Celebrity Friends...

I have a stupid and ridiculous but still pathological aversion to 'celebrity'.

You know the sort of thing I mean; Rylan (is that how you spell it?) who was on the X Factor a couple of years ago.  He's what I would call a celebrity: but why?  When all is said and done, he's a celebrity for being a rubbish singer... albeit, he's still a better singer than me.

But then again, I'm not a celebrity.

There's no rhyme nor reason to my aversion - I've never met Rylan or any other celebrity for that matter - and he might well be a perfectly nice bloke.  In fact he probably is...

It's just that to me, there's no substance, just ambition.

I don't know where my aversion comes from, either.  But I can remember when it first manifested itself.

I used to work for a high street bank that shall remain nameless, but listened very well.  My second branch was in a city that had a quite a big football club (which will also remain nameless for reasons that will become obvious in a little bit) in the old first division before the days of the Premier League.

My job was on the front desk dealing with all sorts of queries and questions; everything from what's my balance to can I have a loan.

Anyway, one day two famous footballers came in with their attendant WAGs.  I recognised them straight away but decided, for whatever reason, to keep stum.

One of the footballers swaggered (yes, swaggered) up to the front desk.

'Are my wages in?'  He demanded in a particularly demanding voice.

On the inside I bristled.  But on the outside I was very calm.

'I'll check for you... what's your name and who do you work for?'

His eye brows shot up and his footballer friend (whom I also recognised as an international player started laughing.

Anyway, player one told me his name and gave me his employer... saying it as though I should know it (which I did) just because he was a famous footballer.

Now it was my turn to ham it up.

'Really?'  Says I, 'you work at the football club?  Do you know any of the players?'

Hah, slam dunk, right between the eyes and victory was mine.  His colleague was now properly laughing and the WAGs were waving their shoulder pads at me in annoyance.

Then I checked his wages.

Three wins and a draw in a month, played in every game, scored in two of them.

Even back in 1988 his month's wages amounted to... £28,000

Blast.

Now, don't get me wrong, I strongly believe that if someone can command a high salary because of what they do whether they save lives, create jobs or they entertain millions, that's all well and good... I begrudge no-one their salary.

But please, please can we back up ambition with talent before we celebrate celebrity?

Booking.com

Don't get me wrong... I really like booking.com.

I like the way the website and App interact with each other and with me... I like the way the booking process works and I even like the (pretty constant) suggestions of places I might like to visit.

And I certainly like the prices.

For example, I've been doing a bit of work in London recently.  My work has been based near the Royal Albert Hall and, as you can imagine finding somewhere to stay nearby was proving to be, shall we say, pricey.

So, booking.com to the rescue.

It took a bit of searching but I eventually found what looked like a very nice four star hotel called the Park Grand in Bayswater, just the other side of Hyde Park - a pleasant 20 minute walk from where I was working.

And, even better, it was 50% off on booking.com.  Now, I have to say that didn't make the single room I booked exactly cheap, but at least it was a realistic £100 a night instead of the advertised £200.

I fetched up on Sunday evening at the hotel and experienced booking.comism for the first time.

It's a bit like sexism but funny rather than simply wrong.

First of all checking was fine and I was allocated room 019... 'round the corner to the lift, sir'.

So I went to the lift and went up.

First mistake.

I walked back down to the ground floor and kept following the signs - down into the basement.  And there I found room 019.  I have to say it had everything a room should have.  A wardrobe, single bed, desk and shower room.

But no floor space... almost literally.  I could stretch my arms out and touch both walls... but, okay; after all I was really only going to sleep in the room.  It was comfortable enough.

I went back to reception to check what time breakfast was in the morning.  But it occurred to me to ask: 'does my room come with breakfast included?'

The same guy who checked me simply looked me straight in the eye and said:

'Booking.com.  No, sir'.