While the ink on this page was still drying, several dozen bankers were careening toward the hangover of a lifetime. Of course, a Sunday hangover is nothing unusual for the average salaried employee, but for these chosen few -- these fast-track Masters of the Universe with brain cells aplenty to burn, who play by their own rules and rarely limit their drinking to the weekend -- today will be painful to remember, impossible to forget and likely to ignite a bonfire of profanity.

The occasion? The 10th anniversary of Mogambo, an innocent-enough looking expat hangout in Roppongi. But don't be fooled by the suits you'll find cradling drinks at the bar early in the evening midweek. The hordes you'll find at the same time on the weekends are more indicative of how most nights end -- with people squashed elbow to jowl at the bar, knocking back shots and howling along full-tilt to loud R&B and rock anthems that the bartenders spin between drink orders.

Mogambo will have technically turned 10 on Valentine's Day, but yesterday -- Feb. 16, 2002 -- will undoubtedly become known as the Bloody Mogambo's Day Massacre.

Nigel Hogges, Mogambo's creator and grand host at the party, will have been the main perpetrator of the crime. Though he could pin the blame on his father or the fact that he can't play guitar -- both factors that delivered him to his destiny as the owner of a successful string of bars in Asia.

Nigel started developing his taste for exotic cultures at age 8, courtesy of his father's postings with the British military in Malaya, as it was then known, and Africa. When he turned 18, he left his native England and headed for New Guinea, under the pretense of teaching English. From there, he worked his way up the Asian peninsular, through Hong Kong, Korea and Japan before finally settling in the Philippines. From his boat in Subic Bay, he now hammers out raunchy adventure novels while monitoring the progress of his bars.

"I love women," says Nigel, his impish tone belying his fistful of decades, "but once I realized I couldn't play guitar, I figured that working in a bar would be the next-best way to meet them."

I know there is more to his success than his offhand remark suggests, but Nigel parries further questioning with equally offhand references to luck and circumstance. Perhaps some things are better left unsaid. And I -- of all people -- know better than to question Nigel.

I found Mogambo by accident a week after it opened while prowling Roppongi looking for bars to include in my guidebook, "Tokyo Night City." I had two rules for a bar to qualify: 1) it should stay open after midnight; and 2) it should have been open for more than a year (in an attempt to enhance the shelf-life of my book). Mogambo qualified on the first count but not the second. And yet it exuded a warm, settled feel, though sawdust still drifted underfoot and fixtures continued to be installed. In the end, I broke my rule and included it in the manuscript. Ten years later, it's going strong and I know I was right, but I still don't really know why.

It certainly isn't the decor -- an attempt at an Africa safari where touches of Asia have crept in. And it isn't the bell -- temptingly waiting behind the bar with the attached penalty that whosoever rings it must buy a shot for everyone in the house. Such acts of generosity are chronicled by an ever-growing gallery of Polaroids circling the ceiling, the record round to date being 94 drinks. Though undoubtedly a good way of stashing some cash in the register, it's also the kind of gimmick that could backfire and alienate customers were Mogambo a different type of place.

Which brings me to what I suspect forms the base of its success -- the right staff to oversee the proceedings. Nigel has a nose for good people. Eight months into Nigel's Mogambo experience, Stewart Bailey started working behind the bar. Nigel liked "the cut of his jib" or, more specifically, his unflagging cheerfulness and charming ability to remember names. In fact, Nigel was so impressed that he made Stew a partner when he opened his second bar, Geronimo!, at Roppongi crossing. He needed someone to man the fort if he was going to expand his business in Tokyo.

"My days of wanting to hang out in a bar every night were over," concludes Nigel, with just a touch of wistfulness tinging his laughter as he adds, "Stewart may well buy me out before long!"

Stew now roams between the two and, for the past six years, Daniel Barron has been the hands-on manager of Mogambo. (Daniel had impressed Nigel by applying for the job from Sydney without ever having set foot in Tokyo.) But regardless of who is at the helm, you will be in capable hands and on friendly turf. The only thing left to be said is happy birthday (spoken softly so as not to ignite a bonfire).