Wednesday of Hewitt week was much more pleasant in terms of weather, blue skies but with still quite a fresh breeze from the North-East it was decidedly chilly.  The Hon Sec headed over to Littlestone to play in the Peter Kenyon Bowl. 

Littlestone was in fine condition with slick greens, firm fast fairways and great beer.  Unfortunately, due to an inability to hole any putt longer than 3″, the golf was of less importance than the beer in the general scheme of things.  Pace of play was a delight – 3 hours for 18 holes Stableford – albeit including several “blobs”!  Several schools were there enjoying the conditions, as well as Dulwich I was able to spot Whitgift (deadly south London rivals) and Aldenham.

Leaving Littlestone I returned to Deal via Faversham where I collected the new Century Salver from the engravers then on to Deal to check on the beer there and catch up with some admin.  On route I took a call from the President who had managed to sneak away from Verity for a moment or two and make a surreptitious telephone call.  He sounded typically ebullient, which was great and, never having had any health issues himself previously, he was able to tell me the surprising news that his hospital ward had been “full of people who were either really ill, really old or both.”  These incisive observational intelligences must be drummed into them at Merchant Taylors’.  He is now back home and waiting for a date for heart surgery.  Verity is ensuring that he doesn’t get exposed to any stimulus that might excite or agitate him.  The Hewitt being right up there alongside Brexit apparently.  I toyed with the idea of telling him we had decided to cancel the Plate competition but thought better of it.

Finally over to the Lodge at Prince’s for dinner with Merchant Taylors’ and Wellington.  The taxi fare from the clubhouse at Deal was £17, which is a “Hewitt” inflationary increase of Venezuelan proportions compared to the non-Hewitt fare.  Unfortunately my researches into the beer quality at Littlestone and Deal (as well as a rather charming pub in Faversham next to the engravers) meant that I was a captive market.  The MT’s insist on singing their school song after the meal as an aid to digestion.  This consists of quite a few Latin verses and the whole thing tempted Dulwich to respond by the singing our school song, also in Latin but mercifully restricted to the first verse.  On the whole it was the kind of cabaret that should be banned by the Geneva Convention.  While all this was going on, the Wellingtonians maintained militarily stiff upper lips and concentrated on the Port.

And so to bed via another massive contribution to the local cab-driving economy.