Friday 2 December 11am, Oceanic Room: Extra-early Christmas lunch for Team P today. Getting in ahead of the Winter of Discontent strikes. We’ve had a good year: at least until Black Friday, 23 September, the day of that sodding mini-Budget.

Agent P

So, it’s a table for six at Angela Hartnett’s Michelin-starred Murano restaurant in Queen Street, Mayfair. Bit pricey. But Posh Girl has convinced us that given the fin de siècle atmosphere in the office, this is not the year to be getting bladdered on house Valpolicella in some bear-pit wine bar, then roaring back to our desks at 4.30pm.

We are, nevertheless, in a slightly giddy, ‘eat, drink and be merry’ mood. I suggest that it would be a lark to tease the glamour guys and gals in capital markets on our way out. It is obvious to all and sundry that raising debt or equity to fund real estate deals is now about as easy as raising the dead. Low-geared sellers don’t yet need to sell. Vulture funds are still mostly sitting in the trees. We trip up the stairs to the seventh floor.

Three out of the 30 desks are occupied. “Hey guys!” I shout. “Don’t look out the window yet. You’ll have nothing left to do this afternoon.”

Nor will we, of course. But let’s not go there today.

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