Ethics none-oh-none

At the Theatre Royal for the first time since, unless I'm mistaken, 2002's "The Mystery Of Charles Dickens", I saw the Broadway/West End hit musical "Jersey Boys". The story of '60s popsters Frankie Valli And The Four Seasons, it commenced with a modern French interpretation that established the group's lasting and widespread influence, then went on to trace the quartet's rise from singing under a streetlight in New Jersey to consistent chart-toppery. It was a tale with plenty of crime, from the members' delinquent youths to their dealings with the Mob – some cordial, others cement-shoes heavy. There were loves that didn't last, friendships that persisted no matter what, individual tragedies and wistful reminiscences. But, as another Seppo band once sang, the music never stopped: "Sherry", "Big Girls Don't Cry", "Walk Like A Man", "Dawn (Go Away)", "Rag Doll", "Bye, Bye, Baby", "Working My Way Back To You", "Can't Take My Eyes Off You", "December, 1963 (Oh, What A Night)"... Female trio The Angels, who toured with The Seasons, also got a look-in, as did a few artists for whom the boys provided studio backing vocals while doing the hard yards. Disclosure: I had my doubts about the casting, but I did a 180 as soon as the group found its distinctively harmonic sound. All four of the main performers were absolutely perfect in their roles.

During the interval, over a glass of wine, I got chatting to an older party of five. They asked what I did for a living and - small bloody world - it turned out that one fella's debut lawyering gig, around 1980-81, was vetting proofs of our rag for defamation and obscenity. They invited me to join them for drinks in the high rollers' room at the casino afterwards. I graciously declined on account of it being a "school night". While I'd have liked to peek inside that privileged gambling den, the imbalance of power was clear and the expectations of me weren't. To be honest, I think they were just being sociable because they were in their cups (and one lady appeared partner-less). But I didn't feel like trying to live up* to the "wild porn-mag dude" stereotype. Speaking of pornography, a colleague who's been in the jazz pamphlet business for yonks recently informed the office that, for verisimilitude, fake semen is best concocted from icing sugar and water.

*Down.