In previous years the hotel supplied us with Tom the barman, who mixed a mean pink margarita. He told everyone the recipe was a secret, but I can exclusively reveal that the pink was grenadine and it wasn’t very secret since he poured it in front of them. It was a bit on the sweet side, if you ask me.
At one point in the afternoon, I count seven competitors in the suite enjoying our hospitality in a brief flowering of the spirit of détente. Gone are the days when a former manager called security to eject a former employee competitor. How I miss the drama.