“Hi, Tim’s my name, contact’s my game.
“Me friends call me Yo-Yo, on account I help me mates unwind, djahmean?
“You look like a proper gentleman, mate. Lots of energy, sunny smile, like in solar, am I wrong? And a well handsome bloke you are too, nice whistle.
“Looks like you need some company, am I wrong? What, you already have a company? So how about some company for your company, djahmean?
“So what’s your pleasure then? Women, men, other? I know’em all, mate. In Westminster, Notting Hill, Islington – you name’em, I know’em. Just ask around in Whitehall – they’ll tell you everyone knows Tim and Tim knows everyone, djahmean?
“What you after then? Right you are, mate. I hear you: someone top-heavy, well keen, knows how to pull your strings like, am I wrong? Oh you mean not pull your strings but pull strings for you? Not a problem. You crack the whip, I make the trip. I’m your Yo-Yo, mate. They don’t call me that for nothing.
“Where you staying, mate? Know it, nice place that, well posh. Well, me contact will meet you in the lobby, how’s that for you? Cost you, but then a nice gentleman like you isn’t short of a bob or two.
“How much? Well, that depends, mate. A quick flowjob will cost you seven bags, me old china. You understand? It’s London, mate. Bag of sand, grand. Way we talk here.
“What’s a flowjob? Just told you, seven bags. Oh what is it? It’s like me contact is pulling a train and there’s lots of blokes in a queue. You want to get to the top, that’s quick flow. You get ahead of other blokes, the rest is down to you, djamean? Quick flowjob, we call it.
“Then there’s half-and-half, cost you another three bags. It’s like you make contact, I twist an arm, make sure you get done like you never been done before, like.
“Another five bags, and you get full English, djamean? We call it round-the-world. You get done not just here in London but everywhere you go. Get you on the map, mate. China, Africa, you name it. The sun never sets, me old china. Like in solar.
“So it’s a deal then? Me contact meet you in your lobby, fifteen bags, all in. Half now, half when you get done.
“No, no cheques, mate. Got to be bangers. You know, bangers ‘n mash, cash… Ta, mate.
“Let’s have a drink on it. Oi, dahlin! Giz a couple of Mahatmas, love. That’s brandy to you, guv. You know, Mahatma Gandhi… Yeah, it’s London, mate. Way we talk here”
Throughout this conversation, taking place in a booth next to mine, I was trying to steal a peak at the man delivering this soliloquy. But he was well hidden from view by the back of his seat.
I finished my drink and headed for the exit, not daring to look over my shoulder. One never knows with these chaps – they catch you staring, they may turn violent.
I walked out and shielded my eyes from the bright sun shining across the Thames. What a lovely place Westminster is, I thought. Full of good people always ready to help a stranger.