The diurnal tasks of pre-war life was a rather dull one. Breakfast was often cooked by the woman of the house, in this case Mrs. Smith. Mrs. Smith is a lady of class, wearing makeup but only lightly to accentuate her natural beauty. She wears stocking, but not flesh coloured as they may illicite unwanted thoughts. Mr. Smith reads the newspaper and sees the rising cost of living. He drives a car to work, one that holds a higher standard. Mr. and Mrs. Smith have been invited to a tea dance at one of the local hotels, and Mr. Smith hurries from his office to the scene of revelry. If the hotel is up to the latest wrinkles, it has a jazz-band instead of the traditional orchestra for dancing, but not yet does a saxophone player stand out in the foreground and contort from his instrument that piercing music, "endlessly sorrowful yet endlessly unsentimental, with no past, no memory, no future, no hope," which William Bolitho called the Zeitgeist of the Post-war Age. Little do they know that this will change very soon as the impending war is coming fast.