In the chaotic aftermath of the 2008 financial crash a world famous fashion label that I worked for went into administration. Overnight the company went from 150 employees to 5. What had been an amazing journey for almost a decade came to an abrupt and unceremonious end. It was a sad day, one that nobody saw coming even though in hindsight it was inevitable. Behind the scenes, around half a million pounds worth of high end stock, that was stored in a third party warehouse, was being sold onto some shady characters in North London to pay off a debt. Two guys who normally dealt in counterfeit goods had just hit the jackpot, but they needed somebody who understood what they had and could sell it on before they could turn their bounty into hard currency.
I reluctantly agreed to take the job, I needed the money and I actually thought that I could somehow bridge the gap between these guys and the company. I even called the old boss and told him what I was doing, needless to say he didn't react well.
I employed a crew of friends and we got to work. I hired hangers and rails and vans, I put out publicity, bought boxes, bags and cloakroom tickets. I called some DJs and a security firm, all the usual stuff. What I didn't do was hire the venue. The would-be gangster boys did that. The places I suggested seemed to expensive for them and they said they knew somewhere luxurious and central and that they could get at a good price. Great I thought, one less thing for me to deal with.
When I arrived at 33 Portland Place with 8 of my warehouse mates and a van full of fancy clothes I was asked if I could wait 20 minutes. I needed load in but was being held up whilst a film crew finished shooting a porn movie in the room that we had hired. The guys I had working for me thought it was amazing, watching half naked models prancing about whilst they sat about in an ostentatious ex-Embassy building in the heart of London. However, I was seeing things slightly differently. The self styled Bowie-esque character that owned the building was far more intriguing to me than the smutty low budget "actresses".
This man, Eddie, had an air about him, he floated around the grande house like the lord of the manor with foot soldiers, glamour girls and yes men. I later found out he actually was a lord, well kind of. His demeanor immediately alerted my instincts and I had an instant dislike for this weathered middle aged man wearing a expensive smoking jacket with shorts and slippers. His face told a story, betraying his contrived appearance, leaking his mystery. Behind the bourgeois mask of the charming aristocrat there was a desperately sleazy man who was not to be trusted.
At the end of a long day unloading the van and creating a luxury shopping experience for our faithful fans I decided to sleep in the shop. It was late already and I needed to be back early in the morning but mostly I really didn't feel safe leaving half a million pounds worth of stock under the care of Lord Davenport. The last of my crew left and the house was eerily quiet. I knew he was here somewhere, probably with a few girls, but the place was massive and the residential chambers were separated from the rooms that were open to the public. I felt it was safe to get high.
I rolled a big joint, smoked it and fell asleep to the whirring sirens of central London.
The next thing I knew was that I was waking up to a very loud crashing noise. something was being broken?
I half opened my eyes and then the door in front of me smashed open, and I mean smashed.
Before I had time to think two fully equipped officers pointing machine guns at me stormed into the room, shouting!
My Heart was thumping...
"Get out of Bed" I remember them screaming.
I stood up and put my hands above my head. At this point, in the midst of chaos, half asleep, I thought to myself,
"I've got 2 grams of weed in my pocket", and the ridiculous idea that they might be here for that made me chuckle.
Instantly the cops calmed down, the shouting stopped and one of them said, "well we're not here for him."
It was all over in seconds for me, but the police would be there for at least the rest of the day. Nobody was allowed to enter or leave the house for the next 8-10 hours, except me, the police sent me out for coffee about 20 mins after they arrested Eddie Davenport.
Eddie was on the front page of the papers the next day. He was charged with a hundred and fourteen million pound fraud. The building , 33 Portland Place, had been fraudulently taken from the Liberian government and was being used as a high class brothel as well as other things. There's a vice documentary about him if you want to know more -
I guess what I learned from this particular moment in my life was always trust your instincts and if the police are pointing a gun at you, smile!