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©
Business Money Ltd 2008
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The
seventh Great Northern Business Money Commercial Finance Dinner
Midland Hotel,
Manchester - 20 September 2007
Either I
am getting old or the dinners are increasing the speed at which they
come around each year. As the latter of these two possibilities
isn’t, in fact, a possibility at all, I had better write this
quickly before the amnesia sets in.
Anyone who has subscribed to Business Money for more than a few
months will be aware of the fact that we host a number of functions
throughout the year, including two dinners, which are held in London
and Manchester.
The one I attended on 20 September was the Seventh Great Northern
Business Money Commercial Finance Dinner and as I headed up on the
train I could almost envisage the article that I would be writing
afterwards.
The black-tie events are always well-attended, and ever since the
first Manchester dinner, we have always enjoyed the participation of
Hilary Craft’s Gene Machine charity, so the format is normally a
fairly standard one: champagne reception; sit-down meal; speech from
the editor, Robert Lefroy; fund-raising raffle for the Gene Machine;
thanks to Sophie Grove, who works tirelessly to ensure that these
events run smoothly, time and time again; professional comedian; and
final words from Robert Lefroy – with proceedings being conducted by
toastmaster, Tony Rance. And then, after the formalities, guests
network into the early hours.
And I’m sure that’s exactly what happened.
I’m having to hazard a guess because my dinner experience on this
occasion was a rather different one to that which I had envisaged.
On the Monday evening prior to the event I had managed to fall
awkwardly and injure myself quite badly. From the ensuing, familiar,
pain that I experienced upon coughing or laughing I surmised that I
had broken my ribs. And having done it before, I know that there is
nothing that can be done about it, save being careful not to repeat
the exercise. So I just carried on, business as usual. Until the
evening of the dinner, that is.
Half-way through the main course, whilst enjoying the company of my
guests on table 15, I turned to look at the table behind us… and
something moved.
Suddenly, the numb pain, that only became excruciating in the event
of a cough or a laugh, turned into complete agony. I tried to ignore
it but as the rather necessary act of breathing was now becoming
unbearable I made my excuses and headed for the reception desk to
enquire as to the whereabouts of the nearest hospital.
I was informed that Manchester Royal Infirmary was only a short
distance away and, having declined the offer of an ambulance, made
my way to a waiting taxi.
Now, I do not know my way around Manchester, especially in the dark,
but I am convinced that the route chosen on this occasion took in
every single badly maintained piece of tarmac in the city. Not a
pothole went unvisited and all speed humps were attacked with the
kind of vigour one would normally associate with a motorcycle
scrambling track. Needless to say the journey was not a pleasant
one.
Manchester Royal Infirmary’s accident and emergency department is an
interesting place. I do not know if what I witnessed was the norm,
but I think that I was the only person there unaccompanied by a
uniformed police officer.
As I sat there wheezing, still in my tuxedo, I was assured by the
lady at the desk that my wait would not be a long one. When I was
called up next, I had a sneaking suspicion that I had somehow been
fast-tracked to prevent any further injuries occurring whilst
getting mugged.
The doctor confirmed what I already knew, gave me something for the
pain, plus some industrial strength tablets to see me through the
next couple of weeks, and it was a far less painful return journey
to the Midland. And I was even back in time to catch the tail end of
proceedings.
Manchester Royal Infirmary, I salute you.
As for the dinner? The photos tell the story.
Ben Lefroy
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