Peter Stringfellow

One lovely spring morning quite some years ago, perhaps in 2002, I was walking down Upper St Martins Lane toward Covent Garden when I heard petulant shouting coming from what I'd later realise was Stringfellow's nightclub (that I'd heard of but never actually been to.) The front doors were flung open and leonine Peter Stringfellow stomped outside carrying black bin bags which he threw on the curb before stamping back inside, slamming the doors.

I can't decide whether this is remarkable or not. Night club owner puts out rubbish? But then it was leonine Peter Stringfellow.