Thursday, July 29, 2004

Everyone else knows ... it must be a secret club

Sloth's first theory of work: for each day of holiday, it takes a further two days in the office before constructive work starts getting done.

I recently (and quite randomly) decided to go on holiday to ... Vietnam. Hanoi. November. Two weeks. The bill for the plane ticket arrived on my credit card today. People say, "Vietnam? Really? What made you decide to go there?" and I blink (rather blankly) and have to admit I have no idea, I just did.

Does anyone decide to do these things? I have an image of families sitting down with management consultants carrying diagrams (big graphs with unrelated variables like "spontaneity" and "culture" on the axis), hammering it out like a takeover strategy for a major corporation.

People always sound rather doubtful about Vietnam. Perhaps they think I'm a sex tourist.

When buying the ticket there were a number of flights with an overnight stopover. Now what happens there? Do you just hang around an airport for eight hours, crumpled and dishevelled and a bit tramp-like, or do they provide a room? Nothing explains. Everyone else must know: I must be some sort of country bumpkin to be so ignorant. Perhaps there's nothing to explain. I have a terrible fear of phoning up to find out and receiving a response along the lines of "a room, whyever would you think that?" as if I have assumed that they will implement time-travel to get around the problem, "time-travel, whyever would you think that?"

This is all because my parents were poor. I've had no experience of things like hotels and flights and such like. Curse my under-priviliged background. Of course, if my parents had been fantastically wealthy I'd have had servants to do all that and would be equally clueless about the organisation of decadent things like holidays.

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