One must always go out
On my bedside table sits a rather tatty and dog-eared copy of JK Stanford’s , which came free with a copy of this magazine many moons ago. Every summer, as we approach this most glorious of days, I reach for the little book and reacquaint myself with Colonel the Honourable George Hysteron-Proteron, known to all in his club as ‘the Old Grouse-Cock’ for his “scarlet face, alert carriage, bristling red eyebrows and rich, heather-mixture tweeds with grey spats, all set off by that commanding