2003-11-09 - 11:25 p.m.

Today I gave up half of my weekend to participate in one of my least favourite things, and I don�t mean take in a Gwyneth Paltrow retrospective film marathon. Seeing as I could laughingly be referred to in the broadest sense of the words as a �travel professional�, I sometime have to attend the odd industry event. Industry seems such an odd concept to someone who barely even remembers to pack his notebook on press trips, but some people are industrious I suppose, and they like to congratulate each other over expensive wine, so who am I to argue if they invite me to come and watch?

Actually I just go in the hope that I can get an editor drunk enough to present me with a commission, but today�s launch was notably ed-free, and, much worse, was alarmingly full of people who instil way much more fear into me�my peers. There they sit with their regular incomes, their comprehensive contacts and their superior dress sense. There I sit, hoping nobody asks me who I�m working for at the moment and hoping they�ll refill the wine glasses before I�m forced to ferment my own in the bathroom just to avoid detailing my dismal career to the 21 year old who�s just won Most Stomach Wrenchingly Annoying Level of Success at the National Travel Over-Achievers Awards.

�I�ve been doing stuff for Geoff,� they say, �Oh, you MUST know Geoff.� And I smile, and say, �Of course,� whilst silently wondering if it�s only me in this room that couldn�t tell you if Geoff was the chairman of Associated Media Megacorps or the guy who took my coat on the way in. Then they�ll ask me about trips I�ve been on recently, and I tell them, only to find myself instantly cowering as they reel back to me a million hotel names and attractions that they know there, instantly decimating my local knowledge even though they�ve never been and I was there just the last week and don�t recall any heavy blows to the head that might have made me forget everything about the place.

Of course, by dessert, I�ve been dismissed as no real competition, which endears me to most of them, knowing they�re not going to lose a single column inch to someone who can�t even spell Australasia without looking it up. I�m really good at swapping business cards, though, and I do that quite a lot to make up for my complete lack of aptitude in every other sphere of the profession. It makes me at least look like I�m building some kind of network. PR�s are the easiest cards to get � you basically only have to be physically able to receive them and they�re forcing them onto you, and I think even if you were in a persistent vegetative state, they would just slip one into your pocket with a note to tell you to give them a ring when you woke up. Fellow freelance journalists are only slightly harder � they like you to know their names so that you can picture their faces when you see them filling those glossy magazines with their so-called well informed pieces. Hardest of all, though, and like a special trophy, are those of the staff writers. They�ve achieved the holy grail of being fully employed at a newspaper, and they hate to give out their contact details as they know that all you really want to do is send them anonymous hate e-mail. Either that or bug them to help you further your career. I usually jump in when they�re already trading cards with someone important, and as they reluctantly hand one over in exchange for mine, which is tantamount to a thin, cardboard begging bowl, you can see the look in their eyes, which says, �We may have sat next to each other whilst we consumed food, but do not in any way take this as a sign that I will do anything for you, and in fact do not ever contact me.� And then I contact them and never work for that newspaper.

God I love this business.