Tulkinghorn is finding it very difficult to keep up with the times these days. Recently he was invited to a party at Gibson Dunn & Crutcher, some upstart Yank firm that has recently moved to rather swanky new premises near Temple.
Splendid, he thought, a chance to stand around with a glass of warm Chardonnay catching up on the latest tax reforms with lawyers whose idea of a good time is reading the All England Law Reports.
Perchance to get the usual goodie bag at the end of the evening with pencil and firm brochure – you know, the sort telling how Evill Rackett & Conn are the most modern and yet highly competent law firm in the City.
But it was on arrival that Tulkinghorn realised he had been most greviously mistaken. In the foyer was a near-naked man wearing a hammock and a bikini enclosed in a transparent ball, while mingling with the guests were others dressed in straitjackets, Regency costume or, in a couple of cases, merely a tea towel.
For one awful moment Tulkinghorn thought he'd taken his charming female colleagues from The Lawyer to his Soho club by accident.