The Tweenie Devil or life BG

Quirky store fronts in the heart of Mayfair make us meander leisurely, deeply appreciative of the city's nighttime aura, despite the cold. An almost missed plaque, discreet, set in a nondescript brick wall. The dull gold embossed with an intriguing figure. Half Polynesian god, half troll baby. A mystery. My fingers curl around the wrought iron gate that separates me from it as I lean forward with a complete lack of any decorum. The shadowy figure I'd registered, 7 nanoseconds before my attention was gently yet thoughtfully diverted to the image on the wall, morphs into Gloria Vanderbilt's chauffeur; double breasted jacket, circumspect peaked cap and sleek gloves, in a subtly protective pose. I could almost hear the purring silence of the Rolls in his wake. He's real. I know this because he nods and says 'Good Evening'. In my mind, he touches the peak of his cap, but my mind has been known to take a tangential trend every now and again. A pause between pleasantries, the chance to indolently slink away, but I have to know. 'Would you have any idea what that is?'. He smiles knowingly, his voice a pleasant drawl. 'That, is the Tweenie Devil'. He has us spellbound. 'The Tweenie Devil?' I echo in splendid style. A legacy from Alfred Dunhill who had the little devil as the mascot on his car, which then became a symbol of Dunhill. Suitably impressed, we bid him adieu, pondering the veracity of the tale. Fact or fiction? Were we just gullible tourists being callously toyed with? or was this a 'you learn something new everyday' moment? Only one way to find out.... Google it.
"First used as the mascot for the Tweenie car, the Tweenie Devil is fast becoming an iconic symbol for Dunhill. These beautiful Dunhill Tweenie Devil Cuff links have a very detailed finish and come in left and right versions to ensure they sit correctly on the cuff." Google has spoken. If it can be googled, it must be true (Somya and I dismissed the existence of some restaurant because we couldn't find it on google... turned out we had the wrong name. QED). Which then raises the fundamental question:
What on earth did we do B.G.??? Did we not ask questions pre 1998? Did we not care if they remained unanswered? Was the Encyclopedia Britannica weighty enough for frivolous pastimes? How did we get on? I do have a recollection of extreme distraction in days BG when between four of us we couldn't remember the name of that incredulously inept and ineffectual character spawned by Michael Crawford on Some Mothers do 'ave 'em... What we had was near perfect interpretations of him bleating 'Bet-ty, Bet-ty', but little else! The aggravation kept me up all night and daybreak didn't yield enlightenment from either Bangalore or Bandra. Four months later, I hear Betty in my head, 'Oh Fraank'. Oh Frank!!! That was it. Friggin' Frank. Four months to get to Frank and Betty.
10 A.G.: Google spits a possible 108,000 results at you in under a second, without the need for any spaz like histrionics. I think, quite possibly, that life B.G. was more fun....