Sheikhs, Lies and Real Estate: The Untold Story of Dubai Read Online Free

comfortably on my own terms without the pressure to ‘fit in’.
    Sadly, my parents’ marriage didn’t last the
stresses of working-class life and they separated when I was 10. After the
divorce, I left with my mother to live in a tough suburb of North London. Life
was quite different there. Most other kids in the neighbourhood belonged to
gangs, and fights and stabbings seemed to be an everyday occurrence. Out of
fear of falling into the wrong crowd, my watchful mother constantly reminded me
of the need to study hard to make a future for myself. I did as I was told,
stayed out of trouble and kept my head in my books. Needless to say, my mother
was overwhelmed with pride when at the age of 18 my efforts were rewarded with
an offer to study at Oxford University; a passport to the distinguished life I
desperately craved.
    Apparently getting into Oxford was a big
achievement for an ethnic kid from an inner-city school, but pretty much from
the day I arrived I knew that I didn’t belong there. Most of my fellow students
were private-school brats who had never had the misfortune of associating with
state-school plebs like me. I had never played rugby, nor did I row or fence,
so there was little common ground there. I tried my best to relate to their stories
of picnics at Henley and weekends rambling in the Cotswolds, but the only
interesting anecdotes I had to offer in return were of friends being mugged, or
neighbours burgled in the middle of the night. I quickly accepted it was a lost
cause. We were chalk and cheese, and Oxford was not for me .
    Lonely and depressed in my dimly lit dorm room,
I received an unexpected phone call one weekend that would change my life for
ever. Some old school friends invited me to join them for a private party at a
members-only nightclub in the West End of London called The Rooms. The club was
world renowned as one of London’s most exclusive night spots and a regular
haunt for celebrities and movie stars, so it was an invitation I wasn’t going
to turn down. It would be a welcome change from yet another boring evening in
the dreary college bar, so I dressed in my best shirt and took the coach from
Oxford to London for an adventure.
    From the very moment I passed the velvet rope
into The Rooms, I was spellbound. The intoxicating music, the discerning crowd
and the irresistible ambience captivated me. As we cracked open the champagne
and danced on the tables until the break of dawn, for the first time in my life
I felt like I belonged. There was no class divide or snobbery here; instead the
revellers were united with a single, overarching purpose: to party hard and
have fun. My eyes had suddenly opened up to a new world that I had never even known
existed; where I could be anybody I wanted without a care in the world. And for
those few exhilarating hours, I was free. 
    That night changed everything. Every week as
another grim schedule of lectures ended, I jumped on the coach to London to get
my weekend party fix. I became a regular at The Rooms and I soon became good friends
with the club’s owner, an eccentric Italian American called Gino del Primo.
Gino was kind enough to offer me my own guest list at the club, which meant I
could earn a cut of everything my invited guests spent, whether that was a
single bottle of vodka or a Nebuchadnezzar of champagne. Considering the
average spend on a table was over £2,000, it was an opportunity to make some
good money.
    And so I was soon living a double life as an
insignificant Oxbridge geek by day, and a promoter at the most exclusive club
in London by night. I never waited in a queue, everybody knew my name and I was
rubbing shoulders with the cream of London’s in-crowd. I partied with movie
stars, sports personalities and royalty. In stark contrast to the monotony of
Oxford student life, I was recognised and respected here; I was a ‘somebody’. And
it wasn’t long before I had my first encounter with the so-called kings of
London nightlife