Daddy had wanted a ‘strategic’ review so I had to jet over to London with Steve my IT guy. Steve wasn’t necessary for the review but I couldn’t imagine a night in London without him as he knew all the best bars, which was impressive considering he was a northern guy.
As soon as we landed I phoned Tanya, our London lawyer, and suggested a night out in the City. I’d missed the ‘champagne bars’ and the understated way the London bankers celebrated finishing a hard day at the office – they may have made or lost millions but you never knew – they all had a good time. No boasting or over-the top gestures – just discreet ordering of bottles of Bolli.
Steve and I managed to reach the City about 6.30pm, which was perfect timing and met Tanya and her para-legal guy, Carl, at a bar not far from St Paul’s. A few gin and tonics (and cigarettes), a quick catch-up on what was happening in London and we were ready to hit the City bars where the champagne would be flowing.
I’d met Carl quite a few times and was very impressed. Para-legals, despite the name, do not combine parachuting with legal work but work in legal departments during their gap-year from university (maybe the name comes from the fact that they ‘parachute’ into legal departments on a short term basis) but I could already see that Carl would be a great addition to any legal department. He was quiet but determined. He was already aware of negotiating positions and the little scams we used to outflank clients and wasn’t too worried about some of the ‘dodgier’ tactics we used to gain the upper hand. He was a good guy.
Once we hit the Bow Wine Vaults and the Bolli was ordered, we settled down to discussing what was next for Daddy. Was he doing anything I should know about? Was he doing anything illegal? And was he seeing any women I knew?
As Tanya and Steve discussed the unlikely, and boring subject of new IT systems for the legal department, Carl and had a chat about his degree and where he hoped to end up in the City.
During this discussion I happened to mention that I was so jealous that he could wear mainly casual clothes to work whilst I had to settle for formal suits, bespoke shirts and silk ties. Perversely, Carl said he couldn’t wait to afford the sort of clothes I wore and as the alcohol was kicking in we stupidly decided to swap clothes.
Without another word, Carl and started stripping off and despite a full bar, nobody seemed to notice that at one stage both Carl and I stood in our underpants whilst we began to dress in each other’s clothes. A few minutes later, I stood at the bar in Chinos, checked shirt and casual, linen jacket whilst, unfortunately, Carl looked decidedly handsome in my Hugo Boss suit, tailored Pink Bros shirt and silk Hermes tie.
Tanya and Steve looked at the ‘cross-dressing’ escapade with some humour but within seconds the atmosphere changed as a guy almost somersaulted across the bar floor with a decidedly angry, Carl in hot pursuit. As the guy rose from the floor, reeling from whatever had knocked him down in the first place, Carl landed another two ‘knockout’ blows on his chin.
To say that Tanya, Steve and myself were amazed was an understatement. Amazingly, very few people in the bar seemed to notice – they continued to drink their Bolli and chat away as if nothing had happened. The next thing I noticed was Steve helping the rather groggy chap to his feet and taking him to the bar where he propped him up and bought him a drink.
Thinking quite selfishly, in case any blood started flowing and my Boss suit was ruined, I quickly changed clothes with Carl and started on the Bolli again.
A minute or so later, Steve was chasing the guy at the bar and all hell broke loose. The bar quickly emptied this time and the barman headed for the further recesses of his domain whilst Steve threatened to flatten the guy who seemed to be upsetting everybody within arms length.
This time I was the peacemaker and dragged the, by now punch drunk miscreant off to the other end of the bar whilst Steve and Carl regained their composure.
I bought the guy a drink (GT I think) and told him to settle down and stop causing trouble and noticed that Tanya and Carl had decided to leave. I figured it wouldn’t be good for their careers if two City lawyers were arrested for GBH or whatever the police, if they ever turned up, would charge us with.
Then I realised what had caused the problem. The guy I was standing with started throwing peanuts at Steve. This apparently, was what had caused the initial rumpus and despite a good thumping and several pieces of advice, he continued doing it.
Steve was a blur as he ran down the side of the bar and threw the guy against the wood lined wall. He drew his fist back and was just about to flatten the guy when I grabbed it. I told Steve that he should go to the other end of the bar and I would talk to this pain in the ass and try and get him to leave.
It appears the guy was Dutch and was working in London. I tried to get him to drink some water and call a cab which might have proved difficult as the bar was down a pedestrian alley, quite a distance from Cheapside.
I thought I was finally getting through to him when he suddenly decided he wanted another fist in the face and started heading for Steve again, calling him a ‘fat bastard’.
This time it was me who snapped. Where the strength came from I have no idea but I picked ‘Dutchy’ up by his lapels and literally slammed him down horizontally on the bar top. I’d completely lost it. I remember
I was ever so tempted to let him have it but then I thought about the mess, my Boss suit and the fact that the place would look like an abattoir if I’d burst the bottle open, so I put it down, let the guy fall off the bar and went back to the other end where Steve was calmly drinking his Bolli.
‘Steve, it’s been about 30 minutes since we started hitting this guy, the barman must’ve called the police by now, I think we’d better move on’, I said.
‘Not before I finish my champers’, was the reply.
No comments:
Post a Comment