The City, as I’ve already observed, belongs to the young. It is also increasingly the preserve of the Etonian. I suppose this is just a return to the good old days, but it is striking how the barrow boys of the eighties and the classless nerds of the nineties are being replaced in the sandwich queues by the kind of children you would expect to see tumbling out of a King’s Road nightclub in the company of a girl named Allegra. The accents are getting podgier, the haircuts floppier. Why it is that the investment banks are turning once more to the upper classes, I don’t know, but as someone who has grown up more or less on the cusp of public schooldom I find it mildly distressing.
Mind you, their fathers probably own half the Home Counties. I should really strike up conversation with a few of them over roast beef & trimmings in Fuzzy’s Grub. A little sucking up to the younger generation never did a private banker any harm.
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