I remember once reading that the tenth Duke of Marlborough, on a visit to one of his daughter's homes, announced in consternation from the top of the stairs that his toothbrush wasn't foaming properly. It turned out that his valet had always put toothpaste on his brush for him, and as a consequence the duke was unaware that dental implements didn't foam up spontaneously. I rest my case.
In "Notes from a Small Island," Bill Bryson shares a humorous anecdote about the tenth Duke of Marlborough. While visiting his daughter's home, the duke expressed frustration when his toothbrush failed to foam properly. This incident revealed that his valet had always applied the toothpaste for him, leaving the duke oblivious to the fact that toothbrushes don't foam on their own.
This story illustrates not only the duke's amusing ignorance but also highlights the peculiar familiarity with luxury and servitude. Bryson uses this moment to reflect on the quirks of British nobility, making light of how such a distinguished figure could be so out of touch with everyday tasks.