Fish restaurant

A new fish restaurant was opening somewhere in London; as a stunt, the guests invited to their opening night all had names related to fish; and my mother had received two free places. Not that her name has anything to do with fish. Instead she had been given them by a Mr Herring, who was, I seem to remember, a colleague of my father, who was in Glasgow and could not go. To make up for her somewhat suspect credentials, my mother chose as her dining companion her old friend Sue Tirbutt: homophonically at least she accorded with the rules.

Sue’s name made no difference as it turned out; at the tables in the restaurant, there were place cards: one for “A. Herring”, where my mother sat; and the second for “Friend of A. Herring”. Sitting next to my mother was a Reverend Salmon. He had come equipped with an autograph book, which he handed round to the guests on his table. At least my mother shared an initial with the absent invitee with the piscatory name. She promptly signed  the book “Ali Herring”.