Crying down to Rio

The corporate surroundings of the 12th floor of an office block is an unlikely venue in which to recreate the throbbing rhythms of the world’s most famous street party.

A sentiment which doubtless the attendees of the Lovells Real Estate in Rio Party shared. Intrigued, Tulkinghorn dispatched one of his tireless scribes to observe the action.

The hack reported that the venue was a room tarted up with a few luminous feathers and some bunting rescued from a village fete to lend the occasion a bit of Latin American zing.

That’s not forgetting the efforts of the band shoved into the corner behind the slide projector, belting out their best Mexican tunes in the manner of Latin rock pioneer Santana.

Not that many of the guests probably noticed the incongruity of the choice of music. Most were standing with their backs to the band, knocking back the caipirinhas flavoured with that famous tropical fruit, the raspberry, hoping and praying that the six-person conga snaking its way through the gathering wouldn’t call upon them to rehash those wedding reception dance moves.

At least the events team didn’t go as far as last year’s Moroccan party, when certain representatives of the law firm were obliged to wear fezzes. If there’s one thing Tulkinghorn can’t abide, it is fancy dress headwear.