I didn’t know about fishing.

And it’s the end of Frankfurt Book Fair. Less than a year in the publishing industry and my CEO has taken me to London Book Fair and now FBF. The walking, the talking, the showcasing the smiling; it’s exhausting but an experience. Each day culminates in drinks meetings and invariably a bath. And then there are the trips that end in days you just couldn’t make up.

  • The Hilton takes €8,000 from your bank account.
  • The bank blocks all three of your cards.
  • You can’t pay for a taxi.
  • The airline app doesn’t register your check-in.
  • Security pull your bag aside to check it.
  • The machine beeps wildly, detecting explosives. (It’s only hints of perfume).
  • You nearly miss your flight waiting for the police.
  • And then your flight is delayed by two hours when you get to the gate.
  • You meet a colleague from a big publishing firm.
  • You all drink far too much wine awaiting your call.
  • The conversation is full of tales of random meet ups, stories of fishing and red lines.

Back broken from too many books, liver blackened from too much booze, jaw aching from too much gassing but the phone full of contacts and the stories you have and the memories made. Frankfurt Book Fair: we shall see you next year.

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