The day after writing this, I will be seeing my old chum J Mays for lunch. The venue is The Chelsea Arts Club, rightly celebrated for its tolerance of eccentricity. Intrusive gazing, liberality with wine, gambling: all encouraged. The only dress code is that anyone wearing a tie will be under suspicion and served last at its well-worn bar. The worst offence is to use a ’phone. Which is very sensible.
What you connect with here is the spirit of rebellion that is natural to
