Gentleman's Dictionary and Usage

Lithe and beautiful nymph of the Tennis Club in Sir John Betjaman's poem.

'A Subaltern's Love Song'

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun,
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the dance has begun,
Oh! Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

Posted by T at 04:50 PM | Permalink

In spite of the glorious game not being invented and the marauding masses of football hooligans from both sides of the border not yet having had a ruck the Roman Emperor Hadrian (76-138 AD) had the good sense to build a big wall across the entire United Kingdom separating Scotland and England.

It is idle speculation as to whether he was keeping them out or us in.

Posted by S at 04:29 PM | Permalink

God's Own Food

Not to be confused with anything else at all.

Yes we know that Sainsbury's, Tesco's and every other Tom, Dick and Harry probably get theirs from Heinz but we don't care. It's Heinz all the way.

Posted by S at 08:43 PM | Permalink

This joke first appeared on the Halls in the late 1920's in the repertoire of Norman 'Cheeky Chappie' Eckersthwaite and was the subject of an intervention by the Lord Chamberlain.
By 1940 the joke was in common everyday use in military hospitals under the '39, Commandeering and Martial Seizures (Jokes and Bon Mots) Act. By 1945 the joke formed part of a Marshall Plan exchange and was sighted regularly in the Catskills.
With the advent of the more permissive 1960s, the joke fell into disuse and was officially decommissioned as a complete embarrassment in June '68.
By 1978 the joke was in very poor condition, awaiting dismantling in a Newcastle scrapyard where it was spotted by a scriptwriter for the Granada sitcom 'Whoops, Vicar...My Neighbour's a Coon!!' (Now, fortunately, defunct).
In the hope of a resurgence, enormous quantities were invested in the joke throughout the 80's. Tragically, it was enormously overquoted in spite of its limited value in real terms and suffered an extremely hostile takeover by a group of 'Alternative Comedians' in 1989.
The joke has since been asset stripped and is available for private viewing, by appointment only, to academics and enthusiasts.
A small group of us are currently looking into its ironic/postmodern potential with a view to setting it up a National Monument with Millenium funding.

Posted by T at 10:52 PM | Permalink

Habitat is a shop that specialises in well designed homewares at reasonable prices. Something of a phenomenon in the early seventies, it pioneered things like orange enamelled saucepans and avocado crockery.

For Englishmen of a certain age this reference summons up a pallette of such abiding ghastliness that he may break out in hives.

A sovereign remedy is to sit the victim in a room with a Royal Doulton tea service of a restrained floral motif until his BP has returned to below 160/95.

Posted by T at 08:42 PM | Permalink

Socks.

Black Lisle, three-quarter length with suspenders are acceptable under any circumstances except with tropical kit.

Some gentlemen favour bright colours - amputation is the only solution.

I favour a muted ecclesiatical purple silk from Whipple's and Watt's, the outfitters behind Westminster Abbey.

Posted by T at 08:33 PM | Permalink

Dick Emery was one of our finest comedians, in his own way he ranks alongside Morcambe and Wise

Dressed as an old lady one of his most famous characters would accost young men with a view to their seduction. She/he would always end by saying 'You are awful' (she/he would hit them playfully at this point, knocking them down) 'But I like you'

He probably also said 'Hello sailor' but we can't remember

Anyway 'Hello Sailor' is comedic a term used to denote 'ladies' of the night introducing themselves to visiting sailors who have been starved of 'female' company while at sea

Posted by S at 04:09 PM | Permalink

According to Greek legend, Harpies were...
"Creatures with the head and breasts of a woman and the claws of a vulture; associated with sudden death; whirlwinds and storms; the feminine principle in its destructive aspect".

Posted by T at 08:37 PM | Permalink

(Gk) The People

The general public, the populace, what Bertie Wooster often referred to as the 'Many headed'.

As Kingsley Amis, (another member of the Gentlemen's pantheon) has pointed out, hoi is Greek for the thus use of a supernumerary definite article is both redundant and incorrect.

The correct usage will mark you as a pedant, the incorrect as a Tory. We leave you to make your own choice.

Posted by T at 10:52 PM | Permalink

Posted by T at 08:33 PM | Permalink

(noun) Haircut favoured by female Ditcherati . A kind of remedial bastard bob, cut with round-ended scissors - without adult supervision - by an E-addled crimper with self-mutilation problems. You need to know these things! I care only for your continued and rounded education.

Posted by T at 06:49 PM | Permalink