A summer without rampant bankers

The Wharf is certainly not as much fun anymore, there are fewer bottles of champagne being popped.

Now it's fashionable to be an environmentally conscientious bike rider; everyone recycles; no-one gets a bonus and we all live in dread of redundancy.

Our once resplendent waterside gated apartments are now worth so little you can't even swap them for a packet of Hula Hoops.

I have heard people say the Wharf has been neutered. Like a naughty little animal we've had our desires curbed and our balls cut off.

Politicians, the media, and every envious squirt who didn't work hard enough to get any GCSEs, pour scorn on the banks that paved the way to making the Wharf we know and love.

I'm not a particular fan of bankers, but there's no denying they are a vital bloodline to the area.

Without them, who is going to spend in the shops, spend in the bars and keep us all (both figuratively and literally in some girls' cases) in drinks?

Hopefully they have only temporarily taken their antics behind closed doors, following the vogue for stealth wealth.

We may not have green shoots in the economy yet, but we certainly have the first flowers of spring.

That means a Wharf summer is just around the corner. Cradled in the sparkling hand of the Thames we are a haven of spacious dockside bars, manicured green parks and tumbling fountains.

In other words, the best place for a glass of Pimms.

Without the resident rampant wildlife of the bankers to horrify and amuse us in equal measure, it will all be a bit flat.

Not to mention quite hard to find subjects for this column.