My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.

No tongue. That's what I want from a lunch: no tongue. At least, that was my request when Himself decided to make authentic 30s sandwiches from authentic 30s recipes for our Fred and Ginger double feature. There was a lot of tongue and anchovies going on back in the Great Depression, but we managed to escape with egg and watercress sandwiches and a Waldorfy one.

And Fred and Ginge were fun, too. Made a change from 70s coppers, which I seem to have been on, for a while now.
( more: It's an action/suspense, uh, romantic melodrama with lots of comedy, of course. And, uh, deep down underneath, a substrata of social comment )