The saga of absent-mindedness continued this morning. Up early and rushing to ensure I wouldn’t keep Mrs T waiting for our early morning dog walk, I put the percolator on in plenty of time to ensure I would have the essential go-mug of coffee for the walk. As the allotted time approached, the pan of milk was getting hot but no sign of any percolating? Almost too late I realised that the hot plate upon which the coffeemaker was perched was in fact stone cold. Someone had omitted to perform the simple, but fairly essential act of turning a knob.
I’ve just heard an interesting new word; “frenemies”. It was uttered by a gold expert talking about China and Russia. He was referring to the fact that such countries are in the process of weaning themselves off the US dollar as the World’s reserve currency. No doubt it will soon enter the popular lexicon like other trending cliches. Data, roadmap, cohort, diversity and protocol immediately spring to mind. Professor Niall Ferguson, the renowned epidemiologist, was on the radio this morning begging the Government to provide a roadmap for something or other. I’ve always felt that “roadmap” is a very useful word for describing the pages of the atlas that sits behind the passenger seat in the old jalopy. It seems to me it’s a descriptive and precise word which describes the blue, red and black lines that if followed properly will lead you to your intended destination. When talking about coming out of lockdown, what’s wrong with schedule or programme? Of course I’m being really thick because anyone with an ounce of intelligence knows that if you want to sound authoritative, knowledgeable and in control then you have to use deep and meaningful words. Luckily our politicians are much brighter than me, so they have realised this important fact.
There was another new phrase this morning, coined by the boss of Mitchells and Butler who own a large chain of pubs and restaurants. He was rejoicing in the fact that his premises are open for business again, but bemoaning his inability to make a profit until “vertical drinking” is allowed. This conjured up all sorts of images. Is everybody currently drinking horizontally? If so, I am bucking the trend. I’ve always found it really tricky to drink lying down, call me odd. But surely even those sitting down at his tables are vaguely vertical whilst swallowing a tube or two of the amber nectar? I guess what he means is “standing at the bar”, but that’s only a presumption on my part and until people stop talking gobbledegook and stick to plain english, much guesswork will be required.
Referring back to my previous missive, you will, I’m sure, be eager to learn of how the wardrobe fitting went. The great news is that my forty year old Welsh and Jefferies classic, three piece, 100% lambswool, mid-grey pinstripe suit fits almost perfectly. The waistband is a fraction tight, but nothing a few more abstemious days won’t resolve. In fact all the jackets, including the Norfolk jacket, fit as if they had just been made for me and are all almost as good as new. What an endorsement for Savile Row. The trousers incidentally are proper “gentleman’s” apparel with no belt loops, merely internal buttons for braces, the only way that trousers will hang correctly, I seem to remember Mr Welsh (or was it Mr Jeffery?) explaining. (Gentlemen, incidentally only use button braces, not those nasty things with dragon’s teeth). Such sartorial niceties are largely lost I fear in our modern, mass-produced, throwaway culture. My next challenge will be to venture out into Eastbourne society wearing the Norfolk jacket and plus fours…..on a cold winter’s day on The Downs perhaps? When everyone else is snuggled up in front of Ski Sunday with thickly buttered crumpets?…….I’ll keep you posted. Maybe.
The naked soil of my new veggie patch is crying out for seeds and manure and with the sun shining and mercury soaring into the early teens I fear I can no longer put off getting my hands dirty. Or perhaps I should just go and get vertically drunk.
P.S. I have just read an email from the Secretary of the Army Air Corps Association reporting the passing of Staff Sergeant Bernard Osborne, formerly of The Glider Pilot Regiment, at the age of 97. Bernard crewed a crude Horsa glider on Operation Market Garden (of Bridge Too Far fame) in the first lift on 17th September 1944. He remained in the area of operations around Nijmegen in Holland, before escaping across the river as the battle drew close;……and we’re all worried about “anxiety” and “mental health”. There was a lot to be said for a stiff upper lip. Rest in Peace Bernard.
P.P.S. For those of you unfamiliar with a Norfolk jacket and there may be one or two, it has very cunningly designed hidden folds behind each shoulder that allow the free wielding of a shotgun without ripping the centre seam of the jacket. In normal use you would hardly notice them. Ideally it should be accompanied by a Sherlock Holmes style deerstalker to complete the image; the Missouri Meerschaum Country Gentleman Corncob pipe is an optional extra. The last time I wore mine was on a rough shoot (in Norfolk of all places) on my best mate’s farm. I missed a large cock pheasant with the first barrel and by the time I brought the second barrel to bear the poor thing was so close it disintegrated in a hail of lead, never to grace His Grace’s table. Never again.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 