I have just returned from a tea trade symposium in the Czech Republic – a trip which, given my recent positive experiences in Slovenia, I was anticipating rather keenly. Sadly, the reality did not match my expectations.

The symposium itself took place in the conference facilities of the splendidly appointed Prague Hilton but, alas, my budget did not quite stretch to affording accomodation there. Instead, I was billeted five minutes walk away on the other side of a grafitti-spattered underpass in a characterful establishment called The Embassy.

Several other conference attendees were also staying there and one of them, a wiry Scot called Ben, observed that it felt a bit like a brothel. I must bow to his superior knowledge on that front, but there was certainly something rather ripe about the busty bottle-blonde who checked me in. She was either in her 40s and trying to look 25, or in her twenties and pursuing an excessively dissolute lifestyle.

As she leaned across the reception desk to hand me my key-card I actually felt a slight breeze from the fluttering of her extravagant false eyelashes, carrying on it a faint scent of vodka fumes laced with juniper.

Hilton, Prague

One might imagine that a recently-issued TripAdvisor ‘Certificate of Excellence’ (like the one prominently displayed next to The Embassy’s lift) would indicate that the establishment to which it has been awarded offers a reasonably good standard of facilities and services. It would seem, however, that this is not the case – as indicated by the following catalogue of shortcomings:

• No in-room tea-making facilities (I was, as always, prepared for this possiblity – but it should be provided by default in any hotel room, like the Corby trouser press and Gideon bible.)

• Inadequate hot-water supply – the shower was either an intermittent scalding trickle or a torrent of glacial meltwater with nothing in between, and filling the bath to a depth sufficient for wetting more than one’s buttocks and the soles of one’s feet took several hours.

• Blast-furnace heating – the radiator was so hot that one could not approach within 3 feet of it without the skin beginning to blister, and there was no way to turn it off short of crimping the pipe with a plumber’s wrench. One night I left a pair of socks on it to dry, and in the morning no trace of them remained save for a dark smear on the wall above where they had been.

• DIY room service – after a particularly gruelling day of listening to the Russian and Chinese delegations sniping at each other I decided to spend a quiet evening in my room rather than going out on the town with the other ‘tea-heads’. I ordered a delicious-sounding risotto from the room service menu and was surprised to learn that I would have to go down to reception to fetch it – something of an inconvenience as by then I had already changed into my dressing-gown and night time support briefs.

• Inconsistent breakfast provision – the one constant feature of the cooked breakfast offerings was lengths of chewy sausage like chunks of fat pepperami still in the plastic sheath. On the first day this was accompanied by a rather delicious offering of lightly sautéed potatoes in a creamy, herb-infused sauce. I sought out this tasty treat on the second day only to find that it had been replaced with penne in spicy tomato paste, then mushy vegetable rice, and on day four, mystifyingly, bread pudding. The ‘orange juice’ was of the same quality and freshness that astronauts on the first manned trip to Mars will be enjoying and the tea came out of a Liptons assortment box in which the most palatable option was, yes, Yellow Label.

Lobby, Embassy Hotel, Prague

Bitter experience has taught me that breakfast tea in mid-priced continental hotels (aside from those in Germany) will seldom amount to anything worthwhile so, while I was disappointed by The Embassy’s efforts, I was hardly surprised. What did surprise me was the poor fist that the Hilton had made of providing tea for the 130 or so trade representatives attending the symposium. Where one might have expected – as is usual at this sort of event – a selection of fine leaves from the world’s most celebrated tea gardens served in bone china pots, there was instead a shallow basket of assorted sachets, many containing tealess herbal infusions, alongside a large Burco-style urn of thoroughly deoxygenated hot water. The tea, (what little there was) was German in origin, but of the rather second-rate Eilles brand whose marketing people were clearly of the opinion that any kind of black tea can be given a quality makeover by labelling it as ‘English’.

To be honest, I could not understand how or why the Hilton had screwed things up so badly until I learned that the Russian organizers had arrived a few days early and blown almost the entire refreshment budget on Czech hookers. Typical.

As for the symposium itself, I did take a few notes but there was nothing of sufficent intrest to merit reporting here.

This is probably my last post before the festive season begins in earnest, so I’d like to offer all my readers a generous slice of seasonal good cheer washed down with a steaming mug of M&S Winter Spiced Tea. Pip-pip!