Last month, I was invited to a former banker colleague’s grandiose end to his six year stint in Hong Kong. The goodbye party lived up to his reputation as the city’s most notorious partygoer, reflecting his haute cuisine tastes and the extensive network he had built up in the concrete jungle.
His friends and colleagues boarded a mega-yacht that was filled with caviar-topped oysters and turbot with white truffle. My favourite part was the selection of fine Cuban cigars and a bar featuring handpicked whiskies from around the globe.
But after just one month in London, the poor chap found out that his bosses had decided to relocate him back to Hong Kong. With all the fallout from the Greece crisis, there was little for him to do apart from twiddle his thumbs. To his great disappointment — and embarrassment — he cancelled his welcoming party in the new city and booked his flight back.