Yesterday evening had a happy meal with fellow Aussies at the pub, the Scarsdale, in Kensington. Pubs in England, especially in country villages, are very different from the suburban pubs I knew growing up in Sydney. The English variety are charming, welcoming, cosy – low back leather Chesterfield sofas in front of a glowing log fire, with a friendly publican chatting animatedly to customers while he or she pulls pints of foamy ale (warmer than lager, which the Aussies prefer).  Last weekend, we went to the Thomas Lord pub in West Meon, named after the founder of Lords’ cricket ground.  Above the bar there was a glass cabinet showcasing a cricket match in an English village scene, but played by stuffed squirrels and weasels.  Could only happen in England. And dogs are welcome. A posh old gent in an old sailing shirt was drinking a pint while feeding his lurcher treats and chatting to him as if he was a child.

The ‘Watering Holes’ in Sydney as they were called were male only (women in a separate lounge), where white blue-collar workers imbibed large amounts of lager before heading home after work. The pubs were utilitarian places, with lino bar counter tops and tiled walls – easier to clean the sweat, dirt and spillages and the occasional chunder (vomit).

In 1916, a law was passed that pubs had to close at 6pm, so if the Aussie worker wanted to consume his full quota of beer, he had to down it in an hour, with obvious results! The “six o’clock swill” was finally abolished in 1955, but the male only beer culture had by then been firmly established in Australia with almost religious fervour. It was an Aussie bloke’s territory, ie non Europeans, aborigines and women were not welcome. With the advent of the women’s movement in the 70s, this attitude became more relaxed. In 1982, massive random breath testing was introduced and the male only pub culture was clobbered.

Male only drinking establishments in England are at other end of the social spectrum. These are exclusive gentleman members’ clubs, many founded in the mid 19^th century by the upper classes in central London. Many now allow woman guests, but White’s in St James, Piccadilly, still prohibits their entry. To date the Queen has been the only female guest.

Soon after my date with Geoffrey at the Savoy, etc, he invited me to a weekend away on the Norfolk coast with some friends, ostensibly to show me the seaside. The North Atlantic sea was so different. Slate grey and forbidding. And instead of golden sand there were pebbles. Over the weekend we went to pubs after sodden walks in the countryside. Young unmarried Sloanes often hung out in pubs after desperately cold, wet walks. On the way home we went to Cambridge where Geoff’s grandfather and great grandfather studied at Trinity College. We went to the Free Press pub for lunch. Pubs in those days sold solid, traditional British food: roast beef, cottage pie and fish and chips. That sort of thing. Now this fare has given way to the gastro pub, with fancy stuff on the menu. Romance blossomed despite the wet weather that weekend. Against the odds, we found that this kangaroo and this stag actually had a lot in common.

By the 10^th September, 1988, Susan and David’s wedding at the Hurlingham, Geoff and I were an item, with no fixed port of destination obvious.