In the old Colony Room, where we would consume alcohol in truly industrial quantities, fights were unknown. Members were expected to savage each other verbally alone. Now one would expect the drunkest members, and therefore the most combative, to be the least articulate, their fluency dulled by drink. And no doubt this was often the case. But not always. When a member, the director of a well-known advertising agency, stretched his privilege by bringing in three rather unpleasant guests who drank the small fridge dry of champagne and displayed an arrogance towards members warranted to irritate it was too much for a sweating, red-faced, swaying member of modest means with at least four bottles of house red under his belt. He rose majestically on his stool, pointed a Moses like finger at the miscreant and boomed " You phff.. fff..phphff.." The bar froze in anticipation. "Fucking?" came a helpful voice from the back "Fat?" from the rear window "FATuous VULgar IGNORant DREARY little C__T!" he completed and collapsed exhausted back on his stool to ringing cheers. The Ad agency director and his guests slunk away down the stairs a few minutes later.