Two weeks ago we launched a competition to find two lucky readers who would be joining us in the horological equivalent of a magical chocolate factory that is the Thursday night SalonQP VIP Reception. These golden ticket winners would also get to return on the Friday to take part in Jaeger-LeCoultre’s matchmaking master class. Today, we know who these charmed two are.
Congratulations to
- Jean; and
- Mark McArthur-Christie.
Jean wins because he perfectly understands what SalonQP is all about, writing:
“I wish to go to SalonQP to gawk at lovely timepieces, share a drink or several with a bunch of cool folks who share in the same affliction… err…affection for watch collecting as I do.”
Yeah, you said it, Jean. The only thing we’ve found to numb the pain of that nasty little affliction is Champagne by the gallon. Luckily for you, this year, SalonQP will provide it.
Mark wins because we’re suckers for the promise of a gilt-dial Rolex Explorer ref 1016. Mark, you know exactly what to wear on the 8th. Don’t disappoint us….
Jean and Mark can look forward to emails from us very shortly with details of how to claim their tickets. Think of The Prodigal Fool as your very own Willy Wonka.
Now, if we could only figure out how to clone Straight-Six, the Fool would have a village of Oompa Loompas to keep him company…
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And the golden SalonQP VIP Reception and Jaeger-LeCoultre master class tickets go to…
Two weeks ago we launched a competition to find two lucky readers who would be joining us in the horological equivalent of a magical chocolate factory that is the Thursday night SalonQP VIP Reception. These golden ticket winners would also get to return on the Friday to take part in Jaeger-LeCoultre’s matchmaking master class. Today, we know who these charmed two are.
Read other articles about:
Jaeger-LeCoultre, Salon 2012, SalonQP
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Our founder and publisher, the self-proclaimed "greatest wit, raconteur and bon vivant of our age", borders on delusional. Over the years, The Fool has squandered more money on fast cars, Swiss watches and electronic gadgetry of all kinds than he – or his bank manager – cares to remember. Come nightfall, he can invariably be found stumbling out of Dukes mumbling “just one more Martini; I could have handled just one mmmmm… [thud!]”
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Michael
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