Brideshead Visited

We caught the train up to Aylesbury this weekend, to see Mel's sister. We were instructed to take posh clothes, as her sister planned a belated treat for Mel's birthday. No amount of grilling down the pub the evening before could elicit the proposed destination from Mel's sister or her partner.
So dressed to the nines we headed out of town, past what we thought might be the destination, and on towards Thame. Evil sister then does a u-turn, and lo and behold we are here , the residence of the exiled Louis XVIII of France. The sign in the grounds said "no vehicles", although if you have one of these

you can ignore the sign, as several did. In the car park we met Mel's Aunt and uncle, which was sweet.
As we approached the main entrance, the door mysteriously opened and we were greeted by the Maitre d'Hotel, who bore a striking resemblance to Anthony Hopkins (think Remains of the Day, not Hannibal Lecter). I wish I had taken a picture of him, but that would have been so Non-U. We were shown into a private room and served drinks

Our food and wine orders were taken and after a while we were escorted through to the main dining room. Somehow, all the waiting staff knew who was having what (mallard/foie gras/carrot and orange soup etc - I assume the Maitre D writes "speccy", or "ginger" or "old bloke" or some such against each order). The food was wonderful, and not too much (which I always find a turn off). The staff were immaculate, helpful, quiet. We eschewed the £400 bottle of wine, and went for the house red and white.
After, were escorted quietly back to a another private room, for coffee and home made fudge, while we speculated where Madonna and the Queen Mum had sat.
. Anthony Andrews anybody? Jeremy Irons?
All in all, a jolly posh lunch.