On the 6.10am train to Birmingham airport, the Asian girl next to me decides now is the time to do her nails. I have nothing in my stomach accept a Costa coffee and the fumes from the polish make me nauseous.
“I can’t take this,” I murmur as I hurdle her and her mini boutique and venture to the end of the carriage. Her boyfriend who was sat opposite, followed me to the end of the carriage. I spin round, fists are balled, it’s going to kick off. He hands me my book on Confucius I left behind and I feel like an arsehole.
The book I’m reading teaches me to be more capricious. Live every moment as if one is in a perpetual state of spontaneity. At the shuttle run to the plane I spy a vision. She is early 20’s rakish, long brown hair. Her back is arced pronouncing an elegant form – I guess she has low grade spina bifida. I want to tell her she’s the best creature I’ve seen in 5 years, the book is telling me to not be a pussy and make an approach.
But I am a pussy, and she leaves the shuttle, and she’s gone.
I take a piss before boarding and a guy at the urinal tells me his flight to Amsterdam is delayed.
“I’m heading there next Tuesday, recommend any decent places?” I ask, not entirely sure why I’m engaging in a conversation whilst my cock is in the open.
“The Voyager Cafe. The guy is a Northerner and deals the best weed.” He throws his cock back in his jeans. I was actually after a restaurant or an art gallery recommendation, but I guess wasn’t clear in my request. I gave him my card and wished him well.
On the plane a couple sat next to me talk about the benefits of staying in the EU. I want to pull that trick Jason Priestly did in that movie Sleepers, buy them a round of drinks on the condition they change the topic of conversation or get off the plane. The boy behind me takes off his shoes and plants his feet on the arm rest. I’m in hell.
I meet the PR and the press team at the hotel and head out lunch on a roof somewhere in Ludwigsvorstadt. I’m introduced to Lauren the head of PR from BMW and she’s vision. I’m utterly beguiled and I want to tell her that she’s the best creature I’ve seen since the girl in the shuttle 4 hours ago. But it’s not the time, nor the place.
At the event I see the unveiling of the centennial special limited edition model of the BMW 7 Series, in partnership with Montblanc. I get into it with Duncan from T3 magazine who thinks that the Bond films are sh*t. It’s fighting talk and we do half hour on the subject. No one wins the argument and we go out for a cigarette to cool down.
Back inside the presentation speeches are made. One guy from BMW, the other from Montblanc (basically if you buy one of these Beamers you get a free pen). They are getting asked the most fucked out of all questions by the interviewee ‘So what inspired you both to make….’ Urgggg.
All the while I’m thinking the interview is going like this..
BMW GUY: I made a car dude.
MONTBLANC GUY: Yeah the car is nice, but look at the pen I made.
BMW GUY: Dude I made a car yeah?
MONTBLANC: Yeah but…..look…the pen makes it.
BMW GUY: I made a FUCKING car!!
Back at the hotel, gone 1am, I order a Johnnie Walker and head outside for a cigarette. A car rolls up and Boris Becker gets out.
“Ah it’s Boris Becker.” I say, planting my feet, throwing out a hand.
“How you doing.” He says, shaking my hand, not checking his stride as he enters the hotel. I rue the fact I didn’t get a selfie so run inside after him. But he’s gone. I have an argument with Duncan from T3 magazine on who is the most famous living German, he says Angela Merkel. Duncan knows nothing.