“Don’t worry, it’s a done deal” he told us

Above: the sun streamed through the casement window.

Friday last week

I woke at 6.30. Because I hadn’t closed the curtains the sun streamed through the casement window and onto the bed where I lay. I tried to close my eyes and go back to sleep, but I felt too anxious about the forthcoming presentation so that I had to get up (all this anxiety puzzled me - I do not normally get nervous).

At 7.30 I went downstairs, and was the second person at breakfast (the other chap was one of the client team - I nodded to him but sat at a separate table). An elderly waiter who resembled Mohammed Fayed bustled around getting me tea and taking my order. Almond croissants, yoghurt, orange juice, big fried breakfast, toast, tea.

I leafed through The Guardian and then the Daily Mirror. More people came into the dining room, and talked loudly to each other across the tables. Val and Douglas came down together (this was coincidence - Val is happily married) and joined my table.

Val explained that all of the client personnel staying at the hotel were of director level and were holding a series of Board meetings around the sales conference sessions. The rest of the client staff were staying at a cheaper hotel about ten minutes away and would be arriving for the start of the conference at 10 o’clock. Our slot was at 11, and would last an hour, plus we were involved in the question and answer session tomorrow.

Feeling jittery I finished breakfast and went outside to walk around. The hotel had a broad terrace that went around three sides of the building. From the terrace flights of steps led down to the lawns and the walled garden.



Above: the photogrpah I took of the west end of the hotel.

Descending the steps on the west side, I walked across a lawn that was full of moss and so waterlogged with the recent rain that my feet were splashing through grassy puddles. Blackbirds sang in the mature specimen trees beyond the lawn’s edge. When I reached the trees I turned and took a photograph of the hotel, and as I lowered my camera I saw some of the sales staff beginning to arrive - waves of men in dark suits, some with briefcases that swung as they walked.

I went to the exhibition room where Val (who had changed into a business suit) and Douglas were at our stand. In the small room the giant Nomadic structure looked a bit ridiculous. One other outside company was represented - an IT support agency, who had a simple table with their leaflets displayed (“we only prepared for a car boot sale” said one of their team sheepishly).

We stood around while the sales staff (both internal and external sales) came into the exhibition room, looked blankly at us, then went into the main hall. Val introduced me to Sam from the “ghost agency” we had used to construct the new client website (a “ghost agency” is when one agency sub-contracts work to another agency without telling the client). Sam was athletic-looking, aged about thirty, tousled hair and dressed in slob-chic - Diesel jeans, black shirt (three buttons open at the neck), expensive trainers, jacket that looked like it came from a navy-blue suit, surfer bracelet, striped designer lap-top carry-case worn as an accessory (ie there wasn’t a lap-top in it).

We could hear applause as the sales conference started in the hall next door. An exultant Terry came into the exhibition room ready to lead our presentation (“don’t worry, it’s a done deal” he told us, “we have effectively hi-jacked their entire lead-generation process”). I felt slightly sick with nervous tension.

Just after 11 we went into the main hall to give our presentation. Each of us had a section to deliver (my bit was on research). By agreement with the directors no questions were allowed so after everyone applauded we just trooped out again.

The rest of the day was an anti-climax. I stood around in the exhibition room feeling dehydrated and half-listening to the conference sessions. At one stage Rhona came out to talk, confiding the problems she has had with one of the other directors (“everything I put forward is blocked”).

At the lunch we sat at our own reserved table. Sam talked about his wheat allergy, referred to his former girlfriends by name as if we knew them, told us about the awards his agency has won. Later I heard him tell one of the conference attendees that he wasn’t part of our agency, and in a moment of spite I shopped him to Terry (who obviously had a go at him, as Sam became very subdued).

Halfway through the afternoon I “disappeared” for two hours (Val covered for me) and drove up to Port Sunlight to look around the town.

When the sales conference finished for the day we all went to the cheaper hotel, where most of the client’s sales staff were staying, for dinner. Melon pieces, vegetarian ravioli (“you made a good choice there, they can’t mess it about too much”), caramel pudding with custard. Afterwards we stayed on for some of the “DJ entertainment” - all the free drink you want, and a male / female ratio of about ten to one.