June, 1994, Part 2: Immediately following my seminar in Stowe, Vermont, I drove back to Burlington and caught a flight to Boston and then to London, England. I was surprised on this trip to discover London did have some reasonably priced hotels.
My hosts booked me at the Swallow International Hotel (which since has been supplanted — no doubt for the better — by a Marriott) for the amazingly modest corporate rate of £49 per night. (That was not their regular price, and you probably had to be a great negotiator to get it.)
The Swallow wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t a dump. (I’ve stayed in far worse London hotels.) Lots of international tours stayed there, so it was pretty busy. Its location was neither great nor terrible. You couldn’t walk to the theatre district (a disadvantage for me). It was, however, within walking distance of both the Natural History Museum and Harrod’s.
The biggest thing the Swallow had going for it, actually, was price. I’m pretty sure very few guests stayed there for the food. (Insert your own “British Cuisine” joke here.)
My flight was a red-eye across the ocean, so I arrived early Sunday morning in a state of exhaustion. I checked into my room, collapsed on the bed, and slept…until I was awakened by loud, booming sounds from down the hall. It turned out the hotel was undergoing renovation. (Possibly one reason for the cheap room rate?)
Somehow I eventually managed to fall asleep again, and I slept soundly…until I was startled out of bed by the sound of someone opening the door to my room.
It was the hotel maid.
Furious, I bounded to the door, pointed at the “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging from the knob, and said, “Do you see this sign??”
“Yes,” she replied, “but I have to make up the room.”
“What’s the point of my hanging a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign if you’re going to disturb me?” I thundered. I do not recall her precise response.
Before taking the train to Hull on Monday, I found time for a one-hour walk. I don’t think I’d ever seen such a diversity of nationalities, modes of dress, languages…as well as every ethnic restaurant imaginable.
The TV weather report mentioned England’s heavy pollen count (odd for an American to hear a weather report that covers the entire country), and I felt it: maximum hay fever. Sudafed didn’t make a dent in it.
My very first train ride (if you don’t count theme park trains, subways, and the commuter train out of New York’s Grand Central Station) took me to the industrial port of Hull. In my naivete, I had pictured a mammoth chug-chug-chug train. I realize some people love riding on trains, but I can’t say it seemed like anything special.
The only even mildly interesting things that happened were when an international spy was chased up and down the aisles by an Interpol officer…and the shots they exchanged…and, of course, the dead body in my first class compartment.
Hull isn’t exactly a tourist destination. In fact, it’s been “honored” by the BBC as “the worst place to live in the UK.” I happened to be in Hull during the one day of the year when the weather was nice, however, and (British readers will read this with mouths agape) found the waterfront to be quite pretty.
On Tuesday I conducted How To Create Maximum Impact Radio Advertising for Metro Radio Group, thanks to Maurice Dobson and Mike Bersin. At the time, Metro Radio Group made lots of money by selling its creative expertise to its advertisers. By this, I mean that Metro:
1. Invested lots of money in its creative teams (as opposed to putting all its emphasis on sales but having its commercials written by some bright, low-paid young person who puts clients’ fact sheets into complete sentences).
2. Actually charged its clients for Metro’s production.
Metro’s “Creative-Led Selling” was a breath of fresh air (okay, except for the pollen), and I was flattered to be invited to speak to their salespeople and creative team members from across the UK.
Next Week: Brussels or Antwerp?
