The Right Honourable Lord Percival Wensleydale, 12th Earl of Withering Fen
(born 14 November 1963 – still slightly bewildered by the world)
Lord Wensleydale was raised at Thistlebrook Manor in the misty corner of Northumberland, where, as a child, he spent his afternoons cataloguing his mother’s teaspoons and crafting tiny hats for the garden hens. He was educated at Eton (reluctantly), and later at a very exclusive but entirely ineffective fencing school in Florence.
He is known for his fondness for tightly tailored tweed, classic English poets, and his uncanny ability to fall asleep during opera without spilling his sherry. Wensleydale has authored two books: “The Art of Mild Disappointment” and “Quiet Triumphs in Unheated Rooms”—both largely unread but beautifully bound.
He has neither wife, children, nor a driving licence, but he possesses a rare serenity and a penchant for long walks in the rain with his loyal poodle, Barkley. His alleged motto: “If one must suffer, let it be in style.”
Three Days in Berlin
Lord Wensleydale arrived in Berlin on a grey Tuesday afternoon, travelling alone for once – no spaniel, no valet, no distractions. Just a neatly packed suitcase, a leather notebook, and a faint hope that the minibar at Hotel The Yard would contain something drinkable.
The hotel, tucked away behind an unassuming facade in Kreuzberg, was equal parts architectural manifesto and boutique serenity. Concrete walls, abstract art, chairs that looked hostile to sitting – all very Berlin. His room was austere, but stylish. He approved of the silence.
He unpacked methodically, ironed a shirt himself (a rare occurrence, prompted by vanity and a slightly overconfident packing strategy), and took a short walk to reacquaint himself with the city. He ended the day at the hotel restaurant, where he dined on roasted beetroot and duck breast while observing other solo diners pretending to read.
Day 1 – Jargon, Panels and Polite Applause
Wednesday marked the start of the conference. Name badge. Lanyard. Lukewarm coffee. Familiar indignities.
The opening session began with a bold title: “Navigating the Future.” Within five minutes, the phrase “digital-first ecosystem” had been used twice, and Lord Wensleydale began taking notes—not on the content, but on the most amusingly vague buzzwords.
Mid-morning, he found himself trapped in a panel called “Synergy and Scalability in Post-Linear Markets.” It was neither short nor illuminating. One speaker began a sentence with “If we look at this from a metastrategic perspective…” and Lord Wensleydale genuinely lost the will to listen.
Lunch was served buffet-style. He located a reliable tomato salad, some respectable smoked trout, and a decent glass of Riesling, which restored his faith in Germany’s hospitality, if not its conferences.
The afternoon offered workshops. He chose the one with the shortest description.
Dinner that night was at Pauly Saal. He ordered the tasting menu and asked for the wine pairings. Halfway through the main course, he found himself quietly enjoying Berlin.
Day 2 – The Law of Diminishing Panels
Thursday arrived with less ceremony. The conference centre felt more tired, the coffee weaker, the badge lanyard somehow heavier.
Wensleydale made a tactical decision to attend only two sessions: one on AI in supply chain transparency (mildly interesting), and one on “customer-centric sustainability” (entirely not). In the latter, he counted how many times the phrase “impact-driven” was used (seven).
The final networking session was announced with great fanfare but largely consisted of people loitering awkwardly near a table of olives. Wensleydale chatted briefly with a Swedish executive who spoke only in metaphors and then slipped out discreetly.
He returned to The Yard, packed with military precision, and took a final espresso in the hotel courtyard. A sparrow landed on his table. He ignored it.
Epilogue:
On the flight home Thursday evening, Lord Wensleydale stared out the window at the clouds and thought:
“Berlin, like all cities, improves with distance.”