Doing the rounds with a skilled operator
'Come on, mate. There's no time for too much of that chit-chat stuff.' I felt slightly aggrieved. Jeremy had grabbed me by the elbow and was wheeling me away from a group of people I hadn't seen for some time. More to the point, it meant I was missing the punchline which, I presumed, we might get to eventually.
Unfortunately, Jeremy was on a mission. He'd rung me earlier in the month and suggested we meet up for a spot of 'being seen'. This was a regular event in Jeremy's pre-Christmas calendar which entailed dashing around as many Yuletide drinks gatherings as possible in one evening with the express intention of showing his face.
A couple of years back I'd joined him on one of these hare-brained party crawls around the City and, through the champagne haze, recalled it as being quite good fun. So I signed up for another go, taking care to stipulate one change of plan. This time we had matched up invitations so that there would be no repeat of the shameful gatecrashing scenarios of two years ago. You realize your life has hit something of a low point when you find yourself backing up assertions that your name really should be on the list for a cocktail gathering of lawyers and bankers just off Bishopsgate.
Jeremy had worked out a tight schedule with military precision. As most of the parties would be wrapped up by 8.30ish, we only had just over two-and-a-half hours to get round five events. What with a hurried walk in the cold in-between each, and the ritual checking in and checking out of coats, there wasn't much time left to quaff a glass of champagne, be seen to be there, make your excuses and be on your way again.
And there were rules, too. The skill, according to Jeremy, was to be acknowledged by as many people as possible, to glide effortlessly around each gathering, pressing the flesh as you went by, and yet to leave quickly without causing a stir or offending your hosts. I was nowhere near as consummate an operator as my smooth-talking PR friend and had already received a quizzical, slightly hurt look from a chief investment officer who was still welcoming guests as I tried to slip past him in the other direction. Jeremy had merely inquired directly of our host where the toilets were and then was on his way. Easy.
'It oils the wheels,' explained Jeremy as we hurried along to our next and final appointment. 'It lets all those people that I haven't seen all year know that I'm still around and that I still value them. It may well be another year until I see them again but that's not the point. It keeps me in the running, in the frame for when they get fed up with who they're currently using or recommending.'
'But why the rush? Why try and do so many in one night?' I asked. 'I quite enjoy the novelty of the crawl, but surely it's not in your interests to be so fleet of foot?'
'Of course it is,' chuckled Jeremy. 'These guys don't want to be bored by my sales pitch. And anything else is just small talk. I just want to remind them I'm here. In any case, I don't want to spend every night in December doing the rounds. This way I squeeze a whole lot into a few evenings, add in an element of fun and get what I want.'
'But do you really think it works?'
'I am willing to lay bets on the fact that somebody I shake hands with tonight will call me in the first quarter of next year looking for me to pitch. That's when I do the longer conversations, the detailed talk, the technical sales pitch. That's when they want to begin to understand what I really do. As for tonight... well, tonight I just want to let them know that they're still my treasured friends. You, my old chap, on the other hand, are just someone I've known well for years.'
With that Jeremy gave me a quick wink and we bounded up the steps to our next function.