A comment from Blue Witch reminded me of something from the 1960s. So, random memory.

Back then, we used to visit London often. Wink and I might go too for a day trip, but not usually for longer visits. I think they favoured the Dorchester to stay at, but I never joined them, so I may be wrong.

Anyway, they did like to eat at the Trocadero, which was fabulous at that time. I was taken there for lunch once and wrote excitedly to my sister about it, she being at college at the time. For some time, I wrote to her daily, just a line or two. Then I stopped – I guess I didn’t miss her so much, once I got used to it. She never said anything and I don’t remember that she ever wrote to me, so perhaps she didn’t miss me either – or maybe she was disappointed and has never said anything in nearly 60 years. Anyway, apart from the stupendous meringue that the meal finished with and that I wasn’t able to finish anything, delicious as it was, I don’t remember the meal itself. I do remember the bit I didn’t taste, though.

There was a Turkish waiter, whose job was to serve the coffee and, of course, Turkish coffee was the speciality. He’d come and make it on a trolley and then sprinkle your cupped hands with rosewater, wishing you health, long life and happiness, then pour your coffee. I was about 12 and not deemed old enough for the very strong coffee, but he did give me the rosewater and the blessing. I remember my inadvertently loud sniff as I smelled it, which made my parents chuckle and slightly embarrassed me, but not too much to spoil the mood (I was very self-conscious, it didn’t take much).

I know he was Turkish because they told me so, but also because he wore a fez.