But I must say, there were certain lines I would never cross — and still don't. After a 5pm meeting in Central, I was invited along for a few drinks at a new bar in town. It was a classy establishment, not the sort you find along the dreadful Lockhart Road, that’s for sure.
However, I’m not certain I could say the same about the clientele, if you know what I mean. I’d just ordered a whisky and spotted an old friend across the bar. “Hello old boy”, I said. “How’s the wonderful Sophie?” My friend had married an extremely glamourous ABC (American-Born Chinese, not Agricultural Bank of China) when he first arrived in 1975. But as I approached, he looked unusually rattled.
I quickly worked out why. Let us just say that the woman who slunk over and draped herself around his shoulders was certainly not the Sophie that I knew. "Do relax old boy," he said, "it's perfectly normal." And sure enough, looking around I noticed that every man in the room was accompanied by a woman at least 20 years his junior.
There were a good many faces I recognised — not the ladies of the night, you understand, but old cronies from the Street. I scuttled out with a shudder. TaiTai can be tiresome, but at least I know her real name.