Michelsberg Tailoring
What better way to spend a grey, wet Sunday with family, than a trip to the cinema to see The Lion King.
Snuggled into our seats, we contentedly munched away on popcorn, as Mufasa proudly presented his cub Simba to the animals of the Pride Lands.
How many fathers have stood on the touch line, watched their son score a magnificent goal, and wanted to raise them upon their shoulders and howl, ‘this is MY son, the fruit of MY loins, bend thy knee in his magnificent honour!’
This month, the Michelsberg social calendar hit a serious purple spot, when my friends, Paul & Jo Flynn, invited my wife and I to attend Royal Ascot.
The first, and indeed last time, I wore my bespoke morning suit was at my wedding, eleven years ago.
Cut and sewn by three tailors based in North Leeds, they were some of my earliest manufacturing partners when I launched my business.
The cutter, Barry, had a sign outside his atelier (wooden shed) declaring himself a “sartorial artist.”
My entry-phone buzzed, a mournful, ‘it’s Tim Parr,’ bewailed down the line, then the plod of heavy footsteps, culminating with a groan as he trudged into the Michelsberg showroom.
Partner at the financial services firm RSM in Leeds, and owner of several Michelsberg bespoke suits, I could see pain and anguish, etched all over his usually jolly face.
“Tim, what’s wrong?”
Removing a pair of tweed trousers from his briefcase, he pointed out a ragged hole on the thigh.
“Kaiser” Karl Lagerfeld, head of the fashion house ‘Chanel’ for 36 years, died last Tuesday.
His high, white collared shirts, black frock coats, swishing silver ponytail, dark sunglasses and cut-off leather gloves had all the dramatic swagger of a modern day Mozart at a steampunk festival.
The self-declared, “fashion nymphomaniac who never gets an orgasm,” was responsible for rutting the ten billion dollar life back into what was a near dead-in-the-water brand in the 80’s.
Eight days to go and ‘Dry January,’ penance for my considerable sins in December, will soon be over.
It’s not been easy.
Last week, I took Lindsay Taylor and Nicolas Guilbaud, directors of Savile Row cloth company, Holland & Sherry, out to lunch at Sous le Nez.
Watching Nicolas and their sommelier discuss the wine list, was a painful introduction into the world of masochism.
As far as alcohol withdrawal goes, I’ve had no, baby-on-the-ceiling, ‘Trainspotting’ moments, however, I did feel a welling of emotion, whilst watching ‘The Greatest Showman’ with my family.
Last week, my time had come to take one for the team, as family Michelsberg headed off to Disneyland, Paris.
As we entered the park for the first time, my cup was, uncharacteristically, half-empty, dreading the prospect of horrendous queues, bad food and surly Parisians.
Fast forward two exhausting days later, and I can honestly say, there were some very special moments.
We’d only been in the place five minutes before a crowd of people started clapping and cheering, as some chap dropped down on one knee, and proposed marriage to his girlfriend on the bridge approaching the Disney Castle.
The plan was to meet up at Whitelock’s with my customer Dunphers, have a quick pint, and then head home.
But as many of you will know, warm ale, old friends and good banter can cause the best laid plans to go awry..
After several libations, we decided to head to my favourite restaurant in Leeds, Sous Le Nez.
It’s French and has been the premier dining establishment of choice, for the Leeds business community since its establishment in 1991.
This morning, I landed in Hong Kong.
It’s a city that’s captivated me ever since I watched the Bond film, ”The man with the golden gun,” with scenes at The Peninsula Hotel and Victoria Harbour.
I’ve only been here for five hours and I’m already smitten with the place.
Feeling a little ‘gritty’ after taking full advantage of the in-flight beverage facilities, I felt a massage (calm down dears – not ‘that’ sort of massage) would make a fine start to the proceedings.
Last Sunday. Leeds Bradford Airport. Bags packed, family Michelsberg, heading for Paris.
Mais non! French Air Traffic Control go on strike, flights cancelled, my daughters Disney dreams shattered.
No Rapunzel for Elizabeth. No Thunder Mountain for Avy. And no visit for me to meet my tailoring heroes, Massimo and Lorenzo Cifonelli.
Staying a five minute walk away from their atelier on the Rue de Faubourg, if I could have one ‘non Michelsberg’ suit in the world, it would be, without question, a Cifonelli.
This morning, I buried my mother’s ashes at Bingley cemetery.
Now don’t worry – this blog is not going to be a dour missive, penned between racking sobs, tears cascading over my Dell keyboard.
It’s a tribute to an incredible woman whose love of clothing is probably one of the reasons why I got into tailoring in the first place.
Here she is, in all her glamorous, absolutely-fabulous glory.
Clothes were without doubt, one of her many passions, and her sense of style was undeniable.