Two Post Post Notes.

In the post I made recently about the spider in the bathtub, I thought I’d made a mistake in referring to myself as ‘the monster with four legs missing.’ Surely, I thought, that should have been six. Ah, but no, because a spider wouldn’t know the difference between arms and legs, would it? Isn’t blogging complicated? There was another one tonight. He sulked, too.

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And vis-à-vis the last post about the posh variety of Brit, I remembered my time at the Britannia Royal Naval College, Dartmouth, when I was living cheek-by-jowl with many such creatures. Our mornings and evenings were spent either in lectures, on the parade ground, or in the gym. The afternoons, however, were spent on ‘activities,’ which usually meant either swanning around on the river in some kind of service boat or playing sport, both of which required the wearing of open necked sports gear. We went into tea immediately afterwards, and it was an absolute rule that we don a sports jacket and cravat. It would have been jolly bad form to have done otherwise, you see.

And do you know what they gave us for tea in this world of the posh people? Toast and jam. So what’s so posh and special about toast and jam? We rough kids were used to having toast and jam for every meal, except when we couldn’t afford the jam.