Building buys a pint for

Atkins, it seems, does not understand the fundamentals of this event. When Building arrives at the Prince Regent, a mere two minutes late, the consultant’s representatives have already bought their own pints – and a fair few of them, at that.

“We’ve had a busy day,” explains Matthew. “Some of us were pole dancing at 9.30 this morning.” This is no joke – Atkins is fresh from a company photoshoot around what Beth describes as “a large piece of public art on a large bit of concrete” somewhere near its Regent’s Park office.

This structure, whatever it may be, has a number of poles, around which the team had to strike a pose. “We all adopted a pole,” says Hannah.

“Some more than others,” interrupts Matthew, with an accusatory glance in Beth’s direction.

The guys went for a Reservoir Dogs-style tableau rather than a re-enactment of Showgirls, but the incident seems to have reawakened a peculiar ambition in Paul R. “I’d like a pole in my house,” he says. “I’ve wanted one ever since Ghostbusters.”

On the theme of busting things, conversation wanders to the topic of Prince Harry in Iraq, the front-page story on many of the papers strewn around the pub.

“I think it’s heroic,” declares Beth.

“The Duke of York went to the Falklands,” adds Paul R.

“Then went out with a porn star,” chips in Matt. “You’d be really disappointed if you were in the army and looked like Harry, though, with all the snipers.”

Paul F lets out a raucous laugh. This, apparently, has nothing to do with snipers bagging the wrong redhead, but has been prompted by a feature in one of the papers on what celebrities would look like without their hair.

“The Queen looks like a Matt Lucas character!” “That’s another royal commission gone,” says Matthew, shaking his head.

Lucas and his Little Britain partner David Walliams were apparently spotted at this pub by Atkins a couple of weeks back.

“There’re always celebrities here,” says Matthew, unconvincingly. At least it explains why he’s spent a good half hour pointing out fashionably dressed women and asking Paul R if they’re famous.

Then, as if on cue, Danny Baker walks in. Admittedly, he looks quite dishevelled and is hardly A-list, but Matt is triumphant. “I told you!”

Point proven, he heads to the bar. In a last-ditch attempt to turn the conversation to industry topics, a discussion is begun on the pitfalls of public inquiries, but this is swiftly curtailed once Matt returns with one pint too few.

“Where’s my beer, more to the point?” demands Paul R. “Let’s have a public inquiry into that.”