fill a bowl with dinner at the appropriate time.) Fortunately I should be able to persuade the aforementioned phone to give them a ring.

If you’ve not spotted a theme here, let me explain. It’s going to be a phone-filled week because my chosen trade show is all about mobile technology. And whilst I’m not expecting a great deal of sympathy for my plight, I can assure you it isn’t all tapas and tortillas. There are early starts, crowded trains and traffic queues to contend with before I begin my work for the day. If I’d wanted that kind of nonsense, I’d have found a job in London.

Inside the show, I’m one of eighty-five thousand people milling about. Each exhibitor is doing their best to attract my attention and extend my stay. Curiously, each seems determined to reinforce national stereotypes as well. My conversation with an Austrian company includes a cup of coffee and a marzipan Mozartkugel. The Scottish contingent is hosting an evening of whiskey tasting. A French company has wine while a German exhibitor has employed two Spanish women to wear traditional Bavarian clothing. There’s tea and biscuits when I talk to an English software developer. I chat to him until the biscuits run out.

Back in my hotel room, when the buzz of the show has faded, I call home and catch up with the latest news. All’s well. After saying goodnight, I check for email messages and prepare my agenda for tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy the event – but I’d enjoy it even more if a Spanish day included 36 hours and my hotel room contained a teleporter instead of a wardrobe. I open the Harveys app on my phone again. Still 655 miles from a pint. I walk across the room and stand next to the window. The display changes. 654 miles. I’m feeling better already.

First published on Viva Lewes 27th February 2014: www.vivalewes.com