I used to think I was a Nietzschean superman. Now I know I’m just a dad

In The Wolf of Wall Street, there’s a poignant shot towards the end in which we see an FBI agent going home on the subway. This law enforcement officer — Agent Patrick Denham — will eventually bring about the downfall of Jordan Belfort, the film’s main character, and the fact that he uses public transport is supposed to be evidence of his integrity. He’s an honest, hard-working tax-payer who plays by the rules.

I’m not quite sure how it happened, but in the past 25 years I’ve gone from being an international party boy to a kind of FBI agent. Admittedly, I’ve never plumbed the depths of debauchery that Jordan Belfort does in the film. Even in my New York heyday, I was more of a Mouse of Madison Avenue than a Wolf of Wall Street. But I aspired to be that guy. I dreamed about being whisked from party to party in a white limousine with a blonde on each arm — ‘cuff-links’, as Frank Sinatra used to say. A sort of Wasp Puff Daddy.

As readers of How to Lose Friends and Alienate People will know, my New York career fell somewhat short of that goal. But at times I came perilously close. For instance, I accompanied Iron Maiden on the Brazilian leg of their world tour and ended up on stage in Rio belting out the chorus to ‘Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter’. Then there was that moment on the set of the Hollywood version of How to Lose Friends and Alienate People when the producer motioned to a group of models who were working on the film and said, ‘Take your pick, Toby. They’re all dying to meet you.’

So today, when I find myself sitting on the Underground heading towards East Acton, I flatter myself that I’ve chosen to be a member of the suburban petit bourgeoisie.