Well that was embarrassing. I was outraged to discover that on my registration card at the Holiday Inn in Seattle my name had been written down by the skinny grunger on reception as 'Bastard'. What had I done to him when we checked in? We were as Britishly polite as could be. I had thought his hair looked like a wig, but I hadn't said it out loud. Had I? What's his problem?
So determined to be un-British and complain in the land of the free I marched down to reception this morning and demanded an explanation for this unprovoked rudeness. I had hoped it wouldn't come to a "Don't you know who I am?"-style conversation (as people invariably don't and care even less) and demands for apologies and discounts, but I was prepared for anything. Apart that is for being told that my reservation had been made in the name of Alan's friend Benni Basford and that her surname was what was written on the card, and that that T was actually an F. Bugger.
Getting here was surprisingly stress and flight-fright free. Helped in no small measure by the obligatory pint and shot of whiskey, washed down with a diazepam, I'd had at Heathrow before take off.
We managed to blag our upgrade, despite turning up at the KLM desk in a scruffy shirt, carrying a ruck sack and having no business cards to give the understandably suspicious counter girl. Of course you're a business travel journalist, sir. Of course we're going to give you two free upgrades, sir. I wouldn't have given me one!
Anyway, we're here and about to set off for Pike Place Market in downtown Seattle. Apparently it's good. We shall see!
