Sam Shaw is a reporter on Money Marketing
Having drawn the short straw in the office which meant that MM reporter Helen Pow attended the Brits rather than myself or Nicola York (We weren’t bitter – much),I was luckily then available to demonstrate my prowess in Riley’s poolhall in Victoria.
MM news editor Paul McMillan and myself were knocked out at the semi-final stage of the annual New Star pool tournament by the dynamic duo of Ben Robinson and James Sherry, who wore a team strip of black V-neck jumper over white shirt. Perhaps if we had worn matching outfits, it might have given us the edge. Must remember that for next time and ensurethat I do not wear a frock.
Thursday night saw a few of us meeting with Martin Currie media relations man Scott White at what is now my new favourite restaurant,the Red Fort in Soho. Amazing. We were joined by former MM-ite Jimmy Moore recounting tales of MM editor John Lappin when he was a mere whippersnapper of a reporter. Highly amusing.
My endless stamina was once again being put to the test on Friday as I joined a handful of lovely Lansonettes to check out the very handsome DJ/producer/general honey Mark Ronson.
White balls potted by me on Wednesday night: a few, but I did salvage my reputation with a spectacular pot of the black to win one of the heats.
Annie Shaw is a freelance financial journalist
Financial services’ finest, including brokers, money traders, senior industry figures, housing specialists and myself, attended a gala lunch hosted by Kent Reliance Building Society at The Ivy. The company was glittering and included the managing director of Invicta Radio,Neil Webster, money broker Tom Bradshaw, once dubbed by Tatler the eighth most eligible bachelor in Britain (but now sadly spoken for) and Building Societies Association chief executive Adrian Coles. Lenny Henry -not in our party – was spotted.
I was not invited to the Brits this year but it did not matter because I got a better offer – the Lifesearch Protection Awardsat the Hiscox Arts Cafe in the shadow of the Gherkin in the City of London.
Aifa’s Fay Goddard was looking chirpy but confessed she was looking forward to a well-earned holiday in New Zealand. Anyone who is not up to txt-talk or 133t-speak (that’s the “text” and “leet” languages used by young things, if you are still baffled) should catch up with IFA Tom Baigrie, who has a neat line in “acronym argot”. His speech at the bash ran via Icob, the FSA, the FSCS and TCF and so many others that I lost count but for amusement value it would be worth asking him to run through it again some time just for the punchline “We speak your language.”
Number of awards bagged by Axa at the do: an impressive six out of 12.
Esther Shaw is a freelance financial journalist
And so to the Brit awards courtesy of Aegon’s Scottish contingent, where I sat between Kevin “lost in the streets of Soho” Brown and the FT’s Andrea Felstead.
While our very well located table in the Platinum area put us in perfect sleb-spotting territory, we resisted the need to run up to Peter Kay, Jason Donovan or the Arctic Monkeys. That was until Alesha from Strictly Come Dancing sashayed past us, at which point Andrea jumped up and screamed “my mum loves you” and insisted on getting her autograph.
The wine continued to flow long after the awards had ended as we headed upstairs to the post-party party. The Times’ Becky O’Connor and I headed straight for the dodgems, where we both got rather battered by the Mail’s James Coney, who insisted on driving into us wherever we drove, not helped, I might add, by the fact that I could not get our dodgem out of reverse. At some stage in the evening, I managed to lose everyone amid the plethora of caravans that filled the party area, leadingto the following text conversation:
Me: Where are you?
Becky: I am right at the back where we were. Fine me.
Me: I don’t lloy where that it. Am near the dodgems.
Becky: Am in caravan.
The PF collective made the most of the hospitality on offer and some woke up nursing significantly more than a sore head the following morning.
Any Out of Contexts or Diary stories? Send them to Diary editor Nicola York at firstname.lastname@example.org telephone: 020 7943 8042