Old Stockbrokers Never Die . . .

The London Paper  –  3 Sept 2007

I’ve seen some horrifically embarrassing things in my time but watching a corpulent 50 year old degenerate attired in an appalling sports jacket trying to pull a hot 25 year old Latvian chick at a trendy night club has got to be up there with the best of them. This experience made that of watching Mick Fleetwood and Samantha Fox presenting the Brits seem like a veritably pleasant way of spending one’s time. Compared to this excruciating ordeal I would gladly watch Halle Berry’s tearful Oscar acceptance speech on loop for eternity.

The evening began with around fifteen of us at a leaving drink in a local City boozer. At around closing time, some clown upped the ante by suggesting that a few of us head west. I clearly would never have agreed to this but I was only 24 hours away from a hard-earned holiday and I was simply shooting my bolt a little early – something I’m pleased to say has been a rarity since my schooldays.

In the taxi over to Soho I began to have major second thoughts but by then it was too late. It was the recently divorced randy old goat in the other taxi I had particular concerns about and it was he whose behaviour later that night would be a source of such squirmtastic horror. We managed to get into some dreadful club called Tantra by promising to buy a two litre bottle of vodka with mixers for the bargain price of £400 and it was there that the fun began. Well fun, if you can call five rat-arsed buffoons dancing to cheesy R&B like embarrassing uncles at a wedding, ‘fun’.

There’s something about randy successful middle-aged stockbrokers that would be comical if it wasn’t so tragic. When said Latvian babe approached our group with a couple of friends you didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to work out that she was simply after free booze. This arrangement was Coolio Iglesias with us all but horny goat had other ideas. After a brief chat and some appalling dancing, I suddenly saw her twist her face around to avoid a clumsy attempt at a snog from my deluded colleague. At that point I made my excuses and left – feeling somehow violated.

There’s no fool like an old fool and there’s no old fool like an old foolish stockbroker. That my 50 year old colleague mistook this young lady’s flirtation for the genuine possibility of sex shows the delusion that only lots of wedge and a successful career can explain.

Inquisitive readers may wonder why I found this whole experience so hideous. It’s simple – I saw what I could become in 20 years time. On the way home in a taxi I promised myself that I would find a wife and get out of this industry soon or risk looking up one day and seeing in the mirror a fat, gurning idiot dancing like my granddad on Ketamine making moves on girls half my age … and even in City circles that is never a good look.

Thoughts ?

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