PRIVATE VIEW by Chris Gunman

Save/Print Article n retrospect my motives for inviting Humphrey along to Lola’s opening show did not stand too close scrutiny. At the time it had just seemed like a good way of killing two birds with one stone. I grabbed a drink with an old mate and I also showed my face at Lola’s big do, which was being held at the prestigious Zinc Factory. Hunky Dory. Everyone was happy. Well, not quite everyone. I must have known from the outset that Lola would not be over the moon to see Humph there. He wasn’t really her kind of person. In fact, come to think of it, possessing as I did the dubious status of ex boyfriend, it probably meant I wasn't precisely her kind of person either. But at least I could be relied on to wear skinny jeans and shiny trainers and generally look as if I inhabited that bohemian demi monde that hung out somewhere between Hoxton and Hackney. Humph on the other hand. Dear old Humph. Jesus Christ, he was way beyond redemption. He represented everything Lola made such a big deal of despising. Money. Marble atriums. Fat bonuses. Fatter waist lines. All the usual suspects in other words. There was nothing very original about Lola’s choice of hate objects. She was an artist for fuck’s sake. Of course she hated Capitalism with a big C. And of course, I also knew Humph would jump at the chance of coming along because he’d always had a secret soft spot for Lola. Was I being deliberately malicious in setting this up. Very probably yes. Did I have the remotest idea how it would turn out. Absolutely not. I called Humph on his direct line. ‘Humphrey…err….Humphrey Porter speaking.’ He answered in that slow vague, slightly suspicious voice of his that suggested he was either not too sure what his own name was or else he suspected I was a nuisance call from the Financial Services Mafia. ‘It’s Charlie,’ I said. ‘ Chazz. Brilliant. Hold the line can you. I’m just in the middle…..’ His voice trailed off. He disappeared for several minutes. I began to think he must have deleted me from his memory stick. He was probably so busy shorting the Zloti or buying heavily into pig belly futures that he’d entirely forgotten I was still there, left dangling on the line like a half garrotted chicken. Thing about Humph was it wasn’t so much that he was absent minded as that he existed on an entirely different planet to the rest of us mortals. I was about to hang up when he came back on. ‘Chazz. You still there? Sorry about that. Bit of a kafuffle at this end. How are you?’ ‘Good. Very good. You up for a pint after work.’ ‘Brilliant idea. And what an extraordinary coincidence.’ ‘In what way?’ ‘I was just about to call you and make the exact same suggestion. Which all goes to prove there are mysterious forces out there, unseen hands controlling our destinies, creating unexpected conjunctions.’ I didn’t believe any of this for one moment. Since when had Humphrey, the pre-eminent financial analyst of his generation, turned into a mumbo jumbo star gazing soothsayer. But more to the point Humphrey never called me. I didn’t take it personally. He never called anyone. He just wasn’t very proactive about making social arrangements. I sometimes got the impression that if no one leveraged him out of that giant eerie of his at the top of his tower, where he stared moon eyed late into the night at flickering grey figures on serried banks of screens, then he’d never leave the place. He’d sleep on the office floor, live entirely on a diet of coffee and chocolate digestives, and mutate into a kind of pale skinned puffy faced over sized office weevil. ‘The Bear. About seven,’ I said. The Bear was our usual watering hole. ‘Great,’ said Humph. ‘Oh just one thing.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Would you mind awfully calling in at my office first. There’ll be a sort of an…an Intervention I’d rather like you to see.’ ‘An intervention? What kind of intervention?’ ‘I think an Intervention is the term our artistic friends use for this kind of thing. At any rate there’ll be a situation that might amuse you. I’d like you to be the first to see it.’ This was weird. What was he on about? The first to see what? Did Humph already know that I was planning on getting him to accompany me to Lola’s and so he had decided to do his own parody of a Private View beforehand. Perhaps he really had developed supernatural powers of divination. Or more likely he’d read about Lola’s show in some rag, was hoping I’d take him there and this thing in his office was just by way of a warm up joke. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll meet you at your office. What floor are you again?’ ‘57. As in Heinz. Oh and one other little thing you could do for me, I’d be most grateful.’ He giggled. He sounded a tad overexcited. I didn’t think it could be just the prospect of a drink with myself that had brought on this state of nervous euphoria. Perhaps the air you breathed on the 57th floor was enough to make you permanently a bit high. Or perhaps he’d just clinched some amazing deal. ‘Sure. What did you have in mind?’ ‘Would you object very much to bringing your camera along. This intervention of mine, you may like to document it. For posterity. Something to show the grandchildren.’ ‘I don’t have children yet,’ I said. ‘Mortgage yes. Arrears yes. Credit card debt yes. Children no. What is it anyway?’ ‘Oh just a sort of turning point in world history that’s all,’ he said modestly. ‘A turning point in world history.’ ‘That kind of thing.’ ‘Sounds unmissable.’ ‘Quite. There can be no avoiding our destiny. Ciao for now.’ He hung up . He’s off his fucking head, I thought. Hardly surprising, of course. All that number crunching he does all day long. Enough to turn anyone’s brain. Humph and I had been at school together. Sydenham comprehensive. He had been the cleverest kid in the class by some several yards. In fact I suspect he was the cleverest kid the school had ever seen. By the age of thirteen the staff would defer to him concerning anything that involved abstract thought. He’d walked in to Cambridge, turned down the offer of a fellowship, and instead landed a plum job with the London and Shanghai Development Banking Corporation where he’d risen rapidly. Before he was thirty he was in charge of the Far East desk. I remember remarking to him at a drinks party he gave to celebrate his promotion that the LSD Banking Corporation was a singularly appropriate acronym. ‘Of course it is,’ he had replied, as if I was just stating the obvious. ‘So, I’m right then am I? It is all just a drug fuelled fantasy this big money stuff. A mirage of numbers that one minute explains the universe and the next turns into the world’s worst hangover.’ Humph looked at me as if I was mad and then spoke very slowly and solemnly. ‘I’m not talking about Lysergic acid you fool. LSD is pounds shillings and pence in old money in case you’ve forgotten. It’s redolent of solidity, probity and all those values of acumen and sound judgement that one associates most with the banking profession.’ I don’t think he was joking. I think he really believed in what he was saying. It was all a far cry from this new crazy talk about turning points in world history. I arrived at Trapezium Tower promptly at seven. For all my manifold faults lack of punctuality is not one of them. Of course, so far as Lola was concerned punctuality is a fault, together with my irritating tendency towards tidiness and also my dislike of getting deeper and deeper into debt. Lola saw all this as part of my petit bourgeois value system. I think it was probably my PBVs that came between us in the end. That and the Rick thing. But perhaps if it hadn’t been for my inveterate PB habits Rick would never have happened. Pointless speculation. Actually Trapezium Tower is not a trapezium. It’s more of a lozenge with a soft curve at its western end. When I had once rashly suggested to Humph that it was probably called Trapezium Tower not because of its shape but because the world of high finance was about as precarious as swinging on a trapeze, Humph had been sniffily dismissive. ‘Capitalism is about the rational allocation of resources to those profit centres where returns can be maximised. World gross domestic product is by this means increased together with the general happiness of mankind. It’s only meddling governments introducing well meaning distortions into the system that cause all the problems.’ Whatever the origins of its name Trapezium Tower was one of those stunning steel and glass edifices that soared into the air with dizzying boldness, denying all the obvious laws of physics. It might have been a temple to mammon, but I could not stare at it without a sneaky thrill of sheer bedazzlement. Just as I arrived the sun was setting up river and all the upper floors were ablaze with a reflection of crimson clouds so that it looked as if the entire building was on fire. It was overwhelmingly beautiful. Once through the softly gliding doors I was brought up sharp by the security desk. I’d expected that. I was there bona fide so had nothing to worry about. But they seemed particularly suspicious of the Canon hanging from my neck. What was I bringing a camera into the building for? Some instinctive protective impulse from deep within made me lie. I told them I was attending a party later and I was planning to take some photographs of the revellers. I was just here to meet up with a friend and we would be going straight on. Eventually they agreed to ring through to Humph. I don’t know what he said to them but whatever it was it seemed to placate them. They waved me sullenly towards the elevators. I stepped into a glass bubble hung on the outside of the building and was immediately sucked upwards. It was like being swallowed whole. I felt like an oyster must feel that has just been engorged into the throat of a beautiful woman with a long white neck. It was overwhelmingly seductive. When I reached the 57th I was tempted to ride it again and repeat the experience. But I resisted. I didn’t want to be late for Lola’s canapes. My PBVs no doubt intruding themselves again. Besides which security might get jumpy if they saw me going up and down in the lift like some kind of lunatic bunjee jumper. When I entered Humph’s office. He was standing with his back to me staring out the window. He was tall, awkwardly shaped, all elbows and knees, and silhouetted against the light he looked a little wild and menacing like a demented crow flapping its wings and stalking back and forth. ‘Hi there,’ I said. He turned towards me rather slowly blinking into the darkness. His appearance was so remarkably dishevelled that at first I thought he must have recently been in a fight. Except this was the heart of the city inside a respected financial institution. People do not get into fights in such places. Also there was no sign of blood or bruising. He must just have had one hell of a bad day I decided. His shirt was hanging out of his trousers. His tie had been yanked from his collar. His jacket was thrown half over the back of a chair half trailing on the floor. ‘Chazz. You made it then,’ he said. He made it sound like I’d just come up through the trenches to the front line. ‘Yup. I made it.’ ‘I was worried you might have changed your mind.’ He turned back to face the smoked blue glass. ‘Why should I change my mind?’ ‘You never know,’ he said. ‘Amazing view,’ I said, shaking my head in wonder. ‘Simply amazing view. It’s like the entire world is laid out before you, for your special delectation. You must feel like you’re a god or something working up here.’ Humph nodded but looked indifferent about its qualities. Of course he’d had time to get used to it. To Humph, no doubt, it was all just wallpaper by now. ‘If this was my office I don’t think I’d ever get any work done,’ I said. ‘I’d just end up staring out the window all day long.’ I picked up a rotting banana skin off Humph’s desk and dropped it into his overflowing waste paper bin. I hated the smell of rotting bananas. Humph looked at me curiously as if I’d just committed a personal indiscretion, like burping or farting. ‘Does the shedded carapace of a banana offend you,’ he said. ‘Yes,’ I said. He raised his eyebrows and then turned back to the window waving his arms around as if delivering a lecture. ‘The interesting thing about a view like this is that if you just stare at the vastness of it you don’t actually see anything. It has no meaning. It is only by focusing on the detail that you can make any sense of it.’ ‘I guess that’s also true,’ I said. ‘It’s still pretty impressive though.’ ‘It’s not too late to change your mind if you want to,’ said Humph, suddenly advancing upon me in a slightly threatening manner. ‘Change my mind about what?’ ‘The photograph, of course. I could be incriminating you by asking you to be my witness.’ ‘Incriminating me. What is all this about? Have you got a dead body tied up in the bathroom that you want me to document? Some rival trader you fell out with. You’re spooking me Humph. What’s going on here?’ Humph laughed and pushed at my shoulder with his large white flapping hand. ‘Nothing so trivial as a corpse, old chum. And my apologies for being so …so tediously enigmatic. It’s just if I did tell you all the details right now then you would most certainly be compromised. You might even feel obliged to intervene in some way. That would spoil everything. Just a few snaps and no questions. Okay. Look why don’t we have a drink first by way of celebration? Glass of champagne?’ ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Never say no to a nice glass of bubbly.’ I went and sat in a black leather swivel chair and swivelled a bit. Humph was behaving like he was having some kind of breakdown. I’d read somewhere that you should never argue with the delusionally paranoid. Just play along with them until you can get professional help. Humph walked over to a large pale blue american style fridge the only personal item in his office and removed a bottle of 1998 vintage Krug. The cork blew and he poured two glasses. I swallowed and swallowed some more. It tasted very good. ‘Must have set you back a bit this bottle,’ I said. ‘Five hundred or so I guess,’ said Humph, holding up his glass and contemplating the bubbles. ‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘Tell you the truth,’ said Humph, after the price hits £50 I can’t really tell the difference between one vintage and another. ‘Me neither,’ I said. ‘But the idea of just gulping all that money. It does give it a certain added frisson doesn’t it.’ Humph refilled my glass. I was beginning to mellow. Perhaps he wasn’t acting so strange after all. Perhaps all this witness business was just a bit of an elaborate Humph piss take. He’d always had this rather weird sense of humour. I was probably being unnecessarily on edge. I guess I was under a bit of stress myself. ‘So what are we celebrating,’ I said. ‘Lola’s first major exhibition, of course,’ said Humph. ‘What else.’ ‘Of course,’ I said. This was getting spookier. ‘I didn’t know you’d been invited.’ ‘I haven’t,’ said Humph. ‘But I’m sure you have and I presume you won’t object to my accompanying you.’ ‘No, no, not at all,’ I said. ‘In fact I was going to suggest it.’ I felt slightly wrong footed. I thought it had been me who was setting this thing up. It now seemed like it was the other way around. Perhaps Humph really did possess these supernatural powers of divination. ‘To Lola then,’ I said, raising my glass. Humph opened a second bottle. He was swilling the stuff back even faster than I was. At this rate we’d both be legless before we even arrived at Lola’s. ‘I’ve always had great admiration for Lola,’ said Humph, leaning back and looking into the distance. ‘Oh yeah,’ I said. What he really means, I thought, is that he’s always wanted to get inside her knickers. And who knows, perhaps he was even planning to make a move on her tonight. If that was the case he was making a serious miscalculation. I needed to let him know about Rick. On the other hand why should I care? If Humph wanted to make a complete prat of himself at Lola’s grand launch it was no skin off my nose. I owed Lola nothing and it would probably do Humph good to get her out of his system. ‘And which of her many qualities do you particularly admire?’ I said. ‘Her ambition,’ said Humph. ‘Her single minded pursuit of her goals.’ ‘Yeah well that’s all very dandy but if you’re trying to live with her day in day out, that ambition can become a real pain up the arse, believe me.’ ‘I daresay. Is that why you left her?’ ‘I didn’t leave her. She dumped me. I don’t think hanging out with a schoolteacher was quite her idea of cool. Failed photographer was acceptable because who was to say I wasn’t an undiscovered genius. But teacher, I don’t think so, thanks very much.’ Humph nodded sagely. ‘And how is the teaching?’ ‘Hell, seeing as you ask. Pure unmitigated hell.’ ‘ So, why are you doing it?’ ‘Good question. I don’t know. I guess I need the money.’ Humph looked bored and returned his gaze to the window. I felt irritated with him. What did he really know about money. He had so much of it he could blow ten grand in an evening and not notice. Besides which, of all the people I knew, he was probably the one least interested in possessions. In that sense he was something of an innocent. Apart from the odd bottle of over priced champagne he hardly owned anything. He didn’t drive, he didn’t own a flat, and he bought his suits from M & S. He didn’t even own a digital camera for Christ’s sake, which is why he had to call on me for his pics when he needed them. It wasn’t that he was mean. He just wasn’t really that interested in the things money could buy. What he loved was the way money worked on the global scale, currencies, the commodity markets, interest rate movements, all that kind of abstract stuff. Me, on the other hand, I liked possessions. I was existentially insecure and so needed to surround myself with material objects. As for Lola. She was just a fucking shopaholic. ‘Hadn’t we better get on with these photographs,’ I said. ‘Or we’ll never make it to the Zinc Factory.’ ‘There’s plenty of time’ said Humph. ‘The evening is young. Do you know how many cranes you can see through that window.’ ‘You’ve floored me with that one,’ I said. ‘One hundred and seventy seven.’ ‘Impressive.’ ‘On a fine day.’ ‘Very good.’ ‘And every day that passes I can guarantee you that another two of them will have stopped working.’ ‘A reflection of the deepening recession in our commercial property market?’ I hazarded. ‘Exactly so.’ ‘Good to know I’m not the only one with mortgage problems. Is that what you want me to document. The cranes that have come to a stand still.’ I hoisted my camera, went over to the window and started taking a few shots. It was beautiful, I had to admit it, the silhouettes of the giant cantilevered cranes with their lights studded the length of their great black shafts, standing out against the violet evening sky. Perhaps it was an effect of the champagne but in no time I was really enjoying myself getting down on the floor and taking some wide angled views. ‘No,’ said Humph. ‘Not the cranes. It’s not the cranes I want you to document.’ ‘So what the fuck is it?’ I said, struggling back to my feet. ‘It’s this computer screen.’ ‘You want me to photograph a computer screen?’ ‘Yes,’ said Humph. ‘Why?’ ‘I already told you. It represents a turning point in the history of the world.’ ‘Sure it does.’ I dusted down my jeans and went over to the screen he indicated and began snapping away at it. It was covered in numbers and financial gobbledy gook. I vaguely made out something to do with the dollar yen trade. So, he wanted me to memorialise some clever deal he’d just completed. I couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed.’ ‘So what does it all mean,’ I said. ‘I’ll explain later,’ said Humph. ‘Just make sure you’ve got the date and time clearly up the corner. That’s very important. Okay, let’s get out of here.’ We drank off the last of the second bottle of champers and left like a couple of guilty kids who’d just broken in to the school canteen. Humph walked very fast. I had to virtually run to keep up with him. ‘So, can you tell me now,’ I panted. ‘Now we’re outside. What was all that about in your office just now.’ Humph come to an abrupt halt at the corner of Fenchurch Street, drew himself up very tall and looked thoughtful. ‘Can you hear that roar?’ ‘You mean the traffic rumble.’ ‘The traffic, the planes, the drills, the great whirring momentum of this magnificent city of ours.’ ‘Of course, I can hear it.’ ‘And now listen very carefully. Can you hear the silence within. The deepening silence. The spreading blanket of white noise as the towers collapse, the trains stop running, the shutters come down, the scream ceases echo. Soon it will all come to a halt. Not just the cranes but all of it. And the great Thames itself will freeze over.’ ‘You’re getting a bit apocolyptic for me now,’ I said. He’s off his rocker, I thought. He’s off his bleeding trolley bus. The Zinc Factory was heaving. Lola’s Private View was obviously not so very private. She must have invited half Shoreditch. When she saw me she came up to me, threw her arms around my neck and gave me a big sexy kiss. She was either tipsy or trying to make Rick jealous or both, I thought. She looked fabulous in short black skirt, long grey stockings, skimpy top, and that oh so pale elfin face of hers, with those great dark staring trademark eyes. ‘Charlie darling. I’m so glad you’re here,’ she spoke in her little girl voice tugging down hard on my arm. ‘I desperately need some moral support. All these people. And I don’t know any of them. Who are they? I think Vivian must have invited them. Saatchi is supposed to be coming. I’m so scared. I’m sure they’re all going to say horrid things about my work. You’ll say some nice things won’t you darling. Your opinion is the only one I really care about. It means more to me than anyone’s’ She gave my arm another pull. I wasn’t taken in by her poor little lost girl act at all. This was vintage Lola. She was as hard as nails and knew exactly what she was doing, and didn’t give a toss about my opinion, and even while she was talking to me, she was busy waving and winking at every other passer by. The punks, the dudes, the gays, the anorexics, the self harmers, and even the occasional suit. Models, designers, dealers, fashion gurus, actors, new media types, druggies, they were all there. ‘Darling I must just go and have a word with that awful man who’s a curator or something at the Tate. Sorry to dump you darling. If’ you’re not busy afterwards perhaps we could all catch a meal together. Are you with anyone?’ ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Well, that’ s fine invite her along as well.’ She batted her eyelids at me and looked arch. ‘Do I know her?’ ‘It’s not a woman,’ I said. ‘Ooh,’ said Lola. ‘A man huh. This get’s curiouser.’ ‘I’m with Humph,’ I said. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘And there he is coming towards us. Darling you know I can’t stand him. Why did you bring him along of all people.’ ‘I couldn’t avoid it,’ I said. ‘I already had a prior arrangement involving him.’ ‘For God’s sake, have you never heard of lying,’ hissed Lola in my ear. She then turned towards Humphrey and continued seamlessly, in an overloud voice. ‘Humphrey sweetheart, how nice to see you again.’ She took his hand and offered him her cheek and lowered her lids like she was some latter day saint preparing for crucifixion. ‘Great show,’ said Humphrey. ‘Thank you,’ said Lola graciously, with another flutter of her lashes. She couldn’t resist flirting even when it was someone she supposedly hated. ‘But I can’t see any prices on anything. Are they only available by request.’ ‘Nothing is for sale,’ said Lola. ‘So there is no need for any prices.’ ‘Nothing for sale!’ exclaimed Humphrey. ‘So how are artists expected to make a living these days?’ ‘Art is not quite the same as potatoes,’ said Lola. ‘I believe our culture is far too precious to be left to the whims of the marketplace. It needs to be supported by the community that it grows out of.’ I tried to nudge Humphrey towards the drinks bar because I knew this could only end badly but he was having none of it. ‘But the question is how does the community decide what kind of art it wants except through the nexus of the market place,’ said Humph, stubbornly sticking to his guns. ‘I’m afraid you just have a hopelessly neo capitalist view of the way art functions in the contemporary world,’ said Lola with an exasperated sigh. ‘You can’t see beyond the idea of the art work as an individual possession. If you care to examine my own work you will see that I have specifically rejected that entire construct. And now, I’m terrible sorry but I really do have to talk to that person over there.’ She strode off all long legs and tight arsed indignation. ‘I’m not sure that went down terribly well,’ I said to Humph. ‘Don’t you think so,’ said Humph, swallowing his third sardine tartine in rapid succession. ‘I thought she seemed quite engaged with what I had to say.’ ‘What you don’t understand about women,’ I said, ‘is that unlike blokes they don’t like argument. They regard any dissension from their own worldview as a personal slight.’ ‘Really,’ said Humph. ‘That’s interesting you should say that.’ We eased our way through the seething masses and came up against a large glass tube. ‘I suppose this is what is called an installation,’ said Humph, ‘rather than a sculpture.’ ‘I think so,’ I said. Inside the tube was a giant gherkin suspended in a saline solution. As a result of an electric copper wire that was passed through the liquid and which heated the surrounding water in an erratic and pulsating manner the gherkin was continually rising and falling unpredictably. ‘Fun isn’t it. It’s called the Gherkin. An ironic reference to the iconic building of that name.’ Humph and I both turned to confront a middle aged formidable looking woman with ridiculous spiral earrings. I knew her as Vivian, Lola’s agent, and introduced her to Humph. I thought she seemed quite interested in him in an atavistic kind of way, particularly when she discovered he was a big cheese at the LSD Banking Corporation. ‘It’s intended to make us think about the instability of our financial institutions,’ said Vivian. ‘Very good,’ said Humph. He chuckled quietly. I nodded genially my agreement. What I thought to myself was how typically patronising of Lola. Like we really need some half-baked fucking artist to tell us that our investments can go down as well as up. That’s what really pisses me off about artists these days. They’re always lecturing us about things most of them know fuck all about. They like giving us these little morality lessons and trying to make us feel guilty the whole time as if somehow by attending art school they’ve been appointed the moral arbiters of the universe. And if they’re not doing that then they’ve got to shock us with some new obscenity, an amputated limb of a child, or a beheading in some foreign country, because of course the thing about us ignorant schmucks is that we all have such a limited and blinkered vision of what’s really happening out there we need constantly slapping about the face. Give us a break why not. Just make something beautiful for a change. Like they did in the good old days when artists did not think of themselves as gods or saints or visionaries but just skilled craftsmen paid to do a decent job of work. The truth is modern art is bankrupt. It’s crawled so far up its own anus it can’t find a way out. It’s a shit hole. And I needed a piss. The gents was out the back. I was relieved to get away from the crowds and all the heat and laughter. I had just closed my eyes and was rocking back on my heels when I felt an almighty thump between my shoulder blades. It was Rick. ‘Great to see you feller,’ he drawled in a kind of Australian come American come East End Gangster come Old Etonian drawl. ‘Rick, I said. ‘How are you?’ ‘Cool.’ He eased his prick out of his trousers. I couldn’t resist taking a sneaky glance. Didn’t look like anything very special. Problem was I wasn’t sure whether I was consoled by this knowledge or not. I suppose if he had got this super sized dong down it would at least explain his superior attraction which otherwise was completely lost on me. ‘Guess this is where it all began eh,’ said Rick, with his usual fatuous affability. He seemed to think because we’d both fucked the same woman that there existed some kind of bond between us. Yuck. ‘Er, all what began,’ I said as politely as I could manage. ‘You know the French guy. What was his name?’ ‘You mean Marcel Duchamp,’ I said. ‘That’s the geezer. The urinal. Brilliant. Started the whole thing off. The entire modern movement. Hey you haven’t go any snort on you have you?’ ‘Afraid not.’ ‘What you a Charlie without any Charlie.’ He seemed to think this was terribly funny. Unfortunately, I’d heard it a thousand times before. ‘Fucking dropped mine in the serpentine didn’t I, taking Lo for a bit of a splash. I tell you there’s some seriously wasted swans out there. Whoa. You coming to the Italian later.’ ‘Kind of you to ask but….’ We were both washing our hands by this time. ‘Well, if you don’t make it dude, cool bumping into you again,’ he said, giving me his cheeky chappie grin and making some signal with one of his fingers that presumably meant something to the cognoscenti but I had no idea what. I found Humph standing in front of a large acrylic. It was one of the few wall-hung paintings in the room. It was called My Private View and was a close up of Lola’s labia minor and major and the whole latinate caboodle. It was a great swirl of pinks and mauves and purples and to be perfectly frank I didn’t like to look at it too closely. It gave me a weird kind of feeling. It wasn’t that it made me feel nostalgic or possessive or anything like that. Tell you the truth I would never have recognised that it was a self portrait of her cunt if it hadn’t been for that accompanying title neatly printed on white card and tucked behind glass. There were no tell tale moles, no little signature tattoos, no special motifs in the topiary of her bush. In a way it was strangely anonymous. But seeing it there with these hundreds of people walking past and peering, it made me feel oddly uncomfortable. I felt implicated in a kind of public rape. I remembered all too well Lola lying on the bed, our bed, legs spread, while a took hundreds of digital images of her, for her to study and work on later. This painting was the end result. The memory of the entire episode made me queasy. ‘What do you think?’ said Humph. ‘Not to my taste,’ I said. Humph looked startled. ‘I like it. No I really like it. That whorl of colour and the way it draws the viewer in. I think it’s sensational. Beautiful even. Just now you were pleading for more beauty in art. Surely this is it.’ ‘Each to his own,’ I said. ‘Look Humph, I’m dog tired. Totally knackered, in fact. I think I’m going to get some shuteye. This teaching lark it takes it out of you.’ ‘But you can’t,’ said Humph, indignantly. ‘Why not?’ I said. ‘Because we’re invited to the meal afterwards,’ said Humph. ‘And I’ve accepted on both our behalves.’ ‘What are you on about? What meal?’ ‘Vivian has invited me to join her and Lola and some others for a meal as soon as the show has finished. Naturally you’re invited as well. I said we’d love to.’ The Italian was this swanky place just east of Old Street roundabout. I ordered a seafood risotto and settled down to getting completely smashed. By this time I was in a thoroughly bad mood and had decided that the only way of getting through the rest of the evening was by getting well and truly pissed. In the haze of my rapidly deepening state of inebriation I noticed that Vivian and Humph seemed to be getting on famously. So some good may yet come out of it. He seemed transformed from the twitchy half crazed Humph that had been talking earlier about financial melt down. Meanwhile I tried to fend off a pugnacious woman of about thirty, who seemed very resentful that the local council did not provide her four fatherless children with private tuition for they were obviously too gifted to be in normal schools. I agreed with everything she said but this didn’t stop her banging on and on. On my left was Rick who got through even more prodigious quantities of wine than I did and went through each chord played at the latest U2 gig. I told him I’d been there in the hopes of shutting him up, but this was a mistake. He then began singing little riffs to me and beating out rhythms with his spoon. It was all pretty routine uneventful yawningly tedious stuff until it came to paying the bill. The party then broke down into two bitterly opposed rival factions. There were those who wanted the bill divided equally by the number of people present so we all chipped in the same amount. I numbered myself among these egalitarian levellers. And then there were the neocons who wanted each item allocated to the individual and for that individual to accept responsibility for their own greed. The main problem with the neocon position was determining how much wine each person had drunk. Oh and there was Rick. Rick had his own position. At first he suggested we each threw in what we felt we could afford which in his case was nothing. He then suggested the entire meal should be on the house for after all having Lola eat there was a bit of a publicity coup for the management or would be when it became more generally known who she was. The argument looked like becoming interminable when Humph returned to the table and announced that he’d settled the entire thing. He’d picked up the tab himself. His announcement brought about a sudden silence followed by muttered expressions of gratitude. ‘You’re the coolest dude in the city,’ said Rick, beyond which, in Rick language, there could be no higher praise. Humph made an, ‘it was nothing’, gesture with his hands and turned to face the table at large. ‘I’d just like to thank Lola here on behalf of us all for inviting us to share this amazing evening with her and granting us the privilege of…..’ ‘Hang on here a moment,’ said Lola, standing up in her turn. I noticed she was trembling with barely suppressed fury. ‘I’m not happy with you paying that bill.’ ‘Why not,’ said Humph. ‘It’s like you’re trying to say you own us. It’s like your this big money thing that just sucks everything up that’s in its way and then spews it out again.’ ‘I’m sorry you should think that way,’ said Humph. ‘I think Lola’s just a little tired and over emotional aren’t you sweetheart,’ said Vivian, going up to her and putting her heavily gold braceleted arm about Lola’s thin naked shoulders. ‘I had been intending to make you an offer for one of your paintings,’ said Humph. ‘I’ve already told you they’re not for sale,’ said Lola. She spat the words back at him. She appeared to be on the point of crying. ‘One and a half million pounds,’ said Humph. ‘For the acrylic, My Private View.’ ‘It will put you straight into the major league of artists my dear,’ said Vivian. ‘You’re show will be an overnight sensation.’ ‘I can transfer the funds now,’ said Humph. ‘I have my blackberry with me. Just give me your account number.’ ‘Take the fucking dosh,’ shouted Rick, whooping and clapping his hands like he was at the ringside of a game show. ‘I don’t want your fucking money,’ screamed Lola. ‘You’re just making fun of me. You’re trying to make me feel small.’ She sat down again, put her head in her hands and sobbed. ‘If it’s any comfort to you,’ said Humph, ‘you don’t need to see this as an act of charity. It’s not even the peccadillo of a rich man. I love the painting. Sure I do. But that’s not the point. The fact is buying art is the only game left in town. The rest of it, commodities, equities, bonds, property backed securities its all a busted flush. No one wants any of it. Every day that passes it’s worth less than it was the day before. Even gold is beginning to sink. But art. Art is different. The great thing about art is its entirely uncoupled from all our conventional ways of valuing things. You can’t rent it, eat it, live in it. It’s totally useless from every practical point of view. The artwork can even be reproduced a million times for a few shillings and no one can tell the copy from the original. But that painting in your show it is the original. It’s by your very own hand. And because of that it possesses this amazing mystique. And no one can ever take that away from it. No clever analyst can come along and say the real estate backing of this security is only worth half what it says on the piece of paper. Art doesn’t work that way. It has whatever value the buyer cares to put on it. And no one can argue any different. That’s what is so wonderful about it. Us money men, the mistake we’ve been making, is we’ve been trying to buy things that have an intrinsic value in the hope that that value might increase. Not any more. We’ve seen through all that. That game is finished. What we must do now is buy things that are totally worthless and create the value entirely through the power of our marketing ability.’ Lola looked up. Rick was on one side of her, Vivian on the other. A diabolical triptych if ever there was one. Fact was I’d never seen her look more beautiful. Her huge dark grey eyes were luminous. She looked radiant. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Take the fucking thing.’ The dinner party broke up. A short while later I found myself walking side by side with Humph down towards the river. It was a hot greasy night, not a breath of wind. Humph was pounding along with his long strides and as usual I was having to hurry to keep up with him. I had no idea where we were going but I didn’t care. I was too angry with him just to let him walk off by himself. ‘What the fuck did you do that for,’ I said. ‘Do what,’ he said, absent mindedly as if he’d already forgotten the entire fiasco that he’d just caused. ‘Give all that dosh to that pretentious bitch for. It’s so ridiculous.’ ‘Exactly,’ said Humph. ‘It’s ridiculous. That’s my point.’ ‘Don’t expect her to be grateful. She’ll hate you for it’ ‘I’m not expecting gratitude.’ ‘And what was all this crazy stuff back in your office about. This documenting of a computer screen for posterity and all that shit. Is there some connection between that and your bizarre behaviour just now.’ ‘I suppose there is a connection. Though, of course, I didn’t quite realise it until I got to the exhibition. It was a fortuitous coming together of two events. But ultimately, yes, everything is connected. No man is an island. Doctor Donne, you know.’ ‘Yes, I do know.’ ‘Well, the same can be said about investments.’ ‘I think you should see a doctor,’ I said. ‘Of the medical kind. I think you need help. Seriously. You’ve obviously been overdoing it. The drop in the markets and everything. The strain must have got to you.’ ‘I think we all need help,’ said Humph. He stopped and leant his back against a balustrade of the embankment and looked at his watch. ‘It’s past midnight. The market will have opened in Tokyo. The deed is done. The unravelling has started.’ ‘Would you care to elucidate a little further?’ ‘By all means. There’s no going back now so I can tell you everything. I have taken the most enormously leveraged bet on behalf of the LSD Bank in favour of the dollar and against the yen rising any further. I calculate the bank will have lost some 40 billion US by tomorrow morning. It was already doing badly because a lot of its so called collaterised loans have turned out to be contaminated. This will be enough to tip it over the brink into bankruptcy. Of course, in order to place such a huge bet I have had to breach a large number of internal protocols and default positions, but it was relatively easy to achieve. And of course also, once I am found out, as inevitably I will be, I shall be prosecuted for an act of deliberate financial vandalism. I expect to spend several years in prison. But I hope it will be worth it.’ ‘You hate the bank that much.’ ‘Not at all. Certainly not in any personal sense. But I feel it has become necessary to sweep it away The present system has to be destroyed. If the LSD falls the shock waves will be enormous. Other banks will follow in its wake. There will be a domino effect. The entire system will collapse and be exposed for what it is.’ ‘And what is it.’ ‘A gigantic confidence trick.’ ‘I thought you were a great believer in the importance of the market.’ ‘I was. Yes, I was. When the market operated in a sane and rational manner allowing ordinary people to exercise choice. But recently it has become just a form of pyramid selling. It’s a game of pass the parcel. Ridiculous fortunes are made so long as the parcel keeps on changing hands. But when the music stops it’s revealed that the parcel is just layer upon layer of old newspaper wrappings. There’s nothing inside it. Nothing of value. Just a cheap plastic trinket.’ ‘So you’ve gone out of your way to engineer a crash.’ ‘Yes. In artistic terms I suppose you might say I have created the ultimate intervention on a global scale.’ Staring at Humph’s profile as he stood there, with that little smile on his face, like a naughty boy who has just deliberately broken an expensive toy, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. Was he some kind of hero? Was he mad? Or was he just immensely arrogant? ‘And the computer screen,’ I said. ‘It records the precise moment of the fatal trade. The final fatal trade that will mark the end of western capitalism. One day you should be able to sell it. It could be worth quite a lot of money.’ ‘I’m going home,’ I said. ‘I need to get some sleep. I couldn’t take any more of this raving. The next morning I woke early with a pounding hangover. I drank a couple of stiff coffees and then went out to buy a newspaper. There was nothing in it about the collapse of the LSD bank but then there wouldn’t have been. The news would have broken too late. I went back home and tuned into the news. Still nothing. For the next couple of days I monitored the financial pages of all the broadsheets, listened to all the news bulletins start to finish, but still there was nothing not even a whisper. I tracked LSDs share price. It was on a steady climb upwards. I began to wonder whether the whole thing had just been Humph’s idea of a surreal joke. But in that case who was the butt. Me. Why? I hardly seemed a worthy object of such an elaborate scam. I didn’t get it. After a week of media silence I rang his office and was told he no longer worked there. So perhaps he had been up to something illicit after all but the bank had successfully managed to cover it up. I tried his home number but never got a reply. His mobile was on permanent answer phone. In the end and with some reluctance I tried calling Lola. She said she hadn’t seen or heard of him since the evening of her show and nor did she want to. I asked her whether he had really bought the painting for all that money and she told me to mind my own fucking business and put the phone down. A few days later, however, I did read an article about Lola Horton, a young British artist being catapulted into the world’s elite by a mystery buyer. I drew my own conclusions. But Humph it seemed had just disappeared off the face of the earth. The strange thing was that as the months went by a whole succession of banks began to go under, one after another but the London and Shanghai was not of their number. Some big household names went to the wall and desperate governments on both sides of the Atlantic began nationalising everything in sight in a last ditch attempt to shore up the system. It seemed that Humph had been right in a general sense. Capitalism as we had known it was finished. The mighty had fallen. And yet the LSD still stood strong amidst the smouldering rubble. And what irked me most apart from my own financial plight was where the hell was he. I felt I at least deserved some kind of explanation. Then about a year later I saw this guy walking in front of me at break neck pace weaving in and out of the crowds like he was on a mission. It had to be Humph. He was the only person I knew who walked like that. I chased after him. ‘Where the fuck have you been hiding,’ I said. He didn’t look at all surprised to see me. ‘Chazz! Great to bump into you like this. Extraordinary coincidence. I was going to call you today.’ ‘Like the fuck you were. What have you been doing with yourself.’ ‘Drink,’ said Humph genially. We ducked in to the nearest boozer. Humph bought the beers. ‘Last time I saw you, you were about to be arrested for bringing down the London and Shanghai Development Bank. Or have you forgotten?’ ‘Ah yes,’ said Humph, with just a hint of embarrassment. ‘Seems like they’re still going strong.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘So what went wrong with your little scheme.’ ‘I made the wrong call.’ ‘Call to whom. I don’t understand?’ ‘The dollar went up. Against all the odds. Totally and utterly ridiculous. But there you go. I suppose it just illustrates the insanity of markets. I must confess I saved their bacon at LSD. Of course, they still sacked me for breaking all their internal rules but they could hardly prosecute me for sabotage when I’d just made them 5 billion bucks. It was with tears in their eyes that they let me go.’ ‘But you’re okay. I mean you haven’t been burnt.’ ‘Oh no, I’m fine. All the high fliers like me are fine. That myth about Icarus it needs updating.’ ‘In what way exactly?’ Humph sat back and hooked his arms over his chair. I guessed I was in for one of his lectures. ‘You know Chazz, when I think about the world of high finance these days I think of it as a crazy kind of balancing act, one wrong move and the guy on the line plummets to his death. But the question is who is really the guy on the line. Turns out it’s not the man in the frock coat with the twinkling eyes, the twirly moustaches, the check trousers, and the magic wand. He’s not the one taking the risk. Oh no. It’s you little guys, you poor lemmings that are strung out there behind him, hanging on to his coat tails and dancing along. You are all so busy catching the golden guineas that he showers down that you remain blithely unaware of the yawning abyss he is leading you across. Then horror strikes. The fancy financier, the conjuror, the tight-rope walker misses his footing and the reverberations of his stumble ripple down the line. The little guys watch him in open-mouthed horror as he teeters and sways but he doesn’t fall. Instead he surprises you all by inflating a silken parachute concealed beneath his long black coat and he floats off into pink fluffy clouds waving and smiling as he goes. And you little guys remain transfixed, observing his figure growing smaller and smaller until he has entirely disappeared. It is only then that you look down, poor simpleton that you are, and realise the peril of your own situations. The rope has snapped and you are all somersaulting into the primeval darkness.’ ‘And you, of course, are the conjuror with the magic wand.’ ‘I suppose I was. I must admit to it. I was. Which is why I’m glad that my attempt to sabotage the LSD failed. The entire system has collapsed anyway and my own hands have remained clean of any collateral suffering that I might otherwise have caused.’ ‘And what are you doing now. Living off your ill gotten gains or working for another bank.’ ‘My masters at the LSD offered to place me in any other financial institution of my choosing. They said I was one of the all time greats. You see they all thought I had done what I had done in order to save their necks. But I turned them down. Tell you the truth I had kind of lost my confidence in my ability to read the future. And anyway I felt like a change.’ ‘So what are you doing these days?’ ‘I’m in the art business.’ ‘You’re joking.’ ‘Turns out I’m rather good at it. Remember that Lola I bought.’ ‘Yes, I remember.’ ‘Just sold it to a Russian dealer for five times what I paid for it. Nice turn in 18 months eh? And the great thing about the art game is if it all goes belly up no one gets hurt because it’s only high rollers that get to play. There are no little guys at the table. Look, I’m just off to meet a new client, but we must catch up. Here’s my card. Give us a buzz.’ .