This week I’m working in our Amsterdam office for a few days, shacked up in a fancy hotel where the drinks are free of charge for guests. Not so long ago this would have been a recipe for all kinds of mischief, probably ending with me being found floating face down in Herengracht canal at 3am with my pants round my ankles and half a kilo of magic mushrooms inserted into my rectum.
But not any more. These days the highlight of a trip like this is being able to spend a few nights eating out and/or relaxing peacefully alone in a quiet, comfortable hotel room. Not that I let on to anybody – the rule of business trips is that you have to make a big song and dance about how much you don’t like spending time away from your family which, as anybody who’s got a toddler will tell you, is complete fucking bullshit.
As far as free booze is concerned, I can take it or leave it, but three nights sleeping in a big comfy bed that I don’t have to share with a heavily pregnant woman, or being woken up at six in the morning by a hungry small person shouting “MILK! MILK! MILK!” is my idea of heaven. I love my family, but thank fuck I’ve got a job with regular opportunities for free mini-breaks business trips.