Living dangerously: Diary of an ABS professional, Week 10

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Mr ABS pays a visit to 'Pammy from Southampton', who (among other things) helps expose a possible job offer.

We have just had a welcome but pathetic quarter point rate cut. It is now in the public interest to put Mervyn King on a course of testosterone.

Mervyn's oestrogen-charged timidity aside, I've had a busy week. A former colleague of mine suggested that we meet in the City for drinks after work. He wisely resigned and joined another shop last year on a guaranteed bonus.

His suggestion gave me a chance to use my idle travel card and go back into the City, somewhere I've been only intermittently since becoming a domestic fairy.

We started in several of the old haunts, and progressed to several new ones, until my friend felt the urge to visit a strip club. I pointed out that I've got no cash to spare for family outings, let alone self-indulgence among nubile 20-somethings (perhaps Mervyn should give it a try though), and after some negotiation he agreed to meet me halfway: we settled for Browns.

I had horrible memories of Browns, having been there only once eight years ago. I do not think the place has changed in any way, but I have. What a great place for a drink. For 1 you can sip a sensibly priced lager and get exposure to enough material to sit first grade gynaecology. In those conditions you would have to be either insane or short sighted to pay more and go for a private dance.

At some point my friend remembered with some emotion one of his bosses, who had taken him to Browns for his appraisal. The appraisal was unexpectedly good. Until then I had thought I had good bosses.

After a couple of hours he thought that I should be his guest in a more upmarket venue in the West End to celebrate his guaranteed bonus, the majority of which, according to him, was paid in shares. I was not in the mood to commiserate with him on that point, but it would have been rude to decline his invitation.

This other place was a familiar hang-out which offers better quality ladies. As the editor of eFinancialCareers likes me to comment on the credit crunch, I decided to carry out a survey among the ladies. Were they feeling its effect?

My first interviewee was Polish and though her English was far better than my Polish, the only reply she seemed to know was, "You get private dance with me." My second interviewee was Pammy from Southampton. When I asked Pammy the effect of the crunch on her earnings, she gripped me firmly and asked whether I had felt the "Crunch".

As I was pondering whether I should burn what is now more than our daily family grocery bill on a private dance with Pammy, I spotted the familiar face of an investor at the bar.

I had a quick chat with him. And upon hearing that I'd been chopped, he kindly suggested that I call him next week to discuss possible opportunities (AKA jobs) with his fund. He even appeared sober.

Before the extended pub hours I used to argue pretty successfully with my wife that the strip joints were the only place where a group of six lads would be admitted if they wanted drinks after hours. I am pleased now to be able to argue that I am more likely to find a job in a strip joint than a job centre, or after 10 weeks of calling recruiters.

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