The trick was to eke out the milk, because if you came to the last slice and there was none left it was nigh on impossible to swallow. Best of all, of course, was to save a drop until everything was eaten, the milk never tasted as good as then, when it no longer had to fulfil a function, it ran down your throat in its own right, pure and uncontaminated, but unfortunately it was rare for me to manage this. The needs of the moment always trumped promises of the future, however enticing the latter. But Yngve did manage it. He was a past master at economising.
