I’ll be with you in the Squeezing of a Lemon

To a little Italian restaurant on Friday night and when I say little I mean little I daresay that if you held one end of your spaghetti on one wall the other end would meet the next but we love it.
It's an intimate place next door to the chippie and close by to the betting shop so the passing trade, if one was a snob, could be classed as 'down at heel'.
It was a busy night in the restaurant and we were politely asked to move from our space hogging table of four on to a table for two which was understandable and we obliged. Taking our warm seats and crumbly table were a strange little family who didn't appear to have set foot in a Wimpy let alone an Italian. AND they broke the unwritten rule of asking us what we were eating a few times! I may sound nasty but let me continue...
...when their meals arrived the chap in their party leaned over to us and asked for the black pepper and I thought how wonderful. Here was a man who to all intents and purposes looked like he would say 'brown bread is for poofs' would say 'boo' to a goose and would probably ask to have his crusts cut off his trousers but here he was asking for black pepper, I could have kissed him for making me eat my words.
Elizabeth David I thought can sleep soundly in her grave (her coffin no doubt placed on a bed of rocket leaves) Britain is no longer the place it was in her day where olive oil was 'ointment for ear wax' - now, what a fab name that would be for a gastro pub!