黑洞社区

鈥淲ell,鈥� he says, gruffly, 鈥渢he head bit makes a really comfy pillow, so when I slept in the office I used that. But in the morning the cleaner came in and she got the shock of her life when Scooby Doo stood up.鈥�

Then there鈥檚 the talk of Ned Kelly, an explanation of why the London fit-out firm is named after Cameron Diaz (see last week鈥檚 Hansom) and lots of 鈥測ou can鈥檛 print that鈥� and 鈥渄on鈥檛 write that鈥�. And all the while the drinks keep coming (Cameron Black takes over the burden when 黑洞社区鈥檚 expenses alarm wails) and empty glasses keep getting shipped out.

So who is this company? Rupert Shaw and Lord Black started it 11 years ago. But Lord Black isn鈥檛 really a Lord - he鈥檚 Simon, and he got the nickname because he has a throaty upper-class voice (with a touch of Kenneth Williams) and because he went to a private school.

Rupert鈥檚 the rougher of the pair - softer pronunciation, less refined - from Cheshire. He takes some stick for his flashy style and for the chain he鈥檚 wearing, but deflects it to Jabba the Hut (aka the Fat Controller, aka Bob). Bob has a strong Scottish accent, even though he only lived there for six years as a child.

鈥淗is brother speaks like a pure cockney,鈥� Stuart remarks.

And then there鈥檚 Greg. Greg is a sleeves-rolled-up Aussie. He doesn鈥檛 know what kind of car he drives, but he knows about sport (and straight bats the constant Aussie-baiting). Tonight he reveals he鈥檚 a member of the exclusive MCC. 鈥淏ut you鈥檙e an Aussie!鈥� shrieks Lord Black.

Greg got his membership because he鈥檚 in the equally exclusive Melbourne Cricket Club, which has some sort of reciprocal arrangement.

Lord Black is apoplectic. There he is, a man with the right accent, expensive education and a directorship, and he鈥檚 on the Marylebone waiting list. He鈥檚 one of those cowed, meek, please-let-me-in non-members, slowly ticking off the decades before he can become a part of it. And here鈥檚 Greg, whose wages he pays - who works for him! - already a member! Outrageous!

鈥淵ou鈥檙e not even from here!鈥� screams Lord Black.

But by then the sambuca has started to do its work. And three girls who were on the neighbouring table mysteriously disappear while I get drinks (blame for their disappearance gets directed around the table). Then Alison reveals she鈥檚 training to be an osteopath, so we all get massages until the bell goes.

Eventually everyone pulls themselves together, groggily recalling an early morning tender deadline. In the haze I forget to ask the most important question: will Stuart be sleeping in the Scooby Doo outfit tonight?