Doing “The Baz” in Ibiza

I’ve seen that look in my customers eyes before. Desire, longing, want. Every new Bond film spawns a thousand suit fantasies and the latest catalyst for sartorial spending has been The Great Gatsby. God bless The Silver Screen. I remember the ‘Unit 4’ cinema in Shipley when I was a child. A lurid horror-show of…

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Trading Places

Yesterday, I was visited in my showroom by a man of the cloth. Not in a Dan Brown, cassock and collar kind of way, but as a purveyor of quality textiles to the tailoring trade. Introducing Simon Murgatroyd, who runs the cloth business for Brook Taverner & Co. Ltd We’ve been doing business together for…

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Naughty Forty

On Wednesday the 27th of March, I hit the big four zero. Only a week before, I’d driven home through Headingley, closeted in my refined Germanic bubble of leather and walnut veneer. With misty eyes I smiled at the fancy dress wearing students, heading out for a night of Jägerbomb and M-Cat fuelled thrusting and…

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Flower Power

I’ve just read the biography, “Shopping, Seduction & Mr Selfridge” and it’s an absolute belter. Harry Gordon Selfridge, founder of Selfridges department store in London, was the ultimate showman. A risk-taking visionary with ambition, self belief, unbridled energy and boundless enthusiasm. Sure, he had his demons (girls and gambling), but here was a man driven…

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Hairy Times

The beard is back. Even my brother is growing one. A face full of fur smacks of swashbuckling “derring-do.” It’s testosterone on a chin. The hirsute marque of heroic daring. Beloved by World War two fighter pilots and pipe-smoking chaps who raced along country lanes in their Morgans, a bristling moustache embodied the spirit of…

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London Calling

It’s Saturday morning, I’ve just done my last fitting before Christmas, there’s a brass band playing carols in the Victoria Quarter and I’m feeling simply bloody marvellous. Whilst the bling-tastic Christmas tree outside is impressive, it’s nowt compared to the bright lights of London. Last Thursday I spent twelve glorious hours in our throbbing metropolis.…

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Festive Finery

Christmas, to me, should be a Dickensian schmaltz-fest of ruddy faced joy and conviviality. The clatter of a carriage on cobbled streets. The crunch of snow under stout leather boots. An Inn with a crackling log fire where bearded men swill porter and supp mutton stew. No Sky Sports. No games of pool. Just raucous…

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A swellegant, elegant party.

At my wedding, my best man and college friend Paul said in his speech, “over the years we’ve shared many highs together, some legal…” Whilst this might be true, I doubt many were better than the one I got from hosting my customer party last Thursday evening. After a last minute flood of “sorry we…

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