Licensing Blog

With not quite as much excitement as last year we headed back out to Las Vegas (having got over the 3 hour delay at Gatwick). The peculiar sight of the hotels on the strip from the airport was as odd as ever, and the blasting heat even more shocking than before.

Having got organised before we travelled, a helicopter trip to and into the Grand Canyon awaited for 6 licensing tourists on the Sunday. The lively banter stopped when we reached the rim and descended nearly 4000 feet into the canyon. It was one of those awe-inspiring moments. This trip is to be thoroughly recommended even if the sparkling wine did have to be quaffed from plastics goblets! Another colleague had embarked on a road trip to the aptly-named Death Valley. Fancy hiring a red Mustang convertible but forgetting to take a hat with you! How he escaped serious burns, we will never know.

Advanstar hosted a drinks evening at the Mix Lounge on the 64^th floor of The Hotel, which had stunning views over the city. To be fair, most of the bars in Las Vegas seem to have stunning views when you take the waitresses into account. Don’t get me wrong, I like a cleavage as much as the next man, but sometimes it’s just a bit too much. Oh alright, I’m talking crap, it’s great, isn’t it? I do think though that a well-heeled gentleman from Oxfordshire should have looked past the chest and corrected one such lady who, replying to a sparkling wine request, replied that they didn’t have sparkling wine, only champagne, and then produced a list of American options!

I bumped into quite a few fellow Brits who looked somewhat jaded each morning (I hasten to add that I learnt my lesson a few years ago) having succumbed to the allures of Vegas night-life. One in particular said that his “sensible genes” only kicked in just in time to avoid a visit to the tattoo parlour the previous night. Other tales included an encounter with a lady of the night, who was bartered down only to not get the job (one wise head did say that if you’re not prepared to buy you shouldn’t haggle in the first place) and a youthful-looking 40-something who was refused alcohol due to lack of ID and clandestinely supped beer through a series of straws joined together down his sleeve.

We finished the last night in old town Fremont Street with the most enormous steak (the kitchen staff sent a message of congratulations to me on finishing it) and a great free 70s concert (where the lead female singer should perhaps have not worn such tight trousers). A cocktail at a bar with a view of a shark-filled aquarium that you could pass through enclosed in a slide brought a great evening to a close.

McCarran airport greeted us with a 2 hour delay on the return flight, but this was soon forgotten with a few goodbye sharpeners in the terminal’s tiny bar. The banter of Willie and Thomas with the passengers as they checked boarding passes was a delight and a credit to Virgin Atlantic (although the sour-faced trout who I heard moan didn’t think so. Her “if they didn’t talk so much we could all board quicker” was followed by a later “you get better service on Easy Jet”). Miserable cow. I hope she didn’t have Virgin’s chicken korma later on as it would just have reinforced her views. To be fair, it was crap.