It's 6:45 AM. It's Friday and the kids have just woken me up. They want to go to school. I've had two hours of dead man's sleep and I have a hangover of biblical proportions. My head and body are on the verge of exploding. My legs are cramping, I've got a cold sweat and in a few minutes I'll be face to face with other parents my age who are in a far better condition than the sad, tormented shape I've ended up in. I'm pissed off with The Ambassador. It's all his fault. He tricked me into this and I should never have said yes. There is no way in hell I'll survive the next two days.
I'm in the middle of Dining Impossible, the world's most exclusive dinner party. A three-day gourmet extravaganza at three of the world's best restaurants in three days. Copenhagen is the current destination and I'm part of it.