22 October 2015, 9 pm
I am finding all this networking a bit of a strain. Being nice to people does not, it appears, come naturally to me. Especially if they are tedious or pompous or patronising, or bonkers or drunk (or bonkers and drunk), or if they breathe alcohol fumes in my face. I think I will add another term to my glossary: Misanthrope = someone who doesn’t get what’s so great about reaching out to people. 23 October 2015, 11 am I sneak off to my hotel room for some rest. We have done four meetings already today, we did lots yesterday and there are more still to come. We have met with the Canadian patent attorneys from IPIC, who want our advice on how to regulate their profession, which is a laugh because we have not worked out how to regulate ours yet. We have met with senior AIPLA people, who want us to arrange good weather for June 2016 so that they can visit London again. And we have met with a whole load of AIPLA committee members to talk about European law, and harmonisation, and the UPC, and privilege, and diversity in IP. AIPLA has over fifty committees and each committee has many sub-committees and each of these is manned by people who never sleep. But I am happy, because I have found a shop that sells Red Bull® and I have bought in enough to see me through to the end of the conference (seven cans). So now I don't need to sleep either. 23 October 2015, 9.30 pm I am at a posh dinner. Because I am a VIP guest, I get to sit on a table right beside the band. This makes small talk more than a little challenging. Especially for the person who has to listen to me. He is polite but I don’t think he has ever come across talk that is this small before. It is a bit of a contest as to which of us invents an urgent teleconference first. Just before dinner, the new AIPLA President is sworn in. I am amused to see that their President-Swapping Ceremony is pretty similar to CIPA’s, except that over here they actually wear their swimming gala medals. The President from the Canadian IP Institute is in charge of taking the medal off President Number One and putting it on President Number Two. This is just as touching a piece of theatre as it is in the UK. I have also noticed that during the conference, whenever the AIPLA President speaks, she is introduced over the tannoy and arrives to a musical fanfare. I decide that we must instigate similar procedures at CIPA. It really isn’t good enough for our President to stumble onto the stage and have to be reminded by Mr Davies what she’s supposed to be doing next. We must get ourselves a decent President. Oh. Hang on. When the dinner is over, the band gets louder and the dancing begins. The EyePeePee and I are terrified that senior AIPLA blokes might have been instructed to invite VIP guests onto the dance floor. We do not think this will be good for CIPA’s reputation and it will certainly not be good for us. We both invent urgent teleconferences and leave while the going’s good.
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22 October 2015, 2 pm
As a newcomer to the international conference scene, I have been compiling a glossary of useful explanations for others who find themselves in this position. Here are some extracts. Meeting = a half-hour get-together in a crowded space which must be immediately followed by another half-hour get-together in another crowded space with another group of people, and for the last five minutes of which you must fidget and check your smartphone and make clear that you need to move on to something more interesting. A bit like speed dating, in fact. Reaching out = emailing someone to set up a meeting. (Note: all meetings must begin with everybody thanking everybody else for reaching out to one another.) Business card = a small piece of card to remind people who they have reached out to. Needs to be kept handy and not buried in the bottom of a bag with your toiletries and spare pens. All meetings should involve an awkward exchange of business cards. Take care not to hand out the business cards you collected from the previous meetings by mistake. Or the ones that you’ve been writing reminders on. Breakfast meeting = like a normal meeting, but with pancakes, maple syrup, bacon, eggs several ways, hash browns, granola, yoghurt, huge chunks of fruit and inexhaustible supplies of coffee and orange juice. And a large bill. Taxes = things that get added to your bill to cover all sorts of other random things you had no idea you were letting yourself in for, plus the knock-on effects of the random things. Not to be confused with the optional but nevertheless taxable gratuitous gratuity that will also be added to your bill next to the eggs several ways and the maple syrup. Networking (advanced version) = walking into a room and instantly recognising, loudly and flamboyantly, people you have reached out to/connected with/networked with/got drunk with on previous such occasions, and monopolising them for the next twenty minutes so that they cannot reach out to/connect with/network with/get drunk with anyone else. Occasionally involves an exchange of business cards, but only if one of you has a hand free. Networking (beginner’s version) = walking into a room and not recognising anyone, going once round the space trying to look purposeful and then walking back out again and retiring to your hotel room to cry. Buffet = a collection of delicious-looking food that you cannot eat because you are supposed to be walking round the room networking and handing out business cards, and you cannot network with greasy fingers and bits of chicken stuck between your teeth. Designed to highlight the fact that you have no one to talk to, because there is nothing worse than only having a paper plate and a greasy samosa for company, knowing that everyone is watching you spill the contents of the samosa and vowing to themselves not to network anywhere near you. Dessert reception = a networking event at which the buffet is not greasy samosas and chicken kebabs but delicate little cakey and puddingy things. Which you also cannot eat, because you cannot network with whipped cream and chocolate round your mouth. 21 October 2015
It is too complicated to explain how we sort out the hotel situation, but suffice to say we have not yet got IGC permission for the more comfortable stable we end up moving our suitcases to. No matter. At least we have stopped swearing, the EyePeePee and I. We take a trip across to the USPTO, where we and our CIPA colleagues meet with some top officials to talk about global patent harmonisation, diversity, the UPC and USPTO examiners. This is all most exciting. My hero Michelle Lee, the USPTO Director, is there. We think it is quite a coup to have been granted an audience with her. We think she has perhaps not been properly briefed about my reputation. Women like Michelle Lee are fantastic role models, because in a wonderful understated way they make it clear that diversity is a serious issue and not just for people who are short of things to make a fuss about. Director Lee offers to help us with our own diversity projects. I resist telling her the official CIPA policy on diversity, which is (to précis):
At the end of the meeting, the USPTO people say By the way, we do like your Not-so-secret blog. So perhaps they have been properly briefed after all. They apologise for not providing biscuits or Red Bull® or gin and tonic, because they know from my blog how much I like such things. Still, it is enough that CIPA is sufficiently important to warrant a room full of senior USPTO dignitaries, even without IGC permission. The EyePeePee and I return to the conference hotel in excellent moods, and treat ourselves to a gin and tonic or three to celebrate. The EyePeePee is supposed to be telling me when not to have another gin and tonic, but the jet lag is unfortunately dulling both of our senses. Instead, we plan how to make CIPA work better, which for some reason we both find very funny. 20 October 2015, 11 pm Washington time (4 am UK time)
Our plane has landed safely in Washington. This turns out to be the high point of an otherwise miserable night. It takes me over an hour to clear US customs. During this hour a kindly voice announces continually over the tannoy that my security and safety are so important to the US Government that they are pulling out all the stops to improve immigration procedures. It seems to me that they have pulled out the stops relating to tannoy announcements but not, for example, the ones relating to manning the passport-checking desks. There are about two customs officers on duty and about five hundred jet-lagged passengers for them to check. I was initially worried that my Esta was such a recent acquisition that it might cause me problems, but actually, by the time I get to the customs official, my Esta has almost expired. And it turns out he is not even remotely interested in my Esta anyway. He just wants my fingerprints. Which I last gave to the US Government when my family visited Disneyland® some years ago, and which he therefore expects to be covered in candyfloss. But the worst is yet to come. After a long and tedious wait for our taxi, and a long and tedious journey to match, the EyePeePee and I reach the hotel we are booked into. Actually, they tell us, we do not have rooms for you after all. Even though you have booked and paid and printed out your emailed receipt. Were it not 4 am according to our body clocks, we might be able to think of a witty response to this welcome. But it is 4 am according to our body clocks. We stare glumly at the person employed at the hotel reception desk. Her job is to make people feel as miserable as possible. She is clearly well trained in this. We are refurbishing some rooms, she says. We tend to overbook, she says. So if you must leave it till 11 pm to arrive, what can you expect? Some swearing goes on. The EyePeePee and I make several references to the *** transatlantic flight we have just endured and our consequent need to put our *** heads down for the night. The lady in charge of corporate misery is unimpressed. We have booked you into another hotel tonight, she says. I will get you a taxi, she says. The taxi is complimentary, she says, as though she has just offered us a free bottle of champagne and unlimited use of the spa facilities. As opposed to a manger in the stable down the road. Come back tomorrow, she says, when you have repacked your suitcases, and we will see if we can find you a room then. Although we cannot guarantee it, of course. Even though you have paid for four nights here. We are refurbishing some rooms and we tend to overbook. You are too kind, we say, but actually we would rather sleep on the *** streets than come back here. Luckily, the stable down the road is cheerful and welcoming, has plenty of mangers spare and is actually closer to the conference venue anyway. In some ways, then, this is a Good Result, although it is hard to see it that way. We sleep very well. 20 October 2015, 6 pm
So. Here I am. At last. On board a plane which is apparently heading for Washington. Not that I would be able to tell, because I cannot see out of the window, but I presume the pilot knows where she is going. One has to trust in these things. I have been given a complimentary plebeian blanket. This is nice. I also have a complimentary cushion-type-thing, which is not big enough to be a pillow and certainly not big enough to stifle a fellow passenger, but certainly big enough to get in the way when I try to use my laptop. Also nice. The EyePeePee is already on board. She was allowed into the priority boarding lane because she has Airmiles. This is not a medical condition, like it sounds, but a source of tremendous privilege. It allows you to sit in comfort while the plebs and their luggage are loaded. It appears that despite the Airmiles, the EyePeePee has not been upgraded, and I feel bad about this because it is almost certainly due to the fact that she was on the same booking as me, and I am carrying a grubby rucksack with bits of the Andes still stuck to it, and only got my Esta at the last minute thanks to Daniel’s tablet. God bless Daniel. Still, I now have both an Esta and a gin and tonic. And there is a smell of food. What more could a girl want? I follow the gin and tonic with a half-hearted but twice-baked piece of rolled up fish (which I suspect is actually rolled up carpet underlay but has a sufficiently high salt content to make it fish on a purposive construction), a plastic goblet of half-hearted Cabernet Sauvignon and a tub of chocolate orange means (which also requires an element of purposive construction). Then I open a can of Red Bull® and write my diary. And it is actually quite pleasant to be at the laptop just writing, without the emails coming in, and without people from CIPA contacting me every few minutes to say I am a reckless and untrustworthy Pee. Apparently there are five and a half hours of flight time remaining. I kind of want it to go on for ever. 20 October 2015, 9 pm OK. I do not really want it to go on for ever. I check the “flight path” option on my seat-back screen. Unsurprisingly, there is little to be seen but ocean. I am worried the pilot will get bored and stop paying attention. I know I would. I write more of my diary to keep myself awake. Due to the gin and tonic and Red Bull® cocktail which is coursing through my veins, combined with being cooped up in a dark metal box when I should be curled up with a good book and a whisky, the diary entries come out just a teeny bit grumpy. I will edit them later, when I am not feeling grumpy. Er, hum. 20 October 2015, 10 pm I dutifully fill out my US Customs landing card. It asks me if I am a terrorist. I tick the “no” box. It asks me if I have broken any laws recently. Again I tick “no”, hoping no one finds out about my failure to get IGC permission to travel here. Then it asks me if I have been down on the farm lately. I check the undersides of my boots. Most of the mud and the straw dropped off at Heathrow, so I think I will get away with ticking “no” to that one too. Luckily it did not ask about trekking in the Andes. 20 October 2015, 11 pm There are a lot of patent attorneys on this flight. Not all of them are here without permission, of course. The EyePeePee and I compare notes with another International Liaison Committee member who will be accompanying us to meetings with USPTO and AIPLA folk. On the plus side, our notes are all pretty consistent. On the minus side, they are consistently sketchy. We do not know where we need to be for many of the meetings, much less how to get there. My thing that looks a bit like an itinerary takes us little further forward. I am glad I at least have my Esta. I don’t imagine they let people into the USPTO without an Esta. |
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