The illusion of grandeur

Last night we went to dinner with 200 other people at the Savoy, to celebrate the other half's boss's wedding anniversary. It was a merry occasion full of lovely people; and not just medics, which was nice for those of us who are not members of that hearty profession. I was seated next to a large overbearing gentleman who introduced himself as "Old and Grumpy" and who was indeed both of those things. Turns out he was a former surgeon at our local hospital, and a rugby fan. Those in the know will get an idea of the kind of man this made him. He referred to himself for most of the evening as 'One', as in "One didn't realise Clare College admitted girls" and so on. It certainly was one of the more challenging conversations I've had to maintain, not least because he seemed to lapse in and out of deep depression during dinner.

The Savoy is, like so many of these historic London institutions, maintained in period, but staffed by people who don't speak English. This makes for a rather odd juxtaposition in which the illusion of old English grandeur and snobbery is contradicted by the fact that like everything else in Britain, they've capitulated to the cheapest form of labour. The illusion is shattered.