Food for Thoughts: Coq d’Argent
Things started rather strangely. Admiring the skyline of the City from the top floor of No 1 Poultry, immeasurably improved by the demolition of the eyesore that was Bucklersbury House, I noticed a skip dangling from a crane, perhaps 250 feet in the air. A glass of kir was another diversion, but where was my guest? Paul Abberley’s PA had earlier made sure that 12:30 was the designated time. It was now 12:45. Mr Abberley was nowhere to be seen.
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