I looked around the Leicester Square station ticket hall. It was packed; I was being jostled from every angle. I was starting to get anxious because of the sheer number of people surrounding me. I emerged to the surface just around the corner from the Hippodrome. I looked at my map. My heart sank as I realised I needed to do battle with the city crowds: I needed to walk through the busiest part of Leicester Square to get to Piccadilly Circus. My destination was a pub called The Warwick.
The Warwick turned out to be less of a pub, and more of a fancy bar. Everything inside was gleaming, modern and clean. It’s expensive and trendy interior immediately made me feel uncomfortable. Plus, it was packed. Punters stood at the bar, awaiting their turn to be served with an after work Friday evening drink. After studying the geography of its interior, I decided to do a circuit, to see if I could see anyone. A minute later, I saw a sign on an empty table that read ‘Paul 5.00pm’ and a forlorn-looking chap who was nursing an empty glass.
‘Paul?’
‘Yes! Hello! Sit down!’
Paul was really pleased to see me. I was the first one there. ‘Thanks for coming! What’s your name?’ Paul had been at the table for around an hour and was thoroughly bored. He regaled me with stories about how he had to battle to keep the table from various random drinkers, insisting that ‘people’ would turn up any minute.
‘What do you want to drink? I’ll buy you a drink. I need to get myself one, but I don’t want to leave the table since it will get nabbed. Can you stay here?’ I puzzled over different choices of beer for a moment before settling on a local brew.
‘Excuse me, are you Paul?’ asked a voice. I turned around. It was someone called Jane, who was also a member of the group. Jane, who was already furnished with a libation, sat down. Jane was in her thirties and immaculately dressed. We started to chat about London, the busyness of the surrounding streets and whether this was ‘our first time’.
‘Hello! Welcome welcome! Thanks for coming!’ enthused Paul, returning with the drinks. ‘So, tell me, what do you guys do?’
I explained that I worked at a university, and Jane explained that she had recently set up her own internet business selling party goods. Paul had a couple of different jobs: he was part time motivational speaker, and part-time human resources lawyer. Something struck me about Paul: he was an extrovert; a glowing beacon on energy. He flicked the conversations between both myself and Jane, deftly changing topics.
‘Can you tell I’ve had Botox?’ he asked, moments after we all got caught up into a discussion about how old we all were.
‘Botox?’ asked Jane, who appeared to be mildly dumbfounded.
‘Yes, just up here’ replied Paul, stroking his forehead. ‘It’s very subtle, isn’t it? Actually, it hasn’t had too much of an effect. I think it would make more of an impact if you were really wrinkled.’
A new member appeared: Sarah, who was carrying a glass of white wine. Sarah it seemed, was a teacher at a private school that offered specialist support for teenagers who had been excluded from mainstream schools.
‘So, you and him, you’re not freelancers?’ said Paul, pointing in my direction. ‘You both have proper jobs? You and you. Go on, GET OUT! Leave the group, GO!’ Paul joked, poking his thumb towards the exit.
Two more people arrived. There was Simon, who was a freelance book keeper who was in his fifties, and Lisa, who was an actor and playwright. Lisa also ran courses to train corporate executives how to communicate. With each new person arriving, the configuration of the seating changed.
‘So, tell me more about what you do…’ asked Paul.
‘You could call me a computer scientist, I guess.’
‘I bet you’re a real brainbox, am I right? Do you do coding? It’s all about coding these days isn’t it? Can you code?’
I replied saying that I could do coding. ‘My job is half academic and half management, which means, I manage some tutors who teach computing.’ I thought I had better change the topic away from computers. ‘Your job must be pretty interesting, I mean, I’ve come round to the view that HR is pretty tough’.
‘It is! It can be very tough; it’s all about emotional intelligence and connection. It’s about understanding different perspectives. I see things from both sides, from the view of the businesses and from the view of the employee. It is interesting... In my experience, technical people make terrible managers.’
We chatted about different groups. By then, I had exposed my quest, and Paul was enthusiastically telling everyone that I had been to an ‘orgasm group’. Everyone, it seemed, had heard about Ken’s Events. Jane told everyone about the ‘Fill my weekend’ group, the group where I had done some sketching at the National Portrait Gallery, and Lisa told us about a dating group that hosted an event in The Shard, London’s tallest sky scraper. The organiser, it seemed, had been refused entry because he was too scruffy.
‘So, are you in a relationship, or single?’ asked Paul, without any hint of discretion. ‘Hey! We’re all single! That’s great! Isn’t that great!’
Paul, however, wasn’t single. ‘My partner is an architect; he’s technical. Very technical’, taking another swig from his beer.
It struck me that there was some serious drinking going on. Paul had nearly finished his third bottle of Budweiser, and the others had been making impressive progress through numerous glasses of wine. I also realised that that it was Paul’s inaugural Meetup. He had set up the group after going to a similar group that was located in a town close to where he lived. After two months of prevaricating and procrastinating, and over ninety members signing up, he decided it was time to run his first event.
The aim of his group wasn’t to help with networking, but just to have some fun nights out, to give freelancers and home workers the opportunity to let off steam. It sounded like a good idea. Paul was a perfect host. He was extraverted, bubbly, charming, and self-deprecating.
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