Since when is it too much trouble to serve proper tomato juice?

‘I have a feeling,’ said my father, ‘that this evening is not going to go well.’

We were sitting in the bar of a local fish restaurant near my parents’ home having pre-dinner drinks, and I was throwing a wobbly because my tomato juice wasn’t right.

I had arrived at the table after putting my order in as I went off to park the car, only to find a drink in a bottle called Big Tom sitting on the table. You know the drill, it’s the little things that get me.

I immediately went into one because I cannot understand why asking a bartender to make a tomato juice from scratch is considered beyond the call of duty these days. What is so arduous about opening two little bottles of Britvic, emptying them into a glass with some ice, adding a good splash of Lea and Perrins and Tabasco and stirring? Perhaps garnishing with a nice slice or two of crisp celery? Hmm?

But, no, that’s way too much trouble.