when an Englishman could still enjoy tobacco in his favourite hostelry unmolested by the Law, I used to meet my good friends Dave and Will every Friday evening after a hard day’s toil. This was our routine for probably as long as ten years. Ten years of quality sneering at politicians, telly, religion, celebrity and sport. Ten years of luxurious wallowing in literature and history. Such larks. We mostly used the George IV, Chiswick, the Red Lion, Ealing or the Wheatsheaf, Ealing.
On the wall above “our” table at the Wheatsheaf was a splendid old print of three fellows enjoying alcohol and tobacco together, just like us. Coincidentally, there was an engraving of the same picture in the George IV. So by and by we did what we had to do: took photos of the picture and of ourselves, and Dave, being a skilled artisan in the trade of Photoshop, created this: