On Monday the military historian was feeling a trifle jaded. He did a lot of sighing and moping around, which I naturally ignored. After a whole morning of angst I was forced to ask what was wrong. Apparently he’d had to let out a notch on his belt and his tummy was uttering mild protests.
“I have decided,” he says like a noble Roman soldier about to defend a bridge. “To give up beer for August. August will be a No Beer Month.”
“What a good idea,” says I. “And if you gave up biscuits as well, think how much extra weight you would lose and how well you would feel.”
He just looked at me and went in search of a restorative custard cream.
Fast forward, mes enfants too today.
Where has the military historian spent lunch time? Could it possibly have been in that fine establishment, The Cow and Calf?
And what beverage has been passing his lips? Was it perhaps Butcombe Beer and Barbury Castle Beer?
So much for No Beer August.
He made it all the way to the 4th.
I will probably stop mocking by September.