More than three years after moving from Australia to this remote part of England, we are still learning how things are done here. Not too long after we arrived and unpacked, we were invited for 'a drink on Sunday morning' by a retired couple nearby. We got there about noon, to find the living-room crowded—lots of chat and discussions, and on all a very jolly occasion. Trouble was, there was no food—no self-respecting Australian would regard a tray of crisps as food. In Sydney, when you are invited for a drink any time after midday on a Sunday, you know you will be fed as well as watered and you plan accordingly. Meaning the hard-worked little woman makes no plans to cook lunch because you are eating out. By one-fifteen my stomach was sending up 'please explain' to me. Even the crisps had gone. There was nothing we could do except wait, and wonder if the hostess was going to perform. some magic and feed us fashionably late. Then, as quickly as if word had spread that there was free beer at the local pub, the room emptied. By one-forty-five there were only a few guests left, so we decided to go home. Tinned soup for lunch that day because the little woman was not really interested in real cooking for us. A few weeks ago we were invited out for 'supper' and the hostess suggested 8.15. Ah, we thought greedily, 'this is going to be the real thing'. We dressed with some care—I putting on a dark suit—and arrived on time. My wife looked pretty good, I thought—a little black dress and so on. But when we walked in I had a terrible feeling we had got the night wrong because the hostess was dressed in a daytime kind of way and the husband was in jeans and an open-neck shirt. But no, we were greeted and shown into the sitting-room. After a drink I looked around and saw that this was indeed a superior cottage because it had a (more or less) separate dining-room. But there were no signs of a table-setting. Not again! I thought. Were we meant to eat before we came? I decided that in future my wife and I would always carry a chocolate bar. About 9.28 our hostess went out of the room, saying something about food. Ten minutes later she returned and asked us to follow. We were led out to the kitchen. There on the table were country-style. plates and a huge bowl of soup, rough bread and all the makings of a simple meal. And that is what it was. In other words, we had not read the signals right when we were invited for 'supper'. If they want you to come to dinner, they say so, and you know that means dark suits and so on. If they mean supper, they say it, and you get fed in the kitchen. If they make such a distinction between 'dinner' and 'supper', does this mean we were not worth making an all out effort for? Candles, best silver and all the rest? It is enough to give a person a complex. When you think about it, it's pretty depressing. They must use the dining-room sometimes, because they had all those high-backed chairs and candle-holders. When the author and his wife were invited out for 'a drink on Sunday morning', they thought they would be______.