Sam Shaw is a reporter on Money Marketing
Having recovered from a bout of laryngitis, I was hugely relieved to find my voice return eventually. My antibiotics kickstarted an unintentional dryout but I have decided to keep going (yes, hilarious, I know. Mute and then sober. Who’d have ever thunk it?) for a while longer.
So, with all my faculties in tow, I return to work for a lunch with that goldmine of investment knowledge that is Richard Eats and his Cofunds peer Stephen Mohan at the City fish haven Gow’s. We went over the state of UK platforms and agreed that we all eagerly (ahem) await the retail distribution review and its expected impact. The hottest topic we touched on, though, was the spinach bubble and squeak, but that is another story.
Annie Shaw is a freelance financial journalist
Seen at pre-theatre prandials at Christopher’s in Covent Garden on one of his first outings since joining the Halifax press office after leaving Norwich Union was the petit puffmeister David Gwyer. He was standing in for Robbie Williams lookalike Paul Fincham, who was unable to attend the press boondoggle expedition to see The History Boys.
By happy chance, all Halifax’s guests were female and Gwyer was shoehorned between two of financial publishing’s loveliest. Said a triumphant Gwyer: “It just goes to prove it is the short, bald guy that gets the girls.”
With Google as their friend, we could not help thinking Liverpool Victoria might have scored an own goal with the tricksy new rebranding LV=. The Consumers Association similarly disappeared from the search engines once it renamed itself Which?
Esther Shaw is deputy personal finance editor at the Independent on Sunday
What better way to welcome in spring than lunching at the Oxo Tower with Chase de Vere Mortgage Management’s Nick Gardner. Although his tan has faded, he at least wore clothes after recently appearing in women’s glossy Cosmo wearing nothing at all.
Lunch with the mortgage-loving centrefold preceded cocktails at the Savoy. I am pleased to have been allowed readmission after getting thrown out earlier this year for attempting to play the piano under the influence.
Elsewhere this week, I joined London and Country’s pocket-sized Messrs Hollingworth and Cotton – resplendent in school ties to die for – for lunch at The Wolseley. The merry band supped in the company of Tracy Emin, Zoe Wanamaker and Peter Bowles. “What, the cad?” exclaimed Mr Hollingworth rather too loudly, rather too much within earshot of the poor man.