Most in London and some in Germany are in the know that it is public celebrities, or those who believe they are, who attend the Groucho Club. Luckily it is less public that not all at the Groucho are such sort, certainly not when Estela Welldon invites "friends and relations" who have an attachment to her, the diploma course or the IAFP twice a year. The Groucho Club is located in Dean Street, in a house that can easily be missed. Even more the quite inconspicuous side entrance can pass unnoticed. A microphone must be spotted and a password must be uttered: "Estela" is my favourite one - and since that has always been successful I would not risk others lest "forensic" or "sex offenders" or "psychiatry" should fail and I be left embarrassed. As all this occurs in the bustle of Soho, I canīt help to be reminded of LARRY as he explores the red light districts in the infamous computer game. My feeling of oddness is enhanced by the fact that I have left a rather sober and tidy German (Swabian) hospital office only a few hours before and have rushed to this scene via Stuttgart and Heathrow airports, express train and underground in my typical Jetset haste and without looking around once. Here I am, all of a sudden, in a seedy district, clambering up a much too narrow staircase to the upstairs function rooms of the Groucho Club, asking myself if I am being caught in something irrational within myself or something irrational within the party and the people that I am going to meet. But apprehensions dissipate as soon as I arrive. So many familiar faces and companions of so many years! And I realize that it is the same thing that draws all the others to that place: familiarity, search of continuity... Maybe a lot of the people at these Groucho parties do not meet more often than I meet them, although they all live in London and I in Stuttgart. What do we do, when we are there? First we chat. Some talk of our work, which has so many similarities, some of our children, some idealising or demonizing our past, some considering our future. Then we settle down to some serious dining, then music sets in and in the end we get exuberant and silly irrespective of age and status. We all part in extremely high spirits and behave as if we had always been together and as if the next Groucho Party date was just round the corner. And indeed, while I am writing this the next Groucho evening is indeed round the corner: 17th December 1999 and I shall be back there - Air traffic, express trains and taxis permitting.