It prompted me to wonder how I would react if such a thing happened to me. I suppose I would say quietly to the assembled company: ‘There’s an earwig in my milk.’ And some would make a merry quip relating to the various styles of swimming, and some would remain silent and wait to see what would happen next, and the most proactive of the group – the alpha female probably – would insist on rectifying the matter by fetching, or arranging to be fetched, fresh milk. But I would decline the offer. I would carefully lift the unfortunate insect out of the milk for fear it might drown, set it down in some convenient spot, and then set about refreshing my own milk supply. Mr Ramsay, on the other hand, threw the dish and all its contents through the dining room window.
I had thought that Mr Ramsey and I had much in common, but I was mistaken. We are really not remotely alike.
Meanwhile, I took my customary spinach and mayo sandwich without the mayo tonight. There are times, you might be surprised to hear, when my sense of adventure quite startles those of more circumspect disposition.
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