...and it shall remain HIS club. It is a very traditional haunt in a corner of London to which Clive and I were invited for a little celebration.
I am spending the summer following in Charles’ footsteps. So far through parts of the Middle East, East Africa, and Greece where in my mind's eye I picture him as a rakishly handsome young man, and now here, in his mature days where his passion has returned to the single malt.
The club has rules. No jeans. No trainers. Gentlemen must wear a tie until 6 pm on a Friday. Business papers may not be taken out in the dining room. Mobile phones must remain unseen within the confines of the club. And, ‘til only a short time ago, NO WOMEN. In short, a sanctuary for the alpha male.
The club has rules. No jeans. No trainers. Gentlemen must wear a tie until 6 pm on a Friday. Business papers may not be taken out in the dining room. Mobile phones must remain unseen within the confines of the club. And, ‘til only a short time ago, NO WOMEN. In short, a sanctuary for the alpha male.
Whilst gorging myself on the heavenly food, I looked around only to spot one of my favorite actresses. At age 65, she has a bottom to rival Michelangelo's David. I tried to engage Charles and Clive in this weighty matter but they are rotten gossips. So I sat, ate, and admired in silent wonderment.
Ahhhhh, only in London.
