Lovely to speak to you on Saturday, amidst the screaming children. My short-but-sweet trip back to Blighty was an unqualified success, post-trip lurgee notwithstanding. Landed on Wednesday and beat a path via Mercedes S-class to Cliveden House, which is a bit of a looker to say the least, for our Annual Meeting. Checked into the Shrewsbury Suite - quite possibly the best room in the place after my boss exercised his organisers' privileges beforehand - and slept like a log in a four-poster bed ahead of the main event.
On Thursday we basically ran around the grounds all day making sure everything was in its right place, prepping the film crew, babysitting the talent, welcoming the Minister from his earlier meeting with BoJo and eventually adjourning to the Bar for HRH's arrival - despite the huge security precautions earlier in the day he was pretty low-key about it all, and dinner went off without a hitch. I was sat next to the Telegraph's Defence Editor, who was telling me about his many assignments on the front line, and our Director, who regaled us with tales from Central Asia. We reckon it's the best of the three Meetings we've done so far, and the first one I've actively enjoyed as it was taking place, which makes for a nice change.
Sadly the new format meant we had to leave our fluffy beds early the next morning, to wolf down a Full English Breakfast and usher in various guests for two discussion groups, which saw us up to midday and the end of the event. Wrapped things up and went in to London and my boss' Mayfair club, to discuss contracts and catch up with our IT guy, whom we never get to see and spent some time in Brazil a few years ago for work... Then it was off to rush-hour Kings Cross and on to Ely, where I got a lift to Isleham for fish pie and bed.
The next day we had the extended family round for a roast - lovely to see everyone and eat copious amounts of lamb and crumble. Then on Sunday it was off to London again, for brunch and a stroll along the Camden canal with Kika, and an extended jaunt through Denmark St and Covent Garden to scratch a year-long itch for fish 'n chips (no rendez-vous with Jack as he was working, unfortunately), before heading back to pick up my suitcase and hit the road/underground to Heathrow.
Got back yesterday at the crack of dawn and am still a little worse for the wear, but this is the furthest away I'll ever be from next year's event, so I'm making the most of it and getting back in the swing of things. No compilation due to my exertions elsewhere - reflected in my phrase of the week, which means "that's a lot of sand for my truck" (an expression of awe/dread at the task ahead, usually followed up with a cheery "tudo bem, eu faço duas viagens" / "that's alright, I'll make two trips").
Fare thee well, your highness your highness.
The Rt. Hon. the Lord Powys of Cliveden
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