My Policeman
“The East Street?’ The last time the two of us luncheoned he demanded I display more local watercolours. I agreed, but have managed to ignore the demand thus far.
The East Street Dining Room is very Houghton: large white plates, silver gravy boats, knocking-on-a-bit waiters with crumbling smiles and no hurry to get your food to you, everything boiled. But the wine is usually passable and they do a good pud. Gooseberry pie, treacle sponge, spotted dick, that sort of thing.
Following a long wait f...or any service at all, we finally finished our main courses (a rather chewy Sussex lamb chop with what I’m sure were potatoes out of a tin, dressed up with a few sprigs of parsley). Only after this did Houghton announce he’d decided to give my art-appreciation afternoons for schoolchildren the go-ahead. However, he could not, on any account, agree to the lunchtime concerts. ‘We’re in the business of the visual, not the aural,’ he pointed out, polishing off his third glass of claret.
I’d had a couple of glasses, too, so I countered: ‘Does that matter?MoreLess
The East Street Dining Room is very Houghton: large white plates, silver gravy boats, knocking-on-a-bit waiters with crumbling smiles and no hurry to get your food to you, everything boiled. But the wine is usually passable and they do a good pud. Gooseberry pie, treacle sponge, spotted dick, that sort of thing.
Following a long wait f...or any service at all, we finally finished our main courses (a rather chewy Sussex lamb chop with what I’m sure were potatoes out of a tin, dressed up with a few sprigs of parsley). Only after this did Houghton announce he’d decided to give my art-appreciation afternoons for schoolchildren the go-ahead. However, he could not, on any account, agree to the lunchtime concerts. ‘We’re in the business of the visual, not the aural,’ he pointed out, polishing off his third glass of claret.
I’d had a couple of glasses, too, so I countered: ‘Does that matter?MoreLess
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