English journalists in Atlanta

by Ashley Cotter-Cairns
(UNOB Towers)

Cheap beer and chilli fries make you feel GREAT!

It's the kind of moment that can re-define your life. I'd handed in my notice at an editor's job and the same afternoon, an envelope arrived inviting me to Atlanta for a trade exhibition. I'd fly business class and be well taken care of during our stay.

Knowing that I ought to present this to the boss and let him send somebody else, instead I RSVP'd in the positive and began planning what to pack.

Fast-forward six weeks. It's January in Atlanta and freezing cold. Being English, we journalists formed an unbreakable clique and became utterly ruthless in our determination to learn nothing at all about the city we were in if we could avoid it.

We decided that the best use of what little free time we had each day would be to get out into Atlanta's bar scene and get totally wrecked on the cheapest crappy beer available.

It became quite a memorable trip for several reasons. I wanted to buy Cheez Whiz because I'd seen it in The Blues Brothers and this was my first time in America. The only grocery store we could find directions to was 10 blocks downtown from our hotel in a very dangerous part of town; such were our trials that, by the time I had Cheez Whiz in my possession, it seemed like the Holy Grail.

We were wined and dined three meals a day by our hosts, who seemed to think that the best way for us to report on a trade show was to never be there. Fine by me. Tom Peters was a guest breakfast speaker (I hate to think what that cost them!) and he waxed lyrical about how the Internet was going to change the way the world does business. Pretty smart guy, that Mr. Peters.

On the last night of my trip, I had trouble getting a cab and accepted a lift from some very friendly ladies in a minivan, who soon revealed themselves to be hookers and suggested I ended my trip with "an authentic American blowjob". I smooth-talked my way out of there somehow, but that's another story.

The penultimate night in Atlanta saw the six English journos decamp to a biker bar. We knew we'd overdressed when we were the only people without bare nipples and tattoos. As usual, we pooled our spare Dollars and ordered pitcher after pitcher of whatever was on special.

We discovered a truly awesome dish that night: chilli fries. A huge heap of fries covered in (you guessed it!) chilli and cheese. Pretty damn tasty.

At some point in the evening (I think around 2.30am), somebody took the above picture. As you can see, I was REALLY enjoying myself. (I wonder what happened to that stripy shirt?)

Surely, if I have the balls to share this with you, can't you share your proudest drunk photo with me?