If you're devoid of inspiration after two gruelling years spent blogging, tired, busy and very hot, why not quickly make a post which features amusing names of Leicestershire villages, such as Barton In The Beans? Just a thought.

Jenny's back from a 4-day press trip along with some of the most vile human specimens known to mankind. Journalists, of course. The anecdotes are astounding in their number and length, but it's neatly summed up by a particular food writer spilling her wine over an extremely hard-working PR, and saying “Oh, did I spill my wine on you?” with no hint of an apology.

Oh, one more: Jenny and another journalist are sitting at a bar, drinking 2 Cokes. Another writer turns up, and buys a beer. He picks up the tab for the beer, and the cokes. Jenny says “Oh! You didn't have to do that!” He waves his hand in a fashion which indicates that it doesn't matter. Later, she overhears snide remarks being made amongst other journalists about Jenny freeloading soft drinks.

Oh, one more: They're taken to an astounding outdoor food market by an American woman who runs a local cookery school. Certain journalists openly sneer at this woman and the information that she's giving out. The PR is horribly embarrassed. The following day they're meant to meet the American woman again, for a cookery demonstration. The PR has a sleepless night worrying about how these journalists will behave. She calls the offenders at 8am and requests that they don't attend. They apologise, and promise to behave. They attend, and sneer openly and loudly as the American woman becomes increasingly flustered.

Most of the offenders are grande-dames of British food writing, in their 50s and 60s. Absolutely loathsome scum. I wish I'd been there. There should be more writing published about press trips themselves, rather than the thing that the press trip has been organised for. I'd be willing to write such a thing. I might not last long in journalism, but with fellow journalists like that, who cares?