Having lunch in upmarket cafe bar when upmarket waitress presented us with exhaustive tea/coffee choice.

"Earl Grey, Darjeeling, Ceylon, lapsang, English breakfast, Irish breakfast, Greek breakfast, Rwandan mango, Zimbabwean banana or Madagascan pineapple?" she asked in response to my "Could I have tea?"

"What's Madagascan pineapple?" asked companion.

"It's tea from Madagascar, flavoured with pineapple," said waitress icily, being far too busy and far too superior to really bother with taking orders from punters, let alone explaining things to them.

"And Zimbabwean banana?" pursued companion, delighted at having made her spend a little of her extremely valuable time at our table.

"Tea from Zimbabwe, with banana flavour," she barked. "And, before you ask, Rwandan mango is tea from Rwanda flavoured with mango. What would you like?"

"Could you repeat the list?" I dared to ask.

With mounting irritation, she reeled the list off again, but all I really wanted was a cup of normal, strong, milky tea. So that's what I asked for.

"Just British Rail please," I said, smiling sweetly by way of apology for having made her to go through all the Darjeeling and Zimbabwean for no apparent purpose.

"WHAT?" she snarled.

"British Rail," I mumbled. Then, thinking she was possibly far too busy and far too superior to have ever encountered the expression 'British Rail tea', I explained: "Just normal, teabag tea - with milk - please?"

As she stomped off, companion rubbed hands together, utterly delighted at having managed to rattle composed-but-ever-so-surly waitress.

"I don't think," he said, "she's ever heard of British Rail. Had you asked for a cup of Connex or Thameslink then she might have understood what you were on about."

At that moment, waitress returned with suitably murky looking cuppa and directed suitable, murky look towards companion's doodles, before slapping bill on table.

We paid, drank up, left and returned to our respective places of work.

That evening, lunch companion called me on his mobile from the buffet car of train to Winchester where he lives.

"Go and get a cup of tea and tell me what the steward says when you ask for BR," he directed.

I did. And called him back a few minutes later to say steward was unfazed by the request and had merely asked: "Sugar?" and muttered "Those were the days" under his breath, as he went to get me a Connex cardboard tea tray and plastic stirrer.

"Mine," said lunch companion, "seems to have been issued with special instructions on what to do in the case of such a request.

He gave a long speech about rail privatisation and franchisees striving to provide improved quality of service, which included refreshments, and therefore he was able to offer me a selection including Rwandan nutmeg thingummy.

But then he told me there was a diehard group of BR tea drinkers who insisted on the genuine article, so he kept a secret supply under the counter and would I like a cup?!"