I finished reading Brideshead Revisted today. The joke I was looking for isn't in it so I'll have to read more Waugh to find it. That's not exactly a hardship.
I read the paperback I bought, according to the flyleaf, in November 1965. According to the diary I kept at the time I read the book in that same month, forty-one years ago, when I was seventeen.
It's a beautiful book, a love story on several levels, all of them inexpressibly sad. I almost cried at the end.
Time passes, good books last forever.