Afternoon delights

We live in a strange half-liberated, half-imprisoned world right now. It’s not unlike being at Gordonstoun in the late Eighties, or so I imagine, with less cross-country running. But I have been making the most of my afternoons. I have taken libations with various Critic writers and contributors, most notably a fine Margaux and cigar-laden

lunch at Boisdale with the wine critic Henry Jeffreys and an equally memorable al fresco repast at the Rose and Crown in Oxford with the

Rev Fergus Butler-Gallie.

We were fortunate enough on the latter occasion to be joined by Andrew Hall, publican extraordinaire, and much-loved dispenser of good beer and better cheer. Yet he brought sad tidings of the pub’s shifting clientele. “None of the students drink here any more,” he sniffed. “It all stopped about five years ago. These days, they’re all teetotal or take drugs.” The Rev and I both nodded sympathetically at these fin-de-siecle tidings. I may organise a small crowd-funded expedition for selected students to sample the delights of Andrew’s establishment. If all goes well, it’ll make the hubbub at the beginning of Decline and Fall seem very tame indeed.