The Little-Sodbury-on-the-Wode Senior Citizens Tea Dance, Muriel explained, was losing its sheen of exclusivity and culture.
“I’m not one to gossip, as you know Vicar, but one cannot help trace the slide back to the arrival of our newest member.”
The vicar placed the delicate china vessel back into its saucer and reached for a biscuit. He knew that Muriel, without further prompting, was bound to continue.
“I always knew it was a mistake admitting the younger element,” she said, with a sigh.
“How old is Hilary?” queried the vicar.
“Sixty-two.”
“Ah.” Now in his forties, he had learned to nod sagely. “A difficult age.”
“Well, quite. It’s the choices of tune that stump me. Why not a light waltz, or a gentle foxtrot?”
“Indeed,” said the vicar, with faux sympathy. “I mean, which of you has even heard of The Prodigy?”