Bonsoir my little dumplings,
New balls please! I am currently sitting in my favourite tweed wingback armchair with legs akimbo, wincing at the intermittent throbs in my nether regions. Now, this is usually a welcome sensation but, you see, my plums really are rather sore. My 4 year-old nephew was visiting and aimed a kick with impressive accuracy. Johnny Wilko look out!
Anyway, I've already taken to using my antique walking cane at every opportunity. Sans limp it may be construed as pretentious, but with a limp - I could get used to this. It makes me think of my late grandfather in his Opera cloak, which I vaguely remember seeing him wearing as he set off for a night at Covent Garden.
Nowadays, some people wear jeans to the opera. Or for dinner at Claridges. It's their 'right', of course. The problem is, when one dresses smartly it sort of ruins the sense of occasion if ones fellow revellers are in supermarket shopper mode. Kills the moment.
The Ritz is the only remaining place in London with a dress code. Astonishing, isn't it? My townhouse in Mayfair has now become a bastion of old-fashioned style and glam for me and my comrades. The Duchess and I now hold regular black tie dinners and glam soirees for those who don't need to be given a dress code. It feels like being in the French Resistance, but minus the navel-gazing and garlic breath.
In my unswerving opinion, dress codes are both helpful and highly necessary. Look at Ascot! One attends the Royal Meeting precisely to dress up. It's a special occasion. The extant problems lie in the fact that too many 'ladies' seem to be under the impression that Ascot is an Essex nightclub. Sparkly crotch-skimming mini-dresses and 7-inch tranny heels simply won't do. Think of the turf, my dears, think of the turf. The revised dress code was sorely needed.
You see, we, the human race, need to be saved from ourselves. Without rules, we would happily drink and smoke ourselves to death. We would eat only fast food and we would never go to work. We would kill with impunity and wear only tracksuits or pyjamas. We might even buy suits at William Hunt. We are animals.
Civilisation requires rules.
More anon
The Duke of Snarlborough x
