Chris Potts hosts Roger Overall at the Hong Kong Club

I SHOULD be talking to a salesman on his yacht. After all, in his youth, Chris Potts was told he was perfect material for a career as a technical salesman. And he originally offered to meet on his 34ft motor yacht for a cruise around Hong Kong Island as we ate and spoke. But life rarely pans out as expected. Chris ignored the counsel to become a sales rep. Instead he became a maritime lawyer. And there wasn't time enough to go for a cruise on his boat. Instead he brings me as his guest to the Hong Kong Club. The first is a decision he no doubt reflects upon fondly. The latter ... well, you'll see.

It is evident from the moment Chris strolls into the downstairs foyer of the Hong Kong Club that he is connected with the local maritime bar. Talking breezily with him is Justice William Waung, Hong Kong's Admiralty Judge, a man Chris later describes as "an informal judge" with "interactive" tendencies. He says Justice Waung is an easy man to get to know, particularly as maritime circles in Hong Kong tend to be very small. It only takes two or three drinks receptions for everyone to get to know everyone else.

The maitre d' of the Hong Kong Club's restaurant has no need to attend drinks receptions to meet the city's good and great. They come to him instead. He welcomes Chris respectfully by name, without checking the reservation and without Chris having to state who he is. We are whisked to our table, where Chris quickly orders caesar salads and seafood mixed grills for the both of us. We exchange some pleasantries, Chris sips at his bloody mary, and I place my notebook on the table to start the interview proper.

The maitre d' moves like a ninja. In an instant he is at Chris's side, whispering discreetly into his ear through a cupped, white-gloved hand. When he has retreated, Chris apologises. "I forgot. You're not allowed any paperwork on the table," he says. The writing pad moves to my lap. The Hong Kong Club may be in China, but there is an air of Britishness about it, and we British try not to make a fuss in public.

Chris himself never made a fuss when, after joining London law firm Norton Rose Botterell & Roche in 1975, he found that Mr Botterell and travel rarely mixed. Instead, Mr Botterell would delegate travel to his assistants. At the very last moment. "I regularly found myself in a taxi to Heathrow with my briefcase, but no overnight bag," Chris recalls. There was, though, a clear upside. "I handled a lot of high-profile work."

The maitre d' appears with a silver trolley laden with heavy silver bowls of salad. He looks at me darkly and gestures at the various smaller bowls containing what I take to be extras. "Oh, none for me, thanks," I say, realising instantly (his look darkens) that I have said the wrong thing. "Oh, but you must," Chris quickly interjects. "It wouldn't be a caesar salad otherwise." I see that the bowls of salad are, in fact, bowls of bare lettuce waiting to be dressed up to my particular specification. I panic. "That one and that one," I say, hastily pointing at two bowls of ingredients. The maitre d' grimly serves up the world's sparsest Caesar salad.

While Chris enjoys his bountiful starter ("the lot" was his order) and I pick at my lettuce, cheese and salad dressing, he explains how he ended up in Hong Kong. It was 1979, and a colleague asked him to come over on a short-term assignment. "When, after two years, the company wanted me back in London, I didn't want to go," he says. So he stayed and set up his own company, CA Potts & Co. Soon after, he joined forces with William Crump, and, in 1982, Crump & Co was born.

So why did he refuse to return to the UK? "In Hong Kong, you can do a great variety of things. People are receptive to ideas and things happen quickly. Only New York is faster in that respect," he says. Now, at the age of fifty, he has indeed done most things. Today he picks and chooses the assignments he takes based on one criteria - "is it interesting?"

Over our seafood grills and white wine, Chris provides an insight into what he considers to be interesting. "I'm doing an arbitration in Kuala Lumpur on behalf of a Malaysian owner who bought a cattle carrier on the back of a five-year time charter deal. The time charterers withdrew shortly after, leaving the owner with a ship without employ. I'm shadowing the lawyers involved and doing academic research in connection with the case," he says.

Depends on your definition of "interesting", I suppose.

"I'm getting a lot of trips to KL, where I have a friend with whom I go diving. Each trip is a holiday," Chris adds. Ah. It's becoming clearer now. And it comes as no surprise to learn that Chris is trying to expand the pleasure yacht side of the practice. There should be plenty of fun to be had in that arena too. At least if the name of his own motor cruiser is anything to go by - Hedonist.

We reach the end of the meal. Throughout, the maitre d' has been glancing at me. So have his staff. I feel like a pariah. And I'm just about to make things worse. Much worse. "Do you mind if I take your picture?" I ask Chris. "By all means," he consents. In the instant it takes for the flash on the camera to flare, the maitre d' has covered the length of the room. There is no need for words. I shall never be allowed to return to the Hong Kong Club again. Of course, if I ever decided to take the matter to court, there is a good lawyer I can call upon. When I apologise to him for any embarrassment caused, Chris simply shakes my hand and says, "No, not at all. In fact, I rather enjoyed it."