Lunch with the English.

To lunch with a retired English baronet and his wife. Our repeated excuses for not going becoming increasingly lame. Duty rather than pleasure . Both of them quite , quite batty. She greets us in the garden wearing mustard yellow plus fours and carrying a shotgun . '' Scaring off the magpies " she says by way of greeting.

'' We'll eat in the kitchen. There's a log on the fire ". Central heating an unheard of luxury . The font gets the chair near the solitary log , Angus shivers by the window. A rationed half glass of dry sherry . A carafe of tap water on the table. Husband lies in bed upstairs suffering from post-Christmas gout. Judging by the temperature in the kitchen it could just as easily have been frost bite. From time to time his voice carries plaintively down the stairs . '' Oh , do shut up you old trout. We're eating ! " periodically hurled playfully back at him by his wife.

Vegan chili con carne. '' You've probably never tasted anything quite like this " says our hostess turning to the font . ' I most certainly haven't ' comes the altogether honest reply . Lady G beams . Another culinary marvel . Through it all Wilf and Winston , the households 13 year old black labrador, lie asleep in the porch. The family fellow gets a long , long walk on our way home .