Some years ago, Elizabeth Jane Howard was taking part in a radio quiz on the BBC. When she was asked: "What is the connection between Beatrix Potter and Barbara Cartland?" there followed a few moments of silence, which on the radio seemed like an eternity. Then, clearly having not the slightest clue as to the answer, and summoning all her formidable command of words, she uttered in her deep, smoky, mezzo, Edwardian RP, filled with a mixture of a rather languid drawl, irony, disdain, hauteur, ennui and a not insignificant dose of self-mocking, laconic humour, her monosyllabic response, worthy of Lady Bracknell at her pithiest: "F-u-r!"
The resulting mirth of the other panelists and the chairperson was joined by the audible, ill-concealed splutterings of the studio's sound technicians. It was a moment of pure, succinct English wit at its most economical which caused much amusement, the pleasure of which remains to this day.
(The correct answer was, of course, Camfield Place, near Hatfield, owned, at different times, by both authors.)