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Adventures in clubland

My life as an aspiring clubman

Oscar Humphries

Wednesday, 12th December 2007

Oscar Humphries dreams of long lunches at the Garrick

If I had a Who’s Who entry, it would state that I am a member of the Groucho Club. This membership was given to me by my godfather who didn’t know his godson had turned into a cheque-bouncing bounder. I did not choose the Groucho. The Groucho — unwisely, I think — chose me. I thought I was a member of the Pug Club — a rather snooty organisation. Friends of mine bought a pug and found the Pug Club harder to join than White’s. They needed to be proposed then seconded so I offered to do the latter. ‘Oscar Humphries isn’t a member of the Pug Club, but he says he’s one’, came the letter back. I must have forgotten to pay my dues or perhaps I didn’t send in the right forms.

Like most interesting people, I Google badly. I am therefore too nervous to join any serious clubs. Even my Annabel’s membership application remains, as it has done for nearly two years, only half filled in. I just can’t stand rejection whether it’s from women, cash machines or clubs.

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