Went to the Savoy Grill for someone's birthday lunch today. The food was very good (although it did fail the Cheeseburger Test*), but the service was pretty glacialleaving at 6pm from a 1.30pm lunch booking is distinctly leisurely. However, the most memorable image of the day was the pair of fully-frocked up priests slipping out of the Savoy Grill to light up their cigarettes outside (it's nice to see men of the cloth being considerate enough not to smoke around the diners). I was very tempted to take their picture, but that would have been rude. I wonder what denomination they were.
I wasn't entirely sure of the dress code for this place, so I thought I'd play it safe and wear my Extraordinarily Expensive Suit†. During the course of the afternoon, I discovered a disturbing fact about said Extraordinarily Expensive Suit, which is that it doesn't fit me anymore.
I had actually expected this to happen at some point, so I'd carefully made sure that the trousers were a little too large to allow for the inevitability of an expanding girth over the years. However, this wasn't the problem; it turns out that even though it doesn't subjectively feel like the gym visits have had much effect, the more objective measure of my suit jacket tells a different story. I found it difficult to get my arms into the jacket, and I could tell that if I wanted to, I could split the seams just by flexing my manly shoulder muscles. Bugger.
* Common failing of expensive restaurants: could you happily eat a cheeseburger just after finishing dinner at said restaurant?
† I bought the suit a couple of years ago, when I decided to change jobs and needed one for interviews. I foolishly went to an expensive shop, and then found that the three suits I liked most in the place were all the same pricethe most expensive in the shop. As it turned out, I only interviewed for one job, and so I've only worn the thing a half-dozen times since I bought itso each wear has cost mumble. Still, I got the job and it was well paid, so that's alright. (Except, of course, that I hated the job).
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