“Willy - red and shining, his spectacles bemisted, voice glutinous, alcohol sweating from every pore - had sung what he called an old English madrigal in his harsh, thick Scots; at the end he had walloped down, like a porpoise stranded by the tide, on the sofa where Mary sat, and given her a succulent porpoiseful kiss on the nape of the neck. It had been a good turn and everybody had laughed.” DrinkMaryMadrigalScottish RenaissancePorpoiseWilly Gibb Book:Chapman 47-48: Tom Scott / Ann Scott-Moncrieff Source: Chapman 47-48: Tom Scott / Ann Scott-Moncrieff