He told me it was walking distance from Knightsbridge Tube station. But unbelievably the distance from the station to his main gate is approximately the same distance from the main gate to his front door. There is a huge garden in the front with fountains on both sides and some roman statues. I walked up to the front door, knocked on the door. I could hear the party from outside.

I was hoping that some waiter would open the door. I was wrong Diary.

PIERCE BROSNAN OPENED THE DOOR! PIERCE BROSNAN! PIERCE BROSNAN! AYYO AYYO AYYO DEIVAME! PIERCE BROSNAN! JAMES BOND! JAMES BOND!

I shook his hands walked in and said hello to Tom. He asked me how I liked the house.

Diary so far in my life I have never seen:

1. A house with three storeys. (Real storeys. Not a fraud third floor with one box full of old books like Johnson uncle has.)
2. A house with a lobby and a lobby fountain.
3. A house with more than four bathrooms.

Tom’s house has 16 bathrooms. Or at least I counted 16 bathrooms. At one point, while walking around looking at the paintings I got lost. I GOT LOST IN SOMEBODY’S HOUSE DIARY.

It still hasn’t sunk in. I asked Tom’s wife if this was a company flat or if Tom owned it. She just laughed and gave me more wine. Maybe he owns it.

Every fifteen minutes I went over to Tom, thanked him for inviting me and then told him how awesome his house was. He laughed. Then, just after the six-course dinner, he pulled me to one side and thanked me. I asked him why. He told me that without people like me, all this would not have been possible. It was thanks to my help that he had the wealth and prosperity. I asked him how long it would take for me to make one-tenth of his money. He told me to be patient. As I gained more experience and got promoted, he said, I would get more and more chances to siphon funds.

It was quite motivating over all.

During dinner I sat next to that woman who used to come on Murder She Wrote on TV. Don’t remember her name.

Tom hired a cab to drop me back here. Not some minicab driven by an illegal Bengali. But a proper black London cab driven by a local fellow.

What a night Diary. What a night.

For the last few months, as you know, I have been very upset about this whole arrangement with Tom. It has been a real moral dilemma for me. On the one hand I want to genuinely transform Lederman. The bank has the potential to be the next Bore Atlantic. Maybe even HSBC. But is that enough reason to divert funds to people like Tom.