It is with solemn pride that I pay homage to the brass revolving door at the entrance of this establishment. It has turned some seven million times since 1904, admitted an estimated three hundred thousand cats, and delivered, on one famous Tuesday, a very confused hedgehog.
The door bears the scars of its service: a paw print here, a scratch there, a tuft of ginger fur in the hinge. Our porter, Mr. Alfred Clank, polishes it daily with a cloth he refers to as ‘Her Majesty’. If you pause in the doorway, you may hear it creak a short, complicated sigh. It is the sound of a very old friend.
Leave a Reply