Tottering back from my favourite watering hole late the other night, I noticed a kerfuffle around one of those tawdry buildings in the back streets.
Soon after, several fire engines arrived and started pumping copious amounts of water into an upstairs window, from which smoke was billowing. One of the bystanders told me that the flat belonged to a commodities dealer called Trevor (which just goes to prove how City types are flocking to invest in Ramsgate).
It did strike me as a bit odd, though, that Trevor's bench and chairs were being carted across the road into the pub opposite. Thinking it was an act of kindness by the publican, I went over to congratulate her on her altruism.
'They're ours,' came the curt response. 'Trevor nicked them when we put them out last summer.'
I must say, standards in the Square Mile certainly do seem to be slipping.
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