Reflections On Passing the Norwegian Consulate

We passed the Norwegian Consulate on our walk home from town today, via the roadworks of the once busy Shandwick place, now replaced by silence and unfinished tram rails.

We were in town to buy some linen napkins.
Two years ago, I had a drawer of linen tablecloths and napkins handed down through the generations and rarely used except for high days and holidays, and which needed expert laundering and ironing to look their best : they were altogether too high maintenance.

Because of lack of space in the Dower House, and without too many regrets I handed them on to I know not whom, very probably not the children who would have had even less inclination than I to keep them in pristine condition.
We thought the way forward was paper napkins.

Now however, His Lordship in keeping with his Blipfoto titled pretensions, has a desire to have the real thing to slip into our silver napkin rings recently found again in the recesses of a cupboard.

It has proved more difficult than we thought to find the classic cream, heavy linen napkins to grace our table. We have come home with rather lurid green things, the like of which would have horrified the gentry.

We must try harder to find the real McCoy.