I had a fun day in Illinois last week. Which although factually correct is also the worst license plate slogan ever ... oh no it's not, because Idaho has 'potatoes'.
I drove to Peoria which has too many vowels for my liking. My meeting finished at 5pm, and the task in hand was to drive as fast as possible to Chicago to make dinner with family.
Just like the young marine in 'A Few Good Men', I made it there in double time.
The highlight of dinner was learning of a surprise drug-fuelled evening in the 1960s with a local politician and two of my relatives. As I don't write for LA Confidential, I won't be naming names!
A few after-dinner cocktails meant I checked in at my hotel at around midnight. The hipster establishment I chose was choc-full of ... well ... hipsters, drinking fashionable cocktails. It wasn't a school night so I should not judge.
With an early-morning flight home and in a semi-drunken stupor I set my mental alarm clock for 4.30am.
A speed shower had me checking out at 4.40am. The reveling trendies from earlier had all gone home (presumably to their loft apartments), but at the front desk were guys checking in.
I moved in close to see what kind of debauched individual checks into a hotel at 4.40am.
It turns out the 2 guys were middle-aged Scottish gentlemen. It also appeared that they were world-class DJs, as they name-dropped clubs in Tokyo, LA and Düsseldorf.
Alas my knowledge of famous Scottish DJs stops at Nicky Campbell so send your guesses for who these guys may have been on a SAE marked 'Jock DJs'.