A recent info-graphic estimated to live the high life a la Jay Gatsby would cost a whopping £22.5 million pounds.
Slightly enraged and incredibly jealous I set about discovering if it was possible for a mere mortal such as myself to get just a taste of the Gatsby grandiose for one night.
Let's look at the figures. Nineteen-and-a-half million of the total amount is instantly consumed by owning a mansion with a private beach, marble swimming pool and 40 acres of land.
My upper floor flat with private porch, shower and South London road junction just outside means a saving of, well, a smidgen under £19.5million pounds.
Next, transport. In the world of Gatsby £1.7million will get you a Rolls Royce, two motorboats, a station wagon and that essential hydroplane.
I have nowhere to park a hydroplane so a zones 1-3 monthly travel card at a meagre £135 will suffice.
I can forgo a personal shopper at £262,000 as I own one (rather dapper tweed) suit.
But what about the parties and the servants? Parties are out unless I somehow manage to stealthily infiltrate the upper classes and get invited to one.
Assuming 'Made in Chelsea' is a wholly faithful reflection of the British upper crust (it is, right?), I feel this would not be possible without the mission ending in my arrest on charges of assault.
A compromise is needed so I choose an evening in a restaurant Gatsby could conceivably frequent, the Wellesley in Knightsbridge.
My housemate Sam and I get suitably glammed up and off we go.
There are so many staff to open every door and attend your every whim that I feel this ticks off the 'servant' requirement.
Inside is beautiful and suitably art deco in style. Definitely the place philanthropists and high-rollers would come although this is difficult to sat definitively as we are the only people here.
Personally, if I was to be able to have one aspect of a Gatsby existence it would be the food. And the booze.
Now I've never seen the words '£35' and 'Pizza' next to each other before but then again neither have I seen this Italian classic come layered in truffles.
And usually my pea soup doesn't contain lobster and my fillet steak isn't from rare breeds that are raised on beer and given daily massages to make their meat insanely tender.
I'm led to believe a quintessential part of any grand night out is a quality cigar of which I know nothing about.
Fortunately the Wellesley has Europe's largest walk-in humidor with a massive selection including cases of one of the world's most expensive cigars at a mind-shattering £3,000.
Remarkably they have nearly sold all of them.
Sam and I opt for something a touch more affordable and sit on the lovely little cigar terrace outside next to a roaring fire sipping Godfather cocktails.
Then our night is over. As we leave we are offered a taxi home, the taxi being a brand new Rolls Royce Phantom.
We decline, we doubt the sat-nav would know where Forest Hill even is.
So, can you live like Gatsby for the night?
Well, yes. It's not cheap and you could only do it for the odd special occasion.
But personally I wouldn't want it any other way. It's nice to aspire to a fancy night out as an occasional decadence.
I would hate for it to become the norm. Then what would you do for a treat?
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