An old bishop in the nation’s capital was sick of the social and embassy parties he was expected to attend every other afternoon. At one of them he entered wearily, glanced sourly at the over-familiar cast of characters and sank into the nearest chair. The hostess coyly said, ‘A spot of tea, Bishop?’
‘No tea,’ growled the bishop.
An understanding woman, she whispered in his ear, ‘Scotch and water, Bishop?’
Said the bishop, brightening, ‘No water!’