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an old U-boat tactic when hunting in packs. I kept an ear open and picked up the City chat.
    â€˜â€¦ saw it coming a mile off. Got out of dollars and into yen nearly a year ago …’
    â€˜â€¦ but it’s basically bid-proof because of the two-tier voting structure ...’
    â€˜... so I said orwite, son, you can ‘ave what I can get but there’ll be a premium that’ll make your nuts ache, and ‘e said ...’
    â€˜... and as I have never exactly wet myself over the trade figures, I don’t see why my clients should ...’
    You know the sort of stuff; well, you would if you’d ever been in a bar within a mile of Bishopsgate after 5.00 pm, or after 4.00 since they changed the pub hours. There was one thing I caught, though, that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
    â€˜... the spade bitch deserves the stick whether she’s doing it or not.’
    I turned as much as the crowd would allow, but it was impossible to tell where the voice had come from. It could have been any one of six pairs of large tortoiseshell glasses or about a dozen pale yellow ties. I’d remember it, though.
    Werewolf had reached the bar about six feet away, and he sidled along until he was at my elbow, mouthing the words ‘Pint o’ stout,’ and I realised I could lip-read Irish accents.
    â€˜So these are what yer call Yuppies, are they?’ he asked between sips.
    â€˜Some are,’ I said, after ordering a bottle of Pils.
    We turned and rested our backs on the bar, like Alan Ladd used to do, except we weren’t standing on boxes.
    â€˜Now he –’ I pointed with my glass – ‘probably is, because he’s had time to go to his squash club or somewhere like Cannon’s gym after work and break into just enough sweat to justify a shower and a change into his country casuals. His work suit’s probably in the Porsche parked round in Finsbury Square.’ The tall blond guy I meant was wearing enough designer labels to account for the GNP of, say, Andorra.
    â€˜But he, on the other hand, –’ I swung my Pils to the right – ‘that’s probably a Puppy.’
    Werewolf squinted his eyes in curiosity, but I knew he wouldn’t come out and ask.
    â€˜A Previously Upwardly-mobile etc,’ I explained. ‘Did very well out of the Big Bang but has found it very hard going a year on. Probably been demoted when his brokers got taken over by a bank or similar. You can tell, because he’s still wearing Mr Harry suits even though they’ve been naff for – ooh – six months now.’
    â€˜I’ve heard of them, but I never thought I’d actually see one. It makes me feel like David-fucking-Attenborough.’
    â€˜And there –’ I noticed my glass was nearly empty – ‘is the future. The one drinking Coke from the bottle and trying to eat a pound of peanuts because he’s heard protein is good for you. Looks like he hasn’t taken O-Levels yet, and he probably hasn’t, and now he won’t ‘cos he’s earning too much.’
    â€˜As what?’
    â€˜They call them market-makers now. It used to be jobbers, you know, on the Stock Exchange floor. Before the Big Bang, the best he could have hoped for was a tick-tack man’s assistant on a race course.’
    Werewolf pushed his tongue into his right cheek until his beard bristled. It was his way of looking thoughtful.
    â€˜And the public school hangers-on?’ he asked.
    â€˜Lombards.’
    â€˜Lots Of Money But Are Right Dickheads?’
    â€˜Correct. Your round.’
    Werewolf turned to the bar and noticed a couple of double-breasted suits using mobile phones. I could now sense the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
    â€˜Watch this,’ he whispered, and edged along the bar as if trying to get to the barman. As he moved, he sneaked up behind the two mobile users and gently nudged each one