I strolled back across the lounge and sat down in front of the TV. I was just in time to hear the end of the weather "The winter of 1846 was the coldest in living memory but recently we've had more snow than you can shake a stick at. Now for the shipping forecast covering Dogger, Fisher and German Blight" droned the forecaster.
I spent a few minutes channel hopping.
Click! The manager of yesterday's losing semi-finalists was trying to explain his team's pathetic performance. "We had three attempts on goal and neither of them was any good. On another day we might have scored 5 or 6 goals today. There's a complete lack of indiscipline in the team!"
Honestly, can't professional footballers speak proper like what I does? I tried to teach some of them a thing or two a couple of years ago, through a series of ISMS seminars, but it was like banging your head up against a brick window or milking teeth. At one point I had them eating putty out of my hands, but then they just started taking me for credit and familiarity started to breed content. I got really annoyed at one point and lost my bat.
Click! "Swing through the ball keeping your shoulder under your right chin" a golf pro was demanding of some poor, nervous learner.
Click! "I think Ronnie O'Sullivan is the best thing that's happened to snooker since Tiger Woods!" said some misguided commentator.
Click! "Can we use DNA from the sperm to determine the sex of the offender?" some police officer was asking of his superior.
Click! "It would mortify their mother if she were alive today!" a press officer was commenting on Paul Burrell's book about Princess Diana.
Click! "Men would like to have multiple organisms too!" said Dr Ruth.
Click! "Try that well known tube of cream for pile relief, Arsenal!"
"Oh, enough of this drivel", I thought.
I checked the lounge clock. 9:30? That can't be right, the clock must have stopped.
"Mario", I shouted to the waiter. "What time did this clock stop?"
"About 9:30." he replied. "It's now 11:30, sir. The boss has just given me a right ear hole about that cock up!"
"Well, if the cap fits, weigh it." I said. "By the way, I saw a poster in the lobby, when is this New Year's Eve party taking place?"
Mario didn't reply, he just turned and walked away, laughing his eyes out and chuckling to himself in Italian. I don't know what he was saying because Italian's not my forte.
I slowly made my way out of the hotel and onto the street.
It was almost lunch time and once again I found myself at a loose end. I had a few minuet meetings lined up for later in the day but I really fancied going to a wet and wildfowl park this afternoon. I was caught between a rock and a harbour. I decided to have a quick lunch and wandered over to a hot food stall in the market square.
The stall holder looked a bit tough; he had one of those David Beckham style tomahawk haircuts. The guy in front of me in the queue had just asked for a large beesechurger. Thick as a plank! I asked for a Cumbernauld sausage - I eat those by the Trojan. I said to the street trader "I though the local council had cleared all illegal street traders out of this area?"
"They have sir," said the trader, "but I'm bony fido. I'm allowed to pout for business as long as I do it quietly. I had a visit from the Noise Debating Society last week. But that's just oil under the troubled bridge now."
I felt like I was going around in a circus. Isms were beginning to creep into everyone's everyday language. There was a time when they were far and few between. Perhaps, by publicising the ISMS and isms I'd shot myself in the back and stabbed myself in the foot - not to mention shooting the hand that laid the golden goose. I think I'd just put my finger on the nail.
