Langans Brasserie & My Parents

‘What’s is for Supper?’

The thing about Interior Design it can be subliminal… What makes a vibe in a room? Sometimes it can be the décor .. And the rest of the activity bonces from that kinetic spring board… Other times is about the ambience, the aura of a place and where it takes you whilst you are there…Sometimes there is just simply magic in a space… But mostly it is about the people in that interior space that makes the rest of the room worth taking into consideration … And Langans had it in all aspects …

I couldn’t sleep last night, so as ever I continued to stroll through the back streets of my memories and was amused when I ventured upon the mid 1980’s to 1990’s and my family’s relationship with Langan’s Brasserie, Stratton Street, Mayfair, London…

Back in the day Langan’s Brasserie, if you don’t already know it, was a very trendy place to be seen, set up by Peter Langan, a notorious Irish entrepreneur with an eye for the style of the moment and a reputation for his drinking exploits; his partners in this restaurant were Sir Michael Caine, him of the acting fame and Richard Shepherd a renowned British Chef. Langan’s opened in 1976. A big part of the special ambience of Langan’s was created by Peter Langan, he knew that people expected a show and he was prepared to give it to them drunk or sober.. The thing is that sometimes the performance takes over, his antics were legendary….

Langan’s is based on a French restaurant style and quickly became hugely successful, these days we have chains based on a similar basis such as Café Rouge and Cote. The interior design was based around an open plan room with round tables each covered with two white table clothes thrown over them at different angles, the idea being that when you made a mess of the top layer, this would be removed providing a clean one underneath! French practicality and style genius at its best! Placed around the tables sat square and oval backed chairs upholstered in red and greenish velvet, the fabric, by the time I went there, had taken on more of a shabby chic look, which added to the style of this more laid back approach to catering. The wooden floor boards had the essential worn look of a well frequented French Café. The walls were decorated with clusters of classic brass French swan neck lamps with assorted glass shades dotted about on the saffron coloured walls. Interspersed by some very expensive Fine Art some painted by the artists of the moment such as Freud and Bacon, who apparently painted in lieu of good Brasserie grub. David Hockney designed the menu, which remains very similar to this day..

So to the grub, Langan’s served what is termed British nursery style food, such as Banger’s and Mash and Fish Pie along with French classics such as Moules Marineirs and Escargots a la Bourguiguonne or if you prefer Snails in Garlic Butter. The bar was cunningly situated by the front entrance, a location questioned by Sir Caine as, in his opinion, it would inevitably create a bottle neck as people entered the establishment; Peter Langan, with his extensive knowledge of the restaurant trade knew that there was nothing better than making a place look busy, thus making it look attractive to the passing clientele. Another ingenious trick used in the interior design by Peter was to orientate the tables in such a way as to make the diners as visible as possible making sure that everyone at each table could be viewed by the other dinners, creating Theatrical magic, this worked well when hosting the myriad of celebrity diners who frequented the restaurant. There was however an upstairs for guest who may have wanted a little more privacy and less of being ogled at as the celebrity’s intrigue. But to be truthful the only reason for going to Langan’s was to be part of the wealthy celebrity hubbub, to see and to be seen, like most of these celebrity haunts. Just great fun…

This haunt was a must visit for my mother being the ultimate social butterfly and having read about Langan’s Brasserie in a magazine and hearing all about it from her two favourite multimillionaire gay friends Alan and Ray. Who were already regular clients, this restaurant suited them particularly well as they liked the simpler style of cuisine on offer here. It was not uncommon for Alan to supply a restaurant with his favourite delicacy, a tin of corned beef in preference to anything on the restaurant menu. Alan and Ray had never ventured to far from their comfort cuisine from their uncomplicated northern roots, somethings money does not change. My mother, the doyenne of all social affairs, was particularly good at organising Alan and Ray’s collective social events and got straight into organising a visit.

One of the other reasons this restaurant was right up my mother’s‘alley’, was because of the abundance of celebs and the relaxed attitude of this eating house to its clientele’s more extreme behaviour. For a time it even took over from her other more formal favourite stomping-grounds of the moment, such as Le Caprice and l’Escargot. The latter of which, became a regular haunt of her husband’s, Trevor with his secretary, much to the irritation of my mother. But that is another story.

My mother, Alan, Ray were mostly the central hub of a group of friends and colleagues, with various other bit players who would join them from time to time for the typical long lunches and revelry that was part of Langan’s ethos. It was not unusual for the restaurant to have very inebriated lunch guest still seated and living it large with a table cluttered with bottles of booze late into the afternoon, not to mention on occasions Peter Langan himself sleeping off a lunchtime bender under one of the tables.Indeed Peter Langan was renowned for his drunken antics including crawling around on the floor biting women diner’s ankles, or insulting one of the celebrity guest, when it took his fancy. All this went on whilst the long suffering staff attempted to lay tables around the inebriates for the evening service. So in short this was the perfect place for the fun of the mid 1980’s, non-PC lifestyle of the moment, which my mother loved... She bloomed and sparkled…

Trevor, who was in fact a business colleague of Alan was also invited to some of these gatherings, despite my parents outlandish relationship which was one of either open hostility toward each other or just the simmering undertones;depending on what had gone on during the previous week between them, it was never an easy fit! Alan a fan of my mother delighted in stirring the pot, which only added to the open antagonism. At other times Trevor and Alan would mostly be trying to set up deals with each other and other members of the cartel, this was after all the 1980, and everyone was trying to do the Michael Douglas, Wall Street deal ….This period was Money, money, money… And this crowd had it in abundance or so they lead each other to believe. There were always deals going on for big money, each member pretending to be the others best friend, whilst financially stabbing the other in the back in the final pay out. This consortium had the vital link to Jersey and other off shore islands, a loop hole that these days the government has mostly ‘corked’…. My mother delighted in it all floating around the table looking like Joan Collins from Dynasty. It was a colourful time.

Peter Langan..

The more familiar the crowd became with Langan’s and the staff the more drunk and wild they got, my mother had the most annoying habit of asking each and every staff member their name, mostly young men and then would become overly familiar with them as the wine surged through her veins… Mum loves to be in the know, flirting with them, as you might imagine being her daughter I found it excruciating, albeit I should have been used to it by now!… However inadvertent this fliting may have been it was a trade mark of my mother that was bound to frankly, piss Trevor off! She would pass it off as ‘social networking’ to get the best service for the table as a whole and to be fair it most probably worked.. To be honest any male between 8 and 80 was on her radar, mum just loved the attention! Usually, toward the end of the meal they would all top up their luncheon drinks with the ‘stickie’s otherwise known as the death nail liqueurs. Which rendered most incapable…

On one beautiful summer day, the entire cohort of characters were due to meet at Langan’s for the annual general meeting of one-upmanship and skulduggery. The event to be hosted ‘mostly’ by Trevor and his gluttonous Jersey based lifelong friend and lawyer Martin, Martin had made his notorious name by being involved with various scams of the 60, 70 and 80’s, not least the Channel 5 perfume fraud, all of which, netted Martin £millions. My beautiful mother being the ultimate party girl had arrived early on that day, with little table gifts for the wives and girlfriends attending the luncheon, a little twist that she liked to do. She had just purchased them on her way to the Brassiere from the renowned, Butler & Wilson costume jewellery shop in South Molton Street. On arrival at Langan’s she was wearing a couple of her purchases, huge dangly earrings and matching diamanté spider broach on her new outfit, every attention to detail as ever. Whilst decorating the table adding the extras and chatting to the staff, my mother glanced up at the entourage of people arriving, who were relatively quickly hustled up the stairs, I have to tell you my mother never misses a trick, her eyes were fixed on the crowd ascending the stairs, she was delighted when she recognised two of the party, Mick Jagger and what would appear to be Ronnie Wood amongst others. Never one to miss a social experience… She shot up the stairs like gazelle after them, slowing at the top landing with stylish aplomb and hovered, checking out the ‘competition’… Having evaluated the opposition, she scooted down the stairs and called the manager over to tell him that she had decided that her table party would be better placed upstairs. Ever eager, well at least to her face to please a regular client, the manager agreed to see what he could do to accommodate her wishes.

Langans Management Team ..

The door opened and closed and my mother craned her head to see who was arriving, as luck would have it .. Michael Caine and what would appear to be Michael Winner entered nonchalantly into the house.. And walked over to a table close to the one my mother had been recently decorating… A dilemma! Upstairs with the rock and roll stars, possible at a table not quite close enough to properly eaves drop or mingle. Or nestled downstairs with a celebrated English legend and actor and his friends which she could observe… Decision made... She called to the manager ‘no, no leave everything as it is, thank you’.. The ever obliging staff, started to relay the table…

As the friends and associates arrived, meeting each other with the usual bonhomie and excited chat, courtesies and all social niceties prevailed. The best wines were being ordered by the double bottles and the gathering was under starters orders. Another intrigue, Trevor was never allowed to order the wine on these occasions as he would just order the house wine and why not, Trevor could never be considered a wine connoisseur, whilst Martin was a wine snob, this was all about polishing egos and Martin’s ego, much like his personality….Was voluminous. Martin a big man with a square jaw, sausage shaped lips that moved at odds with what he was saying, sometimes he suffered with a severe case of halitosis.. Martin liked to place himself opposite mirrors or shinny surfaces so that he could watch and admire himself, which he did quite unabashed. Martin’s third wife was with him on this occasion, as opposed to one of his girlfriends; she was a bright woman of great humour, strength and mischievous intent, Angela was usually subject to Trevor’s misogynistic comments…Mostly she handled the situation well, until Trevor mentioned her weight, knowing it was her weak point, like most women this is a sensitive subject and in the circumstances given Trevor’s portly stature, it was really pot, kettle, black! Angela tolerated him but loathed him in equal measures, which always became apparent once she started on the stickie’s. So this was going to be another illuminating occasion in the fun surroundings of Langan’s..

Ed and Janet joined the entourage, although not usually one of the founding members of this merry band. Ed a very large black man with a lascivious nature, seemed to appear metaphorically speaking from the shadows, no one was really sure what business he was involved in; what we did know, was he was involved in gunrunning and diamonds, these days it all seems a bit far fetched but that was the 1980’s/90’s for you! Once in Barbados when we were all out in another restaurant, my mother took her camera out to take some pictures of the assembled table and I have never seen so many men move so quickly to duck out of the way of the camera lens. She was politely told never to take photos of ‘this’ company again by Martin! Give Ed a few bottles of drink and he became the hulk and completely uncontrollable. Janet on the other hand who had met Ed on a Concord flight, when she was an air hostess, was timid and well bred, but always rather sad, she had “managed” to have two children with Ed, I say managed because he was not happy about their appearance, but had finally accepted them. A further bone of contention between them was that he would not leave his wife and marry Janet, which obviously made things a little complicated, there was a lot of sadness in her eyes as they followed Ed’s every word and move around the table.

Alan was the money maker in the relationship with the younger Ray who he indulged. He had made his money in ‘Thermolite’ back in the day and Ray had been one of the lorry drivers working for the firm. They were both northerners from a working class background and made no bones about the fact that they were in a long standing gay relationship, which considering the period was very forward thinking bearing in mind some of the feelings of the time depending on who you spoke to. Alan always had the beady eye to the chance, he was an older version of how I imagine Oscar Wilde would have looked had he lived a longer life. Alan was full of contradiction and could be extremely vicious. But mostly before he drank too much he was the epitome of conviviality wanting to be the centre of controlled charm. With Alan’s business acumen and skill he had transformed their lives to one of monstrous wealth. Ray had spent his adult life following the bountiful Alan from board meeting to board meeting, sitting in hospitality of some description drinking.. Being board, Alan was an alcoholic and Ray was double.. So quite often when you met up with them Ray was still drunk from the night before, but what struck me about Ray is that he always seemed to give the appearance of just emerging freshly scrubbed from the shower and would break the ozone level with the copious amounts of cologne he had on… But wow, to say that they looked out for my mother would be an understatement and I respected them for that… And so the luncheon rolled on …

Food was now discarded and more wine and stickie’s were being consumed and the conversation was loud, very loud… Some people were smoking cigarettes but the men were smoking the expensive cigars provided by Langan’s. Martin was making eyes at himself in the mirror turning his head slightly from side to side allowing the smoke to tumble out of his engorged rubber lips. Nobody could love themselves more than he did.. He was immune to the conversation going on around him, completely consumed by his own image and self-importance. The now drunk table had descended into nowhere land, Ray was wearing the designer earrings given to the other ladies as gifts by my mother as if they were cheap cracker versions of jewellery. It was evident that my mother was not amused. There was now a general assent and decent of the stairs by various party members going to use the toilets, which was a masterclass in trying to look sober, sexy and elegant all at the same time. Ray who was now so drunk was scaling the stairs on his hands and knees, none of the staff seemed to be too worried as Ray made it to the top of the stairs and was crawling along the floor in the direction of the toilets… Sometime later Janet descended the stairs, completely normally as she had not drunk to the excesses of some of the others. She informed the table that Ray had been sick into the plant display and was currently laying prostrate next to it on the rug, unconscious… My mother who had also not drunk the same as the rest … Quietly took to her feet and walked up the stairs in the manner of a screen siren on a Fred Astaire film…. Smiling as she went..

Various members of staff were now going up and down the stairs as discreetly as possible with various cleaning equipment, I had no doubt my mother was up there trying to wake Ray and bring him round, she was a dab hand at dealing with situations like this with Alan and Ray. Trevor not a seasoned drinker and clearly wanting out of what might be a scene was now panicking, clearly he wanted to make his exit stage left, as quickly as possible… He was flapping to get the bill and he had taken his propelling pencil out which in real terms meant that he was now carving up the bill for payment amongst his revelling pals. Alan was now vaguely aware that his pal Ray had caused a distraction upstairs was doing as he always did, digging into his pocket and peeling off notes from a large wad of cash that he always kept to hand for moments like this… Alan always clocked a waiter that he made a fuss over whilst at any establishment, giving them a large gratuity before the meal had even got underway. This ensured that if he or Ray got blind drunk then he would have an ally… I had seen this tactic many times before.. He waved the waiter over and placed another amount of scrolled notes in his hand and mumbled something to him… And the waiter disappeared presumably to deal with Ray’s fallout.. Literally.

Langans Brasserie …

Eventually my mother descended the stairs, smiling and looking glamorous as ever, clearly she had organised the staff to deal with the ‘incident’ upstairs.. Which to be fair they were very good at… Trevor was itching to get out, he was squirming there was no way he wanted to be part of this scene, it had all gone too far, as it inevitably always did.. Figures were banded around the table and payments were being quickly made.. Martin was forced to stop looking at himself in the mirror and make his payment, Angela, his wife, having sustained a number of savage verbal blows from Trevor’s had over indulged herself in the stickie’s and was now slowly sliding off her chair, red lipstick smudged across her mouth… Ed, now standing, eyes overtly large was nervous looking in all directions as if he was under siege. He was ready for a quick getaway, cradled in his arm was a full bottle of what looked like Brandy, Janet was making mewing comments in an effort to make this very large man sit down but it was to no avail.. Alan, despite being very inebriated was now unsteadily on his feet… There was a general alcoholic paranoia in the air.. If I had the sense of humour I have now I would have shouted HMR&C…And watched the fallout.. And I don’t just mean from our table! But I did not have to…

At the top of the stairs appeared a now upright Ray with Alan’s paid up waiter, standing to the left of him in support. Rather brilliantly, Ray’s ears were still sparkling as he was still wearing the diamanté earrings, Ray smiled down in the general direction of the table, he was not looking too bad under the circumstances, he was talking loudly but no one understood what he was saying, this personal language was known affectionately to the group as ‘Raymonees’. As my eyes looked at up at him, I turned my head toward the now concerned polarised men of the group all looking up at Ray as if waiting for divine intervention, there was a sort of sobriety momentarily in the moment a stopping of time. Ray slowly stepped down the stairs as if preforming a stage appearance aided by his waiter. As he reached the bottom few stairs the waiter lost or released his hold. As if in slow motion, Ray lurched forward and to the right taking the last few steps at speed, he took a right about turn that propelled him full on into the mirror at the bottom of the stairs.. There was a consecutive intake of breath…

Ray had effectively face-kissed the mirror at speed, the vision took on a Tom & Jerry animated theme. Ray remained sort of stuck to the mirror for a moment or two as it slowly but spectacularly cracked in shards of glass around his body and then Ray legs slowly gave away and buckled underneath him and he peeled away from the surface like a banana that had been thrown at a window and could no longer retain the hold and dropped to the ground. The glass mirrored exploded and broke free from its frame into a mass of individual lethal shards of glass, raining down on their aggressor like a swarm of bees….

When this horror film spectacle came to an end it was clear that Ray was alive but he was injured and covered in blood, in irritation Ray let out a comment although in ‘Raymonees’, loosely translated as “Fuck it”!... Now this is the thing … In any other normal world the men at our table should have run to help and deal with the situation… They did run … But not in Ray’s direction … Trevor, Alan and Ed stampede for the exit in what was clearly blind panic.. Fighting each other to get out of the door like a scene from the Keystone Cops, bodily pushing each other out of the way. Ed being the larger won the fight and was propelled onto the streets still holding onto the bottle of Brandy, closely followed by Alan… And Trevor expelled himself like a bullet after them… There was a slow moving bus crawling down Stratton Street, Ed jumped on it pulling a very unsteady Alan on board after him, Trevor presumably in his blind terror, pushed the portly Alan further on the bus and jumped on behind him.. All three were last seen disappearing off up the Stratton Street toward Piccadilly. Martin pulled his drunken wife off her seat and frog marched her out of the door in haste after the other men and were off up the street, Martin hailed a taxi and bundled his wife unceremoniously into the cab.

What happened to Ray, well an ambulance was called and he was dispatched to hospital with my mother where he received a large number of stitches to his face and shoulder.

Sometime after this incident by way of compensation from his ‘beloved’, Alan bought Ray a top of the range Bentley. Which on first outing Ray threw up all over the back seat …

I would like to tell you that they were all too shame faced to EVER go back to Langan’s ever again, but this was not the case! There was one other notable incident..

Sometime in the 1990’s, when my parent’s already hostile relationship had become more antagonistic, they were now mainly living apart except for any social events which Trevor may privately organise, thinking that his wife would not find out about, my mother like a detective would always know about a social event and would turn up unannounced and uninvited, putting Trevor on the back foot.. Particularly as Trevor’s secretary usually was invited! Now, my mother’s Birthday was on the horizon and this always meant a family fallout was guaranteed. We, her children and our respective partners had decided on doing our own thing for my mother’s birthday this year in the vain hope of avoiding another family drama. So when we got a letter from Alan suggesting a party at Langan’s we politely and quickly declined. Trevor was equally invited to the Langan’s bash and was also invited to pay toward this extravaganza on his wife’s behalf… Alan knowing full well that their relationship was on thin ice…

Trevor, who had no intention on this planet of attending another farcical alcoholic shindig with the crowd at Langan’s, with his wife at centre stage, also declined.. That should have been an end to it..

The grand birthday bash a table of 20 plus close friends of this period who were shipped in from all over to celebrate.. Alan had decided to kindly pay the bill and no expense was spared.. My mother was let in on the act and she delighted in receiving a budget for the table decorations and party bling.. The guests arrived and by all accounts the party was going great guns and my mother was as ever the centre of attention and adoration … As the party got underway, my mother made her way to the toilet when she exited she came across the charismatic Chris Evans, who was the embodiment of the 1990’s celebrity television and radio face. He had obviously become aware of the noisy party and kindly given her a kiss on each cheek wishing her a happy birthday… He asked if she would like to play a trick on her guest suggesting that when she sat back at her table he would come over, pretending to know her of old and embrace her.. Just to impress her friends … This was just up my mother’s street… And of course amused the relaxed assembled crowd..

Well as they say … Would you Adam & Eve it! Sometime prior to the attendees of the party arriving, Trevor strolled into Langan’s for his prearranged business meeting and was shown to his table downstairs where he waited for his guest, despite having been given the date and the location of his wife’s party some months earlier, it had clearly slipped his mind or he had dismissed it, most probably both. This is typical of Trevor mercurial style, when I was a child I likened him to the cartoon character Mr Magoo a wealthy short, stout bald man who suffers with short-sightedness and as a result gets into a series of comical situations, this is compounded by his stubborn refusal to admit there may be a problem in the first place!However, through uncanny streaks of luck, the situation always seems to work itself out for Magoo, leaving him no worse than before. Classic Trevor! Trevor is not near-sighted he is more, ‘short sighted’ of the potential consequence of any of his actions…

And so the theatre at Langan’s continues! Puffing on his cigar and sipping his house wine from the sanctuary of the his table.. Trevor was quietly pondering on the up and coming business luncheon. Suddenly he was pulled back to reality from his scheming; by something that caught his eye by the bar, standing there were a number of people he knew, which immediately alarmed him. He slid behind the pillar so that he would not be noticed and observed from what he considered was a safe place.. More people known to him arrived and they were all embracing each other in an excited manner. He pulled back behind the pillar again and tried to make sense of it, his nerves were peaked as he had no intention of letting on that he was in the building. Puffing more deeply on his cigar and taking a large swig of wine.. He looked round again and in walked Martin and Angela with Ed and Janet… “Curiouser and Curiouser thought Trevor”… As yet the preverbal ‘penny had not dropped’!… Panic was now setting in.… The door opened again and in walked his business companion, spotting Trevor he waving effusively in Trevor’s direction. Trevor quickly jerked far back behind the column, knocked over his wine breaking the glass and splashing the contents up the wall onto Langan’s renowned artwork.. Staff hearing the recognisable noise immediately made their way attentively to the table to deal with the situation, inviting Trevor to stand up so that they could wipe down the lap of his light suit now puddled in wine in the crutch area.

Trevor did as he was asked and stood, shaking his business companion hand and turning his back to the party crowd at the bar so as not to be noticed. Glancing furtively over his shoulder at the party of people he could see that they were making their way to their table.. Trevor took his chance he informed the staff that he no longer wanted to sit downstairs after all, he wanted to have a table upstairs immediately. The ever accommodating Langan’s staff agreed and requested that Trevor and his guest follow the waiter upstairs... The staff member led the way through the other dinners tables toward the stairs, Trevor pushed his lunch guest first and followed conspiratorially behind holding a napkin over his groin in an attempt to hide the damp patch and not to put the other dinners off their meal, in case they thought he had wet himself.…

Half way across the floor disaster struck my mother walked through the door with Alan and Ray… Trevor the least subtle person in the world, did an about turn and charged back to the table, mumbling that he had forgotten something, on arriving back at the table he threw himself back behind the column onto the chair; peeking out at the understandable confusion on the waiter and business colleague face, Trevor gesticulated to them and waving them on upstairs..And they duly complied... Now all Trevor had to do was to get himself upstairs and keep out of view.. Red and sweating.. The penny finally dropped… It was his wife’s birthday party!! Hearing much applause to the arrival of the birthday girl… He took his chances ducked out from the table and hotfooted it up the stairs clutching a serviette to his scrotum…..

It was no good the food sat half eaten and cold in front of Trevor, he could not concentrate, on his business meeting; he could hear shrieks of laughter from downstairs from voices he could recognise.. Trevor made his excuses and got up from the table leaving his companion with his half-finished food, and made his way to the toilets were he hid until his guest had left… Thereafter Trevor loitered around the toilet and upper floor areas. One down twenty odd to go… Most normal people would just front it out and leave the premises, not Trevor that is just not his “style” He was plotting his dramatic escape..…

Whilst Trevor was loitering around at the top of the stairs. Various members of the party passed him to use the facilities whilst he feigned interest in the artwork on the walls, by standing to close to it and showing them only his back. He came up with the genius plan of opening one of the windows, in a quiet moment when there were no clients or staff around and escaping across the outside of the building via the fire escape…. Finally he released the latch on the window and started to push the stiff window open… Before he could raise a leg to get out of the window …A very loud alarm went off through the Brasserie, alerting the staff that there was a potential runner. Staff arrived from all directions to capture the potential culprit.… Only to find it was a very red faced Trevor… Who explained that he was feeling too hot and needed fresh air.. All was forgiven and the window was closed… There was no immediate escape… So Trevor continued to sit around upstairs and made a more forensic investigation into the wall art to pass the time as the afternoon wore on..

Finally he could stand it no longer he decided he was going to take the plunge, to walk down the stairs and leave Langan’s via the front door!.. He had based this decision on the law of averages that my mother’s birthday party guests would by now be too inebriated and the party would be in such full swing that he could just escape via the front door like normal clientele with no one noticing him, particularly if he moved at speed. In my opinion this was the flaw in his otherwise well thought out plan. I mean who sprints through a laid back restaurant like Langan’s like an Olympic runner with a bad stain on the front of his trousers?

Trevor picked his moment and shot down the stairs at break necked speed, Trevor is no light weight, so it was quite a sight for the dinners to see.. And people looked up at the stampeding noise. Trevor had not banked on the restaurant downstairs being quite so busy, which meant that he had to adopt a slalom ski style type of manoeuvre around the tables, chairs and clientele. Finding this route blocked he back doubled and attempted to move in another direction as people out of courtesy were shunting their chairs tightly under the table in order to try and let what looked like a man in panic pass.. Presumably they thought the poor man had got quite a serious problem due to the state of his trousers and were therefore in some sympathy with him..

Then mid blind panic, he heard my mother’s voice calling… ‘Trevor, Trev over here’…It was all in vain …To late …He shrugged his shoulders turned, composed himself as much as he could.. And made his way to the assembled table.. My mother and her friends had assumed that he had arrived to surprise her and he adopted the same lie.. He had no choice but to order a number of large bottles of the best Champagne and play along. My mother having spotted the stain on Trevor’s groin, tried to secretly bring it to Trevor’s attention by pointing at it and gesticulating that Trevor should pull his shirt out to cover the discoloration in the material. Which Trevor ignored. Having made the attempt to make merry with some of these people, he made his excuses for the second time this lunchtime and handed over a wodge of cash to Alan toward the party costs… He waved goodbye to all, after participating in a number verses of Happy Birthday to my mother and left as quickly as he could…Taking a taxi straight back to his office…

Some hours later the receptionist at Trevor’s office called up to his office, where he was sitting in a meeting with his secretary, “Mr Wynne-Jones, there is a call from Langan’s will you take it?” Somewhat bemused and concerned that he might be called back to the revelry and further alarmed that his secretary would think that it might have been having luch with his wife, he took the call from another room. “Yes”… “Mr Wynne-Jones this is Langan’s Brasserie, you have left without paying your bill, please may I take details of you credit card.” … You could not write it … Except I have…

You could only liken this adventure to Trevor taking his two alcoholic elderly Geordie aunts to Claridges, London for high tea. Sometime later he received a phone call to his office from the Matradee asking Trevor if his aunts wished to return the two trademarked ashtrays to the hotel or if he would prefer the cost to be added to his monthly bill …

You see, to me there is interior design that surrounds every story …. And Langan’s and its style added to this one …

If you enjoy this story about my life I will keep you briefed on the ones to come …