Restaurants James Pembroke

MIDDLE TEMPLE HALL, LONDON EC4 THE TERRACE, MONTAGU ARMS, BEAULIEU, HAMPSHIRE

Few of you will know that if Harry Mount were not the Editor of The Oldie, he would be a leading barrister in the Middle Temple – a QC no doubt. Would the clerks in his chambers have bellowed at him, ‘Oi, Mounty! It’s your round’?

The Editor completed his pupillage but never defended or prosecuted a living soul; he ran away to the circus of Fleet Street where he could persecute with impunity – more of which later.

However, he is still a member of the Middle Temple; and so he is entitled to dine in its magnificent, Oxbridge-style hall, complete with hammerbeam roof and minstrels’ gallery. And so can you. All you have to do is book a table (lunch only) and you will be brought three courses for £17 (even cheaper if you have the buffet) in London’s grandest dining hall – nay, in the very room where Twelfth Night was performed for the first time.

After chaining up his bicycle and taking off his helmet (a decrepit but tarmac-proof stingy-brim hat), the Editor yelped, ‘By the way, Anne Robinson’s joining us’.

I couldn’t help thinking the Queen of Mean would be far more at home at Launceston Place, her second dining room. Past the lawyers’ long benches she strode, clad in a black leather jacket, short skirt and black cowboy boots. A veritable Mexican wave of terror passed across the shoulders of those bewigged men and women who had rendered giants pygmies that morning.

The Editor spotted the nemesis of his chosen profession, sitting at high table: Sir Brian Leveson himself, as in the Leveson Inquiry into the press. Owl-like,

the QOM’S head spun 180 degrees towards her prey. She swooped and had him in her talons while he was choosing his pud. She returned, flushed.

‘Did you nail him?’ beseeched the Editor. ‘No, I just talked to him about his dad, who was a famous psychiatrist in Liverpool. Lovely man, he tried to help me kick the booze. He didn’t succeed. I needed to be with other extreme cases at AA – people who had wrecked their lives.’

Lord Montagu of Beaulieu’s life might well have been wrecked after he was imprisoned for ‘consensual homosexual offences’ in 1954. If only he’d had Mounty. As his defence counsel. Montagu always attributed the public’s willingness to forget to his decision not to talk to the press but to return discreetly and with dignity to his National Motor Museum. What a pity Leveson didn’t recommend that route to contemporary celebrities.

The late lord’s panache extends to his estate inn, the Montagu Arms. Its oak-panelled Terrace restaurant is the most serene lunch setting. Its chef, Matthew Tomkinson, a Roux scholar, claims, ‘The New Forest is my larder.’

Bearing in mind the large local pony population, we can only hope he’s discerning in his selection of quadrupeds for the table. Happily, no neighing emanated from my roast beef, and the confit duck croquette was crunchier than the crunchiest Everroast potato. A perfect day out. And not a lawyer in sight.

Middle Temple Hall, London EC4; www. middletemple.org.uk; 020 7427 4800; lunch 12.30-2pm; main courses £12.50.

The Terrace, Montagu Arms Hotel, Beaulieu, Hampshire SO42 7ZL; www. montaguarmshotel.co.uk; 01590 612324; lunch: £30 for three courses.