Years ago, during what had become an intolerably hot summer, we found ourselves in a pub garden in a village near the Thames. We were all dressed in minimal clothing — shorts, T-shirts and sandals. Even so we felt suffocatingly hot. At a table nearby a group were waiting for guests, who turned out to be Roy and Jennifer Jenkins. He was wearing the full country fig — cavalry twill trousers, a tweed sports jacket, and of course a necktie. I thought we might watch him melt before our eyes, though he seemed perfectly comfortable. His host then disappeared into the pub and returned clanking three bottles of Berry Bros’ Good Ordinary Claret.
A risky choice, I thought. Roy would like the ‘good’ bit, but would be dubious about the ‘ordinary’ tag. However, he glugged merrily away.
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