Thou art only misplanted in a base degenerate soil.

Steve Gerrard, unusually, had a below-par night, too, even if it was a lovely delivery to set up Welbeck to make it 2-2 with a glancing header.

Removing a portion of chair which had got entangled in my back hair, I said with a candour that became me well: “I was looking for a mouse.” If she had replied, “Ah, yes, indeed. I understand now. A mouse, to be sure. Quite,” everything would have been nice and smooth, but she didn't. “A mouse?” she said. “What do you mean?” Well, of course, if she didn't know what a mouse was, there was evidently a good deal of tedious spadework before us, and one would scarcely have known where to start.

The figure presiding continues in this function during the sobremesa, that is, the time spent lingering and chatting after the meal. It's perhaps significant that in English there is no specific word for sobremesa.