No Vacancy, No Notes, No Problem (Except When There Is)

Panels, Pints and the Occasional Blackout

Today, No Vacancy opens at Sydney’s ICC. For those outside the hospitality industry, imagine a family reunion where everyone’s jacked up on caffeine, no one’s related, and at least three people are trying to sell you a $9,000 coffee machine. It’s part trade fair, part networking circus, part “how many lanyards can a human neck support before it snaps?” The buzz is real, the coffee is strong, and the queue for the toilets is longer than the guest list at a Kardashian wedding.

A few years back, we designed the Cocktail Lounge for the show. It was a glittering little jewel box, the sort of space that chews through blood, sweat, and—if I’m honest—a minor organ or two. We made it look marvellous. We met a cast of characters you’d usually only encounter in the more eccentric chapters of a Dickens novel. Leads generated? Not a sausage. Zero. Zilch. But would I do it again? Absolutely. Because the friendships, the ideas, and the shared sense of “what the hell are we all doing here?” last longer than any spreadsheet or CRM system. (And let’s be honest, no one ever raised a glass to a spreadsheet.)

Too many?

From Notoriety to Knowledge

When you’re starting out, being invited onto a panel is a bit like being handed the keys to the grown-ups’ liquor cabinet. Someone reads your bio, there’s polite applause, and you think, “I’ve made it! I’m a proper industry person!” Fast-forward a few hundred lanyards and you realise the real value isn’t in the applause—it’s in the collective groan when someone mentions “guest-room trends” for the 47th time. These aren’t tired topics; they’re the heartbeat of an industry that never sleeps. Or, if it does, it’s on a mattress with 17,000 thread count sheets and a pillow menu.

The Great Unravelling (or Why I Nearly Sang ‘Moon River’)

Every seasoned speaker has at least one horror story to share. Mine arrived with all the subtlety of a piano falling out of a third-storey window.

I’d agreed to a solo presentation—no panel, no safety net, just me and my notes. Except, about halfway through the cab ride, I realised my notes were still at home, probably being used as a scratching post by the cat. “No worries,” I thought, “I know this stuff backwards.” The set-up was intimate: no stage, just me, an audience mere feet away, and a lighting rig that made everyone look like they’d been carved from wax.

Ten minutes in, my mind simply… left. Not a polite “back in a moment,” but a full system crash. Name, topic, purpose—gone. The silence was so complete you could hear the barista’s existential crisis from the next room. I stared at the audience. They stared back, clearly convinced this was some avant-garde, “let’s all sit with our feelings” performance art.

And then, a small, traitorous voice in my head whispered, “Why don’t you sing? Go on—sing ‘Moon River.’” I have no idea why my subconscious thought an impromptu Andy Williams cover was the answer, but for a few long seconds, I genuinely considered it. (I pictured the conference write-up: “Designer abandons keynote; launches cabaret revival.”)

Mercifully, reason returned just as the first bars started playing in my head. I snatched up a thread of thought and stumbled to the finish. Later, someone told me how “brave” that long pause was. Reader, it was not bravery. It was pure, uncut blank.

Aahhhh, Happy Days!

The Talks We Still Need

These days, I’d pay good money for sessions that tackle the real pressures we all feel. Hospitality doesn’t have an off-season anymore; creativity is expected on tap, like the world’s most unreliable beer keg. How do we keep the well of ideas full when our brains are running on flat whites and existential dread? And can we please talk about AI without the smoke, mirrors, and thinly veiled panic? Let’s treat it as a tool, not a harbinger of doom.

Those are the conversations that will shape how we design and operate hotels in the next decade—or at least until the next tech buzzword comes along and we all pretend we’ve been using it for years.

Why We Keep Showing Up

So why keep showing up when the spreadsheet ROI is slimmer than a vegan’s lunchbox? Because the real value isn’t in the projects. It’s in the spark of a chance meeting, the supplier demo that doesn’t quite work, the quiet inspiration that sneaks up when you’re away from your screen and three espressos deep.

Hospitality is about connection, and shows like No Vacancy are connections made physical. Whether you’re on stage (hopefully with your notes), in the audience, or just catching up over a flat white, you leave refuelled. And if there’s a beautifully designed cocktail lounge along the way, so much the better.

Just… maybe keep a copy of your notes in your pocket. Or, failing that, brush up on your Andy Williams.