At work yesterday, in my Undisclosed Hotel, we had a three-course lunch served in the Lavish Victorian Dining Room. We don’t usually do lunches and everything was a bit hectic. I stayed out of the kitchen, for once, and concentrated on doing front-of-house things. Mostly this involved wandering around with a bottle of wine in each hand: flashbacks of the previous night.

p. When it came to the dessert course, I was asked by a nice old gentleman what these things were. I told him they were creme brulees. Then I was asked what a creme brulee was.

p. I happen to know quite a bit about creme brulees, and, since I was in customer-service mode, instantly launched into “Well, invented at Trinity College Cambridge in the eighteenth century…“

p. I didn’t get asked any more questions that day.

p. Today, randomly, I was asked what the raspberry-growing season was in Scotland. I knew that one because of the Fife Diet, which took place at about this time last year. It’s surprising what you pick up.