My kind of town, Frank!

Hello from Chicago,
Well actually I'm back from the windy city, location of the Nato summit, and now reimmersed in sweltering humid Washington. They say that Chicago in the winter is like Kabul. For those of you who haven't tasted the delights of Kabul in winter I can tell you it's mighty cold. But Chicago in May is warm, and it's a pretty city. The only time I visited Chicago before was way back when Tony Blair was PM and I flew with him to Chicago before going on to the Washington Nato summit. You see, I'm a real Nato summit afficiniado. Truth be told, I've covered nearly every summit since 19..! Blair, in his usual fashion, delivered a speech - for ever known as the Chicago speech - in which he pontificated about the need for the alliance to intervene around the world, especially Africa, wherever the need arose. Wow, that was some vision, and obviously beyond the capacity of the alliance then or now. Still, Mr Blair bless him had such wonderful visions, none of them quite reaching fulfillment. Anyway, I digress. This time the Nato summit was all about Afghanistan of course and I won't bother you with the details, but here are a few idol observations and incidents that kept me from going mad while trying to write the same story each day.

The summit coincided with the European Championship final between Chelsea and Bayern Munich. I kept an eager ear open and was then glued to my laptop when it reached the penalty shoot-out. A phenominal result, even for a QPR fan. Back in the hotel later that afternoon, I stepped into the lift all aglow with Chelsea's amazing achievement and was greeted by a couple who said: "Hi." Sounded distinctly English, so, still brimming with enthusiasm, I said: "So, Chelsea beat the Germans then!!" The woman turned to her husband and said: "Ich bin oulenzy zveniart donna und blizten." Or words to that effect. I don't speak German, so sorry to you clever German-speakers. But you get the idea. Hilarious. Straight out of Faulty Towers. Needless to say, the couple didn't talk to me for the journey upwards.

Another Faulty Towers scene: To get to the Media Centre to cover the Nato summit, you had to go through an elaborate security process at the hotel, involving alsations sniffing your laptop bag, while you had to exit the room with the dogs and go somewhere else to be personally examined before being reunited with your dog-approved laptop bag; and then entering a coach which drove down a back route alongside a railway line, guarded all the way by police until we arrived at the centre. That was fine, and quite sensible to do the security checks at the hotel and not at the media centre. But on the last day of the summit, I had a plane booked to return to Washington in the evening - a bit of a squeeze, but it would save The Times another hotel night. So I took my luggage down as well as my laptop bag.

Big beefy bloke: "No luggage."
"But I need to bring my luggage because I'm going straight from the media centre to the airport."
"No luggage."
"But..."
"The dogs don't do luggage."
"But if they can do my laptop, why can't they do luggage?"
"You have to leave your luggage with the concierge."
But I couldn't leave my laptop while I went off with my luggage.
I couldn't think straight. My only plan was to somehow bring my luggage and my laptop to the media centre at the same time. Perhaps they could security-check my luggage at the media centre. I went upstairs with my luggage and laptop bag, three escalators. I left the luggage temporarily with the concierge and returned downstairs - three escalators. I retrieved my now woof woof-approved laptop bag and went back upstairs to collect my luggage, brought both back down again and met the same beefy bloke.

 "Ok," I said,"my laptop's been done."
"No luggage."
"But, can I get it checked at the media centre?"
"We can't security-check your luggage here or anywhere."
"But...."
"I'm just the messenger."
"So I have to take my luggage upstairs again and leave it there? I have to come back to the hotel before I can go to the airport?"
"I'm just the messenger."
I set off back up the three escalators with my woof woof-approved laptop bag and my luggage, placed the luggage back with the concierge and returned, anger boiling up, to the beefy bloke.
"So can I go through to the coach, you've done my bag."
"Have you been upstairs with it?"
"Yes, but..."
"You've got to go through it all again."
"But... ok ok I know you're just the messenger."
The alsation said: "I've sniffed this one already, sunshine, what's the story?"
A shaggy dog story with a very annoying end.

Despite Obama waffling on endlessly at his mid-afternoon press conference, I managed to write a new second edition piece and head back to the hotel before finding a taxi for the airport, making the flight with 22 minutes to spare.
Woof woof! I'm still out of breath.