Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
A thunder box maybe?
Hello Tom:We imagine the 'they' is us!! We continue to find Nancy Mitford, and on this occasion we do not refer to her classic tome 'The Sun King', a guiding light in a world of slipping and very uncertain standards. We do not intend ourselves to be dragged down the 'pan'!!Thank you so much for the link.
Sorry Hattats - I was feeling a bit mischievous when I posted this up (thanks - in part - to some rather reasonably priced, Hungarian rosè from Waitrose). If it's any consolation, I am suffering this morning for it.The Mitfords - what a crew! I have an elderly, upper-crust mate who taught me that any word other than 'toilet' is acceptable when referring to the smallest room in the house amongst genteel company, so I now often ask "Where is the shitter?", when I am with titled hosts in the country.He also me that - along with a whole host of tell-tale signs for spotting a member of the lower orders - one never says "Excuse me", or "Pleased to meet you", so in order to put my superiors at ease at the first meeting, I make a point of saying "Pleased to meet you, I'm sure. Excuse me, but where's the toilet?"
Tom, I love your irreverence!
It's a form of selective Tourette's Sue.