"Shall we play the Betteridge's Law version?" asked Aunt Maude, but Aunt Daphne shook her head: "no! in Mornington Crescent it's called Betteridge's Contract, isn't that right, Father?" at which Father Mungo looked askance: "no, no," he said, shaking his head gravely, "that can't be roit sure tae guidness, isn't it Betteridge's Authorised Version?" and he looked to me for support, but all I could think of was the Arnold Palmer Putt, by which one could move, without challenge from Parson's Green to Green Park, thanks to a chip from Palmer's Green, which as everyone knows, is one of the few British Rail-only stations that can be played, and even win an extra turn, which was why I said: "no, father, that's the King James Bible; you're thinking of the Arnold Palmer Putt, isn't he, Aunt Maude?" but she gave me a look of such asperity, that I thought she must have a secret stash of Acid Drops in her bag: "no!" she spat, quite taking me aback, "how long have you been playing this game, young woman, five minutes?" and I cast my eyes down: "no, Aunt Maude, I started when I was five, so thirty years, I do believe I've mastered the rules by now, isn't that right, Aunt Daphne?" who laughed out loud: "oh, no, ho, ho, ho, your win in the last round was obviously beginner's luck! the Romans could build straight enough roads and compact the surface, so that their army could move quickly, but it certainly wasn't macadamized, it took a Scot to think of adding tar, and you've still got a lot to learn about Mornington Crescent, Theresa, hasn't she, Father?" but Macaneny put down his glass of Laphraoigh and looked Aunt Daphne straight in the eyes, and said: "no, bejasus! that last turn was a master-stroke, like the one Jack Nicklaus used in the Open, furst time he won it, Muirfield in '66, sure wasn't I his caddy that year and we both ended up flat on our backs outside the Clubhouse, efter everybuddy else had gone, starin up at the stars lightin the way tae Heaven, ah, dose wis de days, me frenz, d'ye remember 'em Daffy?" and she grabbed his glass, downed the contents in one and with a stony set to her face said: "NO! not the way you do, Macaneny! through decades of alcohol fumes! you don't fool me - when you mix yourself an Arnold Palmer, using whisky instead of flat lemonade in the tea! and never, NEVER, call me that again!"