Thursday January 17th 2013
Present: Doris, Gill, Jen, Nic and special guest Katy
I trotted up and down Saville Row, in Bertie's stomping ground of Mayfair, twice before managing to find Sartoria - hidden in plain view much as Jeeves suggested the Cow Creamer should be.
The tonic in my gin-and was lacking sparkle but nothing else about this evening fell flat, well, until the strudel (but let's not dwell on that tart end to the evening - boom boom).
Wodehouse's book was generally considered a belter. I was, perhaps, the most dissenting voice, finding it, ultimately, too frothy: feel-good without self-improvement, a giggle without learning. I don't like being lectured too (See The Children's Book) but I do like to feel that a book as been in some small way transforming, thought-provoking. Wodehouse is undoubtedly a master of the English language, weaving an entire novel from nothing more than a few, flimsy, fortuitous or otherwise, coincidences and his skilled wordplay but it left me wanting something a little more heavy-weight. I would read another but not with the same enthusiasm as everyone else.
I would return to Sartoria with greater enthusiasm. The staff were gracious and attentive and impressed with Jen's Italian skills. Starters and main courses were delightful and the wine ... well, it flowed freely, especially after the sommelier took a shine to us sharing (i) his thoughts on authors and books as well as (ii) some bin ends we didn't order and which didn't appear on the bill . All in all, he helped ensure a night that was memorable, albeit in the best of hazy ways. The following morning found us all suffering much as Betie did after Gussie Fink-Nottle's bachelor party and in need of one of Jeeve's patent morning revivers and vowing to be more abstemious than Aunt Agatha next month.
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