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Nice evening

I’ve become constitutionally incapable of staying in on a Saturday evening. I’ve never seen ‘Casualty’, or “Strictly’, or any of that stuff, and I check my lottery ticket on line. Last night we went out on spec, and picked on a place called 1869. (I call it 1690 sometimes, but nobody gets the joke.) It’s been one of our favourite howffs since it opened. While the food isn’t spectacular, it’s good, none of it has come out of a caterer’s van, and it’s all freshly cooked. The house wine isn’t dangerous either, and the beer’s always keen and clear, as an old ad used to say. Mind you, the Big Man is in the process of trying to become the Slightly Smaller Man once again, so that’s off limits. Instead I’m following the principle of my dear and late friend Roger, who believed that white wine doesn’t count.

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