10th September, 2009 - A Small Sherry Johston!

Sadly, I am not a member of a gentleman’s club. The idea is becoming more appealing these days. I think that I have reached the stage in life when I would get immense pleasure from membership.


It would be good, on the way home from work, to take a stroll to a rather grand building somewhere near to the office. There, I’d be greeted by the doorman – Charles we’ll call him – and he would smile at me; “How are you this evening sir?” He might even doff his cap. Yes. Let’s say he doffs his cap.

And once inside I’d order a little supper – a roast beef sandwhich sir? That’s perfect Johnston. (Johnston is the chef. I’ve decided.) And then I’d take my usual seat, under the reading lamp and I’d bring out the Time or The FT and I’d sip a glass of port. And the only noise would be the gentle hum of conversation, and perhaps the odd chink of glasses.

And Eastenders and Corrie and River City would be nowhere to be heard. In fact, no-one in here would know what a Soap Opera was.