A Spanish neighbour addresses me in Spanish. I reply in Spanish without thinking and proceed down the road rather pleased with myself because I haven't spoken Spanish for almost a year. My memory always fragile seems to be holding up in certain quarters. I suppose language is a bit like riding a bicycle. You are not supposed to lose the knack. Mind you if I mounted a bike, as it occurred to me to do the other day I would, after 30 years abstinence, probably fall off.
Dunking biscuits is one of those activities which was always frowned upon when I was young (bad manners), probably still is, but which is nevertheless worth ignoring the rules for. Proust's example with the Madelaine, half cake, half biscuit, anyway should surely have made dunking respectable.