The joys of travel

Until a few years ago I loved the 'get on a plane and go to strange places' part of my job.

I like planes. I like different places. I like my job (mostly).

It's just the combination of the three.

The planes and the different places are just fine. If you can spend a couple of days being a lazy tourist after 13 hours jammed into cattle class (Iberia in particular, thy name is hell), that is.

If you stagger off a plane filled with screaming kids, trundle your way to a hotel (when the 'official' shuttle deigns to arrive) and have to battle your way through getting accreditations, set up an 'office' (usually a Black Hole), appear in the bar to hear 'now closed sorry', sleep a little, wake up and have to wear heels, and then work like crazy for two days before it's time to get back to the airport... with your body wondering which time zone it's on...

...(plus little details like the local food and your stomach not being best friends but it's either that or starve, as you're stuck in a conference centre miles from anywhere with a shuttle bus service that works according to some Master plan but not to the schedule)...

No.