Alright, even though you’re going to think I’m making this post up, I swear I’m not…
It’s Sunday and we’ve been at it for hours in our conference room in the Hilton. The staff here have been attentive and empathetic, so they come every now and then, to check if we need anything, sigh and leave again. So, our sweet lady who brings us jugs of hot water and coffee appears at our door and says:
“How would you like a wee break? We’ve got a bouncy house and a rodeo thing…. c’mon with me.”
There is a Chicken Wing conference down the hall from our work room.
I promise I’m not kidding.
I can’t invent a Chicken Wing Conference in Belfast, people. I may be creative, but let’s be serious here…
We follow her through some back hallways of the hotel past wait staff pushing carts of chicken wings to a large ballroom with round tables covered with white tablecloths. Hundreds of colorful balloons enliven a small dance floor. In one corner, a huge bouncing house, yellow and blue. In the other, a bucking bull ride. And for us, 10 minutes of bouncing, crashing, bucking and laughing hysterically.
Bouncing is surprisingly exhausting when you’re past a certain age. Like ten. Who knew?
Great. Fabulous.
Back to work.
But she just came back and said there is apparently a cross-dressing comedian coming on in about an hour.
Good grief. Truth is stranger than fiction, friends. #smarterCities Challenge
21 Days in Belfast 