Column by Herald part-timer John Gillies on some aspects of a Rotary International Convention in the UK

Rotary International Convention . . . the words inspire dread in every headline writer.

Words like “bishop” and “threesome” could remedy the situation, but on my trip they would only have enlivened a celebrity golf write-up.

My registration for the Rotary convention in Birmingham was more an excuse to visit Britain than a celebration of what the world’s biggest service organisation could offer.

I wanted to show my 26-year-old daughter Emily where we’d come from, and visit relatives I hadn’t seen for more than 30 years.

But back in the recesses of my memory were the words of a Rotary stalwart who told me an international convention was something to experience, even if only once.

He was right, but maybe not in the sense he intended.

I travelled from the Cotswolds to Birmingham alone, leaving Emily with new-found second-cousins.

My first problem was finding the hotel. I’d booked it myself and been advised to get a taxi from the railway station.

But my budget was tight. I took a bus to the Castle Bromwich locality, found a road that matched the hotel address and walked up the street numbers, starting about 300 and looking for 1200. At 10 metres a frontage, I reckoned I had 4.5 kilometres to hike.

I got lost around number 600. The road splintered in several directions, each route carrying a different name.

I walked roughly straight on, stopping only at a sign saying the convention venue was two kilometres away. I considered kipping down at the venue, the National Exhibition Centre (NEC), but decided against it. The road from that point was unlit and suicidal for pedestrians.

I turned back and took an alternative route with a promising signpost. It was an expressway with no footpath. I trudged past a car in a layby and, 30 metres on, the driver pulled up and asked if I needed help.

Lost in a strange city around midnight, lugging a backback and struggling to stay calm, I ignored stranger-danger rules and accepted his offer of a lift.

He was on his way home after a shift at a hotel opposite the NEC. He knew the hotel I was booked into . . . he had already given a lift to another person looking for it.

I gave thanks for good Samaritans and hotel all-night check-ins.

United Nations Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon was the surprise guest of the convention opening session. He praised Rotary’s global work in health and humanitarian aid.

I am not a model Rotarian. I’m a member because I like and respect the other club members, and enjoy their company.

I am not driven to eradicate polio — a goal that Rotary International is within a whisker of achieving — or to save the world from its myriad other ailments.

I am prepared to do my bit when called on, though, so I’m at least useful.

I couldn’t help, then, but be humbled by the international Rotarians who were dedicated to their particular cause.

The House of Friendship was full of them — booths, exhibits and vendors promoting everything from Third World eye health to malaria prevention to solar cooking.

My favourite booth — though not a Rotarian venture — was one promoting the Homeless World Cup, an Edinburgh-based project active in 70 countries. It aims to “reach out to socially excluded people through the power of football”.

I hope they can use the New Zealand dollar coin that slipped into my donation.

The real value of the convention for me was in meeting people by accident . . . the lunch-table encounter with the Italian businessman whose club uses its contacts to help the underprivileged; the shuttlebus conversation with the Bahrain financier who gave the lowdown on the Dubai property boom (financial services would have been a better development option); and breakfast pleasantries with other convention visitors.

I had booked tickets for convention-related evening entertainment. The Medieval Spectacular at Warwick Castle, the host hospitality night with the Rotary Club of Rugby, a performance by the Birmingham Royal Ballet . . . they all kept us up towards or beyond midnight.

Consequently, we got up late, had a leisurely breakfast and missed most of the convention keynote speakers.

Polio survivor and Unicef goodwill ambassador Mia Farrow and primatologist Jane Goodall both spoke in our absence.

We saw Dr Goodall at the Guide Dogs for the Blind exhibit. I stifled the urge to seek a three-sentence precis of her talk, but pointed her out to Emily.

It made no impact. Emily walked past the world’s foremost chimpanzee whisperer, by now blowing into the nostrils of a guide dog, and began ruffling the soft furry nether regions of the same animal.

I don’t know whether the dog was in pooch heaven or hell . . . deep and meaningful communication at one end and comfort-blanket substitution at the other.

We did catch the talk by Indian-born American Rotarian Deepa Willingham, who founded an organisation to eradicate “extreme poverty”. That’s the level below “moderate poverty”, with the poorest in Britain and New Zealand likely to be included in a higher classification, “relative poverty”.

She told stories you wouldn’t repeat to your children last thing at night. But those stories also carried hope.

She left us uneasy that we weren’t doing more ourselves, yet inspired that we belonged to the same organisation and had the opportunity to help.

Rotary has 1.2 million members in around 200 countries. That’s 1.2 million potential Deepa Willinghams.