Now, I don’t usually have any kind of beef about things like this.

(mmm...beef....)

I am not one to be a crab.

(...crab legs....)

Nor do I usually carp...

(...roasted carp with pancetta...)

...or whine about the facilities at trade shows.

(...poached halibut in a white wine sauce...)

I mean, I’m not overly self-important or egomaniacal...

(...Eggo waffles with maple syrup...)

...nor do I think of myself as, you know, a Roman emperor or anything.

(...Caesar salad with garlic croutons...)

It’s not that I’m chicken to complain...

(...buffalo chicken wings...)

...but I tend to be fairly undemanding and laid-back.

(...baby-back ribs...)

But every once in a while I feel like I have to gripe...

(...a lovely bunch of gripes, mate...)

...grouse...

(“look at the grouse”—oven roasted with sage and onion...)

and make waves.

(...the kind of waves that a fishing boat would encounter as it was reeling in a deck full of swordfish, which would then end up in a fish market and then marinated in a white wine sauce, grilled, topped with a bit of rosemary and lemon-infused olive oil, and served with a lovely rice pilaf and perhaps asparagus tips, after perhaps having an appetizer of deep-fried calamari with marinara sauce.)

Whenever I travel to trade shows as a member of the press, or media, or an analyst, or some other variety of freeloader, one of the great conveniences is the press lounge, which usually—and I say usually—offers complimentary food to those of the journalistic persuasion. Whether it’s designed to be a convenience, or a ploy to get us to say nice things about a show, I do not know, but it’s much appreciated for a couple of reasons. The first is that a) exhibition hall food is criminally priced and journalists are poor, especially these days, and, perhaps more importantly, b) queuing up for lunch can take a very very long time which we can ill afford when we have back-to-back meetings and appointments and press conferences. Being able to duck into the press room and write a blog post or an article (or fragment of an article) while chowing down lunch—so that one can actually function in the afternoon—is a great time-saver. It helps us do our jobs, such as they are.

However, at Ipex, there was none of this. Heck, there wasn’t even coffee available in the press facilities before 9:30 in the morning. And there was no food of any kind, which meant that many of us had to forgo lunch several days in a row, simply because the lines at the food stands were too long. I have been tempted to give special editorial consideration to any exhibiting company that feeds me. I was in one vendor meeting just after [other people’s] lunch time and I began to envision tucking into a marketing manager’s arm. I have now taken to carrying A1 Steak Sauce around the show floor. I could have sworn I saw an invite for an after-hours Donner party. Yesterday, walking back to my hotel, the geese in the park started to look delicious. The Birmingham Police had to come get me when I chased one of the geese into the lake with a jar of orange sauce. If the Ipex show managers ran the city jail, I probably wouldn’t even be able to get bread and water.

The press facilities are appalling in a variety of other ways, too. First, there are only four electrical outlets, so it’s a good thing this computer is fairly new and has a good battery. Secondly, this isn’t really a room, but a balcony that overlooks the front door of the exhibit hall—they left the doors open today and everyone who ducks outside to smoke has their exhalations waft right up here. So I shall start hacking up black sludge by the end of the day. And the reason the doors are open is because it is actually rather warm outside—and the roof of this press balcony is basically a greenhouse. And don’t even get me started on these flying saucer-like, weird-ass anti-sofas that divide the room into two mutually inaccessible halves and are less furniture than obstructions. I think that “weird-ass anti-sofa vaulting” will be an Olympic event at which I could excel. Other obstructions in what can only be called the complete lack of room are these giant structures that look like a series of UFOs landed up here (perhaps the extraterrestrial pilots nicked all the food to take back to their home planets, which maybe are suffering from some sort of famine).

Oh, and Frank R. just unleashed a tirade about how there is no shipping service available at this show. Ironic, isn't it? All the mailing, fulfillment, and distributing companies that are exhibiting here and we can’t ship anything. Water, water everywhere...

All right, enough whining.

Yeah, sure, this is probably colossally petty of me. That’s a fair point. And every other proper attendee probably also has a pretty full agenda—and paid rather a lot to get into the show. So perhaps I shouldn’t complain too much. But I’m famished, darn it!

Oops, I just ate my Shift key.