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I was acting for a national charity whose local Chairman
was a military man of considerable presence, used to having things done his
way. We were successful in obtaining planning consent for a thirty thousand
square feet office building on the charity's land, where it was desired to locate
the regional headquarters. Thirty thousand square feet was far in excess of
what was needed and the hope was that the charity could develop the site, take
a small areathemselves and lease the remainder to provide a regular income.
There was a condition to the planning consent, limiting occupation to a locally
connected business; this made the prospects of finding a tenant pretty remote.
In seeking a release from the condition we arranged a meeting with the Department
of the Environment at Queen Anne's Gate, between the Colonel and myself on one
hand and Mr Jones of the Department on the other. On arriving at the security
desk we were asked our business with Mr Jones. The clerk was visible shaken
at the shouted response from the Colonel 'assassination'. The meeting got nowhere
and I had to come to Mr Jones defence, since he was simple going by the book.
The Colonel was fuming in the lift as we descended. A few days later I had a
telephone call from the department from Mr Jones superior "we've been thinking
about your meeting last week with Mr Jones, would it be in order to write to
you agreeing the relaxation you seek?" The Chairman had got hold of somebody
and put pressure to bear politically. All for a worthy cause in this instance.
As the years progressed I became less wild at Christmas parties, but other younger souls emerged to carry on the tradition. One such was Dave Allen and, quite late, it was decided to descend on the party of Wilkins & Son, esteemed lawyers in Aylesbury, whose party started four hours after ours. The extremely professional senior partner Jim Stevens, enquired of me if I had any knowledge of the gatecrasher who had just come through the door wearing a blue toilet seat round his neck. I made a rapid decision to deny any knowledge of my number one sales negotiator.