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O come all ye skinflints ... or how the rich and famous gave two zlotys, one euro and a receipt from Argos to our carol singers ; REVIEW
by
Saint, Tony
in
Saint, Tony
2004
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O come all ye skinflints ... or how the rich and famous gave two zlotys, one euro and a receipt from Argos to our carol singers ; REVIEW
by
Saint, Tony
in
Saint, Tony
2004
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O come all ye skinflints ... or how the rich and famous gave two zlotys, one euro and a receipt from Argos to our carol singers ; REVIEW
Newspaper Article
O come all ye skinflints ... or how the rich and famous gave two zlotys, one euro and a receipt from Argos to our carol singers ; REVIEW
2004
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Overview
This was an unpromising start. There was certainly nothing wrong with the singing. Assuming Le Caprice didn't cater to a mainly deaf clientele, I wondered whether the problem lay with me. Having expected the money to come raining in, I'd employed a laid-back collecting method. Perhaps more aggressive tactics were required, so I approached the next sleek black limo as it pulled up a few yards from the entrance, shaking the hat and the few coins inside it with renewed vigour as the troupe broke into Angels We Have Heard On High. Passing them on the way out came one of the partygoers. I was excited to see it was Robert Harris, one of the country's bestknown novelists. He descended the club's steps to the delightful sound of The Hartley Voices singing Once In Royal David's City. Buoyed up by one of my own favourite carols and the sight of folding money in the hat, I approached, offering the compliments of the season and telling him we were collecting for some of the neediest in society. With a quick hand motion, he dropped in a coin which I couldn't see but which gave a light tinkle as it landed. 'Well,' he said, making a face. 'The Chancellor's in but . . .' he gestured at my top hat, 'if he puts his hand in there, it'll only be to take half the money out of it.' Enough of the boulevards of power, we decided. The Establishment had revealed its true Scrooge- like nature and we wanted to find out whether the common man would restore our faith in the generosity of the British people. And so off to the East End, where we settled on a well-known watering hole; The Pride of Spitalfields, just off the celebrated Brick Lane, in search of respectable takings. With our experience so far suggesting that carol singers were about as welcome as an Al Qaeda gift box, I entered the packed, smoky pub and sought out the landlady, with a hint of trepidation.
Publisher
Solo Syndication, a division of Associated Newspapers Ltd
Subject
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