Just like the City

I have a curious relationship with the City. On one level it's a mystery - finance has never really been my bag - but on another I know more about how it works than I ever admit.

We like to deny any interest in order to highlight that ignorance, while being drawn to its undeniable excitement and power. So many businesses in London derive a portion of their revenue from their associations with the City.

My own consultancy is no exception and I've never had any patience with those who criticise its ways, or its people. Not that I've ever worked there (I doubt I'd survive two seconds) but I respect it, and know the financial centre is the key to what makes London a world city, rather than simply a capital city.

Being a world city means a lot more. It makes us part of a nexus of people and culture and business, which is a great deal more fun than our other role: to preside over and pay for the rest of the country, a country that elects governments determined to wreck the advantages that make the City thrive.

Listening to arguments about non-dom taxes, capital gains and Northern Rock is dull, but listen to what the Lord Mayor of London has been saying recently. It hit home for me when a friend, who is a driver, told me he'd been sacked because his boss - a non-dom - was going to leave the country and wouldn't need him any more.

Let's hope this madness stops soon. Come on, Boris, do your bit to shout back for London against the wreckers.

When high-powered financiers take time out for lunch, they head for 1 Lombard Street (which rather neatly has one Michelin star) - a restaurant that, according to owner Soren Jessen, was inspired by Titian's Rape of Europa, from the menu to the décor. I can't for the life of me work out why, since the painting features a chubby, half-naked person of indeterminate sex being attacked by angels. He/she is lying on a stoic-looking cow and another angel is hauling a giant fish out of a river. Maybe if I study it a little more I may come to understand the symbolism. But there again, maybe not.

1 Lombard Street is divided into two sections - a busy brasserie at the front and a quieter restaurant at the back. We'd booked the restaurant, but I wish we'd chosen the brasserie, which looked much more fun. It's housed in the old banking hall, a huge cathedral of a place, dominated by a magnificent circular central bar.

I'd chosen the restaurant because the brasserie's bangers, mash and meat pies were just too tempting before a holiday in the sunshine. Two weeks ago we were in the Ice Hotel in Sweden, where excess adipose baggage was useful, but in the Caribbean it will be more a case of an unflattering look in trunks. The fashion designer I was lunching with gamely hid his disappointment as we sashayed off for lighter fare.

Sitting in a rather plain room with lots of middleaged men (oh dear, it's not going to be much longer that I can get away with that observation), and being fussed over by delighted staff, we decided that speed and efficiency was the City way. I had a meeting at 2pm (yes, in the City) and there was no danger of being made late by sloppy service.