Bruce Anderson

From Bordeaux to Nato

An old-school City lunch of fine wine and complex geopolitics

issue 05 November 2016

An aeon ago, when I was first invited to the odd City lunch, there was a standard formula: G&T, white, red, port, brandy, cigars, with stumps drawn at around a Test match tea interval. But there was a problem. By 8 a.m. local time, when Manhattan was champing at the telephone, London would be at lunch. By the time the call was returned, it would be apparent that lunching had taken place. ‘My Dear Cyrus, how nice to hear your voice. Are you planning to cross the big pond? If so, we’ll have a jolly good lunch.’ Cyrus thought to himself: ‘Is that all those Limeys ever do: have lunch?’ Within a few years, post-Big Bang, the Cyruses did cross the big pond, but not to enjoy lunch. There is an assumption, reinforced by priggishness, that the ensuing puritanism has improved the City. Is that necessarily so?

Anyway, there is at least one building where the old rites are still used.

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