Last night was not as eventful for me as it was for some of my colleagues. After getting back to the hotel at a reasonable 7pm the Mash Media team took a deserved hours’ break before gathering in the hotel bar for the customary post-show pint(s).
We decided that we would all head out to dinner together to compare business cards and share with each other who we’ve met and if we’d stumbled across any new contacts that may be of interest to each other.
During dinner I latched on to the restaurant’s Wi-Fi, bracing myself for a barrage of invites to parties taking place over the city.
A hush fell over the crowd as I scrolled my inbox down to refresh it. ‘Checking for emails’, it said. The spinning circle thing kept rotating, like a wheel on a vehicle of some description. ‘Downloading 7 emails’ it said. Seven wasn’t as high a number as I had hoped.
Still, I only needed one.
They appeared. The first was a Google Alert for my football team, the second one from the Wimbledon Guardian, sharing their top stories of the day. A pattern soon began to emerge – none of the seven emails were invites to parties that night. None even closely related to ibtm world.
Down but not out I headed for Twitter. After all, the party plea had gone out there too. Firstly, to my personal account. Four notifications. A good start.
Two notifications were from Conference News, where I had retweeted and liked my own tweet, the other two were new followers. One an ‘SEO entrepreneur who loves digital marketing and to travel’ and another someone far more exotic and, dare I say, in need of a career rethink.
Next it was to Conference News’ Twitter account. Twelve notifications. Twelve! Surely one of these would be an invite, or at least a tip off.
Again, two notifications from my personal account, written by me, and the rest just new followers – none of whom looked like real people.
So a disaster, then.
No matter, around the Mash table there was talk about to where to head, with #Rendezvous the favoured option. I had little idea what it entailed, but by this point it was touching 11pm.
Of the eight of us, five elected to go, two decided to go back to the hotel and I wasted everyone’s time by being indecisive. I was tired, and as five were already going I reckoned that any contacts made would be shared around anyway. So I bailed. To the hotel and to bed (via a 26km detour in the wrong direction thanks to garbled communication between passenger and driver).
It was a far cry from the champagne-fuelled jamboree I had hoped to attend but, as I sit here in the hotel room typing away, my roommate – who did go – looks like he’s going to have a long, rough day.
Off we go for the last day of the exhibition. Time to meet a few more people before heading for the airport at 5pm.