Expect the Unexpected
One of the great joys of my life is returning home after a hard day’s gossiping in Chambers: shoes off, feet on the stool and a stiff gin and tonic. Or should I say “some gin with tonic”?
A friend of mine at university once over-reached himself by taking out a girl called Jane, whose family was from the deepest Shires: the sort that disdains titles, never double-barrels and considers the Royal Family to be parvenus. He was invited for a weekend. Jane later told him in the Kardomah Café (she was a girl of simple tastes) that, after his departure, her mother had listed in order the ten social solecisms of his visit. Top of the list was that he had asked for “a gin and tonic” and not “some gin with tonic”. How we laughed when he told us until I next ordered a combination drink and heard myself asking for some whisky with soda.