Review by oliverkleinmann
After a light breakfast of croissant, orange juice and, as always, Earl Grey, the bergamot and lemon lightly spiced with a mint sprig, the distinguished gentleman generously tipped the club's waiter and, donning his weathered straw Panama, strolled out the gate and headed for the steamy, noisy markets of Mumbai, his cane under one linen clad arm. The gentleman spent a holiday afternoon among the crowded stalls of exotic spices, flowers, and foods. Soft cardamom mingled with the lavender perfumes of lovely dark skinned women offering their ginger, cumin, pepper, and a host of rich, sun drenched vegetables; and somewhere in the crowd geranium, it's fragrant undertones a favorite of the young Ms. Cotswain back home on Tenpenny Lane. His thought of Ms. Wainscot prompted him to find lovely amber baubles for the lass and, of course, for Mrs. Higginbotham in thanks for lovely meals and motherly doting. Having thus enjoyed his day, the gentleman returned to the club, there to spend the evening relaxing with a book in a deep leather chair in a corner of the lounge, a tumbler of scotch at his side, under a chandelier hanging from the high arched cedar roof beams, the fragrant wood darkened by countless warm nights filled with smoke, patchouli, and the hushed conversation of other guests.
