There was only one spot at Media Week to get exclusive access to a plug socket without interruption: the cloakroom. While charging my dead camera batteries and memorising the questions for my next interview, a stocky bald man staggered into the tight space with me.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I need to take this call,” said the man in a transatlantic accent, roughly in his fifties, his phone already to his ear.
Finished now and sitting inches from me, after a few minutes of silence he interrupted my note-taking with general chit chat. Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity to get to know a CEO and grow my black book of industry contacts.