The walk from the FT to the Savoy Grill was longer than I remembered. It was a warm London day and I was running late. Arriving, I discovered to my relief that my lunch companion was running even later. "Can I bring you anything to drink?" the woman who showed me to my table asked. A glass of tap water, I said. You would have thought I had requested a lap dance from the maître d'.

After some disapproving shuffling, my water arrived as my companion slipped into her seat. "Some wine?" our waiter asked. Just water, she replied. "Sparkling, still or" - he gave me a sharp glance - "tap water?"