Regime Change

Distinct seediness this morning. Nothing profound...just the knowledge that rapid ingestion of Tanqueray took place in the early part of yesterday evening. Uncle Mac again, of course...The man is frightening. He adopted his customary soothing and avuncular manner in order to inveigle us into switching to 100 proof navy gin for the final round. I am afraid that I have developed (yet another) unfortunate prediliction as a result (would that I had a pound for every expensive taste I have aquired under Uncle Mac's tutelage...). Sublime stuff: potent yet smooth (albeit with a slight tendency to dry the skin of the face as the galss is raised). One finishes the drink and suddenly, space/time seems to have slipped slightly askew.

No wonder the Royal navy is in the mess it's in.

But the gathering had a sombre side, too. Uncle Mac has finally left his tailor (now I understand the recent turmoil in the world's financial markets). I am pleased to report that he has acquired a new home a few doors down the Row, rather than (as I feared might be the case) deserted it entirely.

I do not believe it appropriate to disclose the name of either business, but the relentless modernisation of his former tailor's in recent years has been well noted. "Damn shop front looks like an Italian ready-to-wear establishment" he muttered. But you can see, behind a dogged exterior, the profound pain of a traditional Briton exposed to Novelty or Innovation. We just don't like it. He reports, with satisfaction, that the new establishment is comfortingly decrepit and appears to have not substantively altered since the 1950s. This is as it should be.

After all, festina lente and all that. No sense in change for change's sake.