Of course, I’ve been reacquainting them with Hong Kong’s premium night drinking spots (though one of my cohort was disproportionately upset on hearing about the demise of Joe Bananas — even though some enterprising folk have managed to get it open again in time for the rugby, it won't be the same).
In true fashion, the best of them will be staying on once the conference ends to watch the Sevens, or the cheerleaders, at least.
And since most of them still spend their days plugging away in front of a Bloomberg screen for some once-great financial institution, we’ll be enjoying plenty of hospitality from the VIP boxes without the need to squeeze with the lost souls in the South Stand.
One junior syndicate guy who tagged along with us for a night out at Duddell’s was begging us to bring him along, as the tike had missed out on a ticket. But the thought of babysitting a grown man in a rubber duck outfit proved too much and he was sent packing.
See you at the Sevens (but don’t worry — your secrets with be safe with me).