Friday 6 August. Pinged! Fuming at home: I blame Charlie Boy, who wriggled his wrist in that ‘beer, anyone?’ way last Friday lunchtime. The Guinea was rammed. Team P ended up in the Punchbowl on Farm Street, where Strutt & Parker refugees from French rule still gather.
Charlie Boy was on his ‘enth story starting “when I was at Savills” when I exited in fury, the only one knowing why he was booted out of Margaret Street. Money is all I will say.
He was hired by GBH last year after convincing the Eighth Floor his Hollywood money-guy connections could land us the instruction for a £1bn set of film studios within a tolerable limo ride of the Dorchester. Three gum-chewing guys in shades and Tom Ford suits were seen huddling with Charlie Boy in the Titanic Room, before speeding off with him to destinations unknown in a Mercedes Maybach.
But that was in January. Last Friday, Charlie Boy, in his cups, admitted the deal had gone cold. This week? That combine harvester of deals, Blackstone, has reaped 91 acres for £120m in Hertfordshire and announced it is to build a $1bn set of studios. If Savills is in there somewhere, Charlie will be looking for another job. Memo to self: turn off the bloody Covid App.
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