A Tale of two Peters

I have two friends called Peter.

Peter no.1 grew up in the same town as me (Walton-on-Thames), went to the same private school and high end university. Peter no. 2 went to the local school in Walton-on-Thames - called Rydens.

Peter no.1 did English as I did with a young Richard Curtis in his tutorial group - and from there went straight into merchant banking.

The other Peter became a chef rather than a chief - but then, aiming higher, bought his first café. When the next-door shop became available, he bought it, and in due course the flats above, and then a new café in Molesey near Hampton Court, not far from Hampton Court Palace.

My university pal (see below right) died half a year ago after an accident kayaking near his retreat in Lamu. He was 68.

It was fairly cold but this was us in Kingston circa Dec 2025 arriving from Hampton Court via the towpath. Peter cycling, me running.

Peter no. 2 still goes to bed no later than 7 pm, and rises at 5 am in all weathers and seasons. He goes for a long walk in Home Park, the deer park behind the Palace, where Evgeniy Lebedev lives in a beautiful mansion behind old walls with his two Borzoi dogs and a tame Siberian yellow-eyed wolf. I shook hands with him once while he was out in the park to thank him for what he had done with The Independent.

My friend Peter was supremely bright at school, but also a nice man and great soul mate. At the age of 17 we both followed in the footsteps of our English teacher (who later became a headmaster) and went to India where we were meant to teach in schools in the hills. I was not teacher material, so opted to work on a farm in the plains and bring in the wheat harvest. The year was 1975 – over fifty years ago.

Meanwhile, the other Peter steadily built his modest business, turning sandwiches and coffee into profit, buying an old Bentley and a nice flat in a conversion property in East Molesey. Today in his mid-60s he is never late for work, opens up the shop, makes sure the staff are on the ball, meets and greets, and watches the pennies.

Peter 1 on the other hand did God’s work with a leading merchant bank. A partner in the Far East during the great telecoms privatisation, it caused him to be listed in the Sunday Times Rich List with an estimated wealth of £100 mln.

For a couple of decades my meetings with this Peter seemed to reduce. I stopped suggesting meetings when he simply did not turn up. Then surprisingly about three years ago he resurfaced, apologising for his lack of contact and suggested we got together. I was happy on condition we did not have meals or go for a drink. I suggested instead going for runs, but he mentioned something about his knees. So, we came up with the plan that he would cycle, and I would run by his side.

So began three years of renewed friendship when neither of us could wait to get together. Either I would go up to London, and we would go around Hyde Park, or he would come to Hampton Court on the train, and we would run down to Kingston and back through Bushy Park. The only issue was that Peter tended to forget I was running and after about the 10^th mile I was hesitant to suggest a coffee so as not to break the spell. We had so much to reflect on. The world of business, yes, but also family, philosophy, and the latest episodes of Melvyn Bragg's ‘In our Time’ or Alan Yentob’s ‘Imagine’ or other programmes or books. It was Peter for example who told me I had to read ‘Material World’ by Ed Conway (which I would highly recommend to all metal merchants - in business or retired).

The two stories finally came together one day after a long run/ride when before expiring I suggested a coffee at Café Peter's café. Peter, the cyclist, was in reflective mood. He had never fully recovered from the year when he’d been voted off the merchant bank's partnership the year before the float, and his great mind was beginning to let him down. He was constantly worried and hankered after nothing more than the simple things in life. It seemed to me he would be happier just hiking in the countryside (as we had done in our youth) with a backpack and a tent, rather than enmired in the trappings of his former wealth. And trappings they had indeed become with – in his mind at least – financial worries real or imagined.

When I told Café Peter about his namesake and hinted at Peter no 1s former career and how we came to be running and cycling together, Peter 1 was transfixed by the owner-occupier that coffee-house Peter was, and how he ran his modest but successful business. Only half-jokingly, Café Peter (who took to Peter no 1) suggested - without reference to George Orwell - that my friend should join him as pot-washer. It seemed at that moment that Peter no. 1 would have wished for nothing more in the world.

Café Peter later told me his particular view of life. (Perhaps it is a common view, but I had not heard it.)

He said there are those of us in the jungle and those of us in the zoo. Those in the jungle (read metal merchanting, shop-owners, small business owners) fight each day, either to eat or be eaten. Those in the Zoo (read corporate world, or working in the bureaucracy) slave all the days of their lives, are fed regularly, but at the end when the keeper opens the cage door to freedom the former occupant enters the jungle, and is promptly eaten.

It does make a strong case for the jungle.

By Anthony Lipmann 03.07.26

A version of this article was published on www.lord-copper.com