Today I am in The Grand Connaught Rooms. Which are, indeed, far grander (post £7M refurb) than they used to be ten years ago, when they were called the New Connaught Rooms and were going through a particularly shabby patch. There was a bad mouse problem. You could smell it in the corridors.
First built as the Freemason's Tavern in 1774, this warren of glittering dining rooms has been added to and embellished over the years, and each era has left its mark. Eighteenth century plaster swaggery. Edwardian panelling. Masonic symbols on door handles and carved into woodwork. But the overriding feel is Art Deco. There is a sense that if you turn a corner quick enough you might just catch the swing of a beaded dress or the snap of a metal cigarette case.
Circumstances bring me here infrequently, but regularly - about every five years. And every time I've been here, I've been doing something different. First time was a company meeting - long ago, when I worked for a publishing company. Second time - I was playing an alcoholic Irish nun in a piece of high camp dinner theatre. Third time, shooting with Tim Vine for an improvised comedy film. Today I'm in front of a hundred people talking about the psychology and behaviour of great leaders.
Like the Connaught Rooms, each era has left its mark on me. Along the way I've picked up some swags, some panelling and some symbols.
Wonder what I'll have acquired in another five years? £7M refurb? A bad mouse problem? Or maybe a leather apron?
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