7pm Circus, Golden Square There appears to be a private party going
on, but we crash it anyway and nobody seems to care. Commercial director
Owen Pringle recounts a trip to New York, where he was snogged in a bar
by a complete stranger. ’The funny thing was, I’d spent hours trying to
chat up a completely different woman,’ he muses.
8.30pm Alphabet, Beak St The bar is thronged with new-media types, most
of whom seem to know Pringle. As we’re standing by the loos, they can’t
really avoid chatting to us. Techie-but-trendy friend Phil reveals that
Pringle has a collection of sand from around the world.
10pm Six Degrees, Frith St We chill out in this hip new lounge bar,
which for some reason is lit red like a sinking submarine. Things begin
to go horribly wrong when we start downing Absinthe, followed by
Martinis the size of goldfish bowls. Perhaps suspecting trouble ahead,
the ITN team begins to thin out.
1am The Troy Bar, off Tottenham Court Road Just Pringle and me left,
standing in a drinking establishment that defines the term ’dive
Another complete stranger, who also works in new media, collars us to
fret about his receding hairline. But at least he doesn’t try to snog