It was late in the day, and I know that a large section of the audience was restless. While the facilitator made the announcement a short man in a bad tweed jacket appeared quietly at the left of the stage. I knew most the participants at the conference, but didn't recognize this guy. The guest speaker approached the microphone. He was a round, stocky little fellow, which was quite a distinct look among the delegates, most of whom made use of the hotel gym every night.
Gyms are great places for networking.
Tweed was definitely out that summer. Worse, the sleeves came down past his wrist and covered half his hands, an effect echoed by his pants. His moustache sat on his lip like grey mould. His hair was a receding bird's nest, a rat's habitat of brown and grey. He had no sound equipment or graphics or anything.