He is our clothing that for love, wraps us, embraces us, and all becloses us, for tender love that he may never leave us, being to us all thing that is good as to my understanding.

It is fortunate, for the sake of his conduct escaping misconstruction, that he is not a clerical descendant of some of those worthies, whose mottoes he perpetually holds forth to us as the very concentrated spirit of wisdom and honour, and whose names he occasionally parades with such Homeric magniloquy, from “the Marquises of Hertford, Newcastle, Worcester, and Ormond,” to the Esquires, “Sidney, Godolphin, Murray, Kenelm Digby, Bridgman, Luttrell, Dudley Smith, Lane.”

As a result, the cultural divide between the hippie and the organisation man has now become rather fuzzy.

Let's go halvers on the tab tonight.