It should have been obvious.  In much the same way as a diver should have known he was going to get wet, I should have seen it coming.  I was demonstrating Speednetworking in the world’s second largest city, the capital of Mexico.  Therefore there was only one way of doing things. Only one real conclusion; I was going to have to speak Spanish. 

The good news for followers of my Curriculum Vitae is that I already speak Spanish.  The rather more amusing news, for followers of my life, is that I don’t.  That is to say, I have forgotten almost every single word once taught me.  Well, they say that the best way to learn a language is to spend some time there.  Although, I’m not sure that the time frame they had in mind was two days.  So I mastered ‘whistle’ (silbato) and I managed ‘three rules’ (tres reglas).  Beyond that, you will (if you really want a laugh at my expense), have to try your best to decipher as you go along.

Thanks to the team at Impulsa, the event itself recovered from my mysterious introduction.  Mysterious, given that the guests were almost certainly left unsure as to what was to follow.  Actually, it’s a good job that Speednetworking is simple, otherwise there might have been a riot.  As it turned out, the assembled group, in the food court of Latin America’s tallest building, entered into the spirit of things magnificently.  I reckon they had been sent the rules beforehand in Spanish.

Please forgive the poor quality of the video (just as well) and of course my Spanish (if you can call it that).  My own least favourite moment comes about ten seconds in when I have (sort of) explained that my Spanish is very bad and that I need to practice.  At that point, the word for ‘sorry’ completely escapes me, and so, feebly, I resort to my (embarrassed) mother tongue in a style not unlike Basil Fawlty, saying “er, Sorry about That”.  Fluent! My Spanish teacher would be so proud.

The especially eagle-eared of you might also be able to make out my wonderful assistant (on the camera) prompting me at key moments of forgetfulness.  What a pro! Fortunately, several English-speaking countries await.  But not until I have flown to Chile’s capital city, Santiago.  First language; Spanish.  Wish me, er, Good Luck.

OK, OK, the ‘video’ is over here.

“You’re five pounds over weight”, said the bag lady.  Call me ungentlemanly for using this moniker (or whatever her name was), but technically, she had just called me a fatty.  As I began blaming the burrito (I am still recovering), it transpired that it was my rather large suitcase which was causing the trouble.  As Monica back-pedalled, she began urging me to offload some of suitcase A into holdall B, to save myself the fifty dollar fine.  Fifty dollars if you please!  Just imagine how many burritos that buys!  Sucking my cheeks in, I lamented that holdall B was already full to bursting, and that any attempt to juggle the contents would end in disaster.  She looked at me with a mixture of sympathy and confusion as, defeated, I hobbled off up the aisle.

Facing a hefty fine, I glanced at my watch to see that I was also facing a hefty missing of flight.  Swivelling my head around and about, I caught the bag man’s eye (calm down, wait til you hear what he told me).  “Excuse me, will I be OK for the nine forty to LA?”  “Probably not”, he replied, and wandered off.  Wandered off if you please!  In my hurry through check in, I almost forgot to pay the fine.  Well actually I completely forgot.  Because, actually, they completely forgot to mention it.  I must have looked like I needed the extra pounds. 

From the outset of this adventure, I had expected to have to keep my chin up. Quite how literally this would turn out, I had not forseen. For amongst the numerous attractions in the YouNoodle offices (including a piano, a large crash mat and a ping pong table) there sits none other than a chin up bar. Or is it a chin-up machine? I’m not sure. In fact, my unfamiliarity with all equipment chin-up-like was about to be underlined once and for all, as business development director Kirill (yet another super-smart Brit out on the West Coast) gestured towards the league table on the white board.

In a parallel universe, I was about to be asked to see how quickly I could cook an omelette. In another, I was putting on a crash helmet, ready to see if I could drive faster than Jools Holland round a racetrack. Meanwhile, back in San Francisco, I was rolling my sleeves up, and assuming the gym-like position. After a drink, I might add. For, sympathetic reader, this endeavour followed, rather than preceded the speednetworking of earlier. Crucially, it followed the celebratory bar visit. Which might well qualify this escapade (billed as a return to the office to ‘pick up my bags’), as entrapment.

By now, Make Your Mark’s Scott Cain will be itching to know whether my name slid above his on that fateful leader-board, beating his frankly impressive tally of nine. Well Scott, as if the thought of me sitting on a plane for the majority of three weeks was not enough to have you smiling into your cornflakes, here’s another bonus; Eight. But that was after a small tipple. And, more importantly, after a speednetwork which, as we all know, can be frankly exhausting. And I’m not bitter about it. Chin up, as they say.