A close brush with success

Today, I went to work conference. Don’t worry. I didn’t learn anything, and I came away with my free share of booze and pens. A success. Apparently, though, I shared the hotel venue with none other than the England cricket team.

I should have been alerted to this by the quantity of short sweaty, red-faced bald men shuttling about the rooms kitted out in England gear. I didn’t think much of this. There are small, exhausted looking men everywhere.

But, my colleagues eventually informed me, I missed an obvious equation:

Puffy-faced + red chops + total lack of hair + sports gear = professional cricketer

The place was crawling with Englanders. In my spiral of pen-bingeing booze-outs, I missed all of them. I was probably the only person in the whole bloody place that would take an interest in unseemly idol ogling, and yet it was left to a conference of bland suits to ignorantly glance at the more famous of the puffy-faced gingers.

At least I scored three paper pads.

If anyone wants to know where they are, I will happily tell you. But only in return for a free corporate branded item of stationery.