As cruel as always, this is an extract from his new book, Table Talk: Sweet and Sour, Salt and Bitter:
What is it with dirty jokes and country hostelries? I’m talking about those “fine dining” pubs, where “Dennis and Fiona welcome discerning travellers to relax, revive, savour and marvel in an atmosphere of timeless rustic elegance. No children, no smoking, no proles’ overalls. Dogs by prior arrangement”. In short, the sort of place that makes you fervently wish it were possible to order up bulldozers like minicabs.
Why is it that these places invariably have smutty cartoons in the men’s lavatory, involving badly drawn big breasts, a shooting double entendre and talking foxes? The prudish, leering hypocrisy of these men-only gags is an endearing staple of country hospitality, and I don’t want to be implicated in it when I’ve got my flies undone.