Par For The Coarse

To good health!

Sitting here sipping a coupe of the effervescent French stuff. My sick bed is now a distant memory. It's so nice to wear normal clothes again. I was beginning to feel like Hugh Hefner, in my PJs and silk dressing gown, although minus the bimbos. The lovely Miss B did come and occasionally mop my brow when the coast was clear, but she would cut off your crown jewels if you dared call her a bimbo!

Prior to my recent death throes, the Duchess and I were invited to dinner at my aunt's rather lovely country pile. Hardly ever see the old girl and barely knew anyone there. A proper black tie affair. We started with cocktails on the terrace in the chilled autumnal evening air. Then, over some wonderful food we told ridiculous jokes and dissected the current state of Britain (more of that later). What was nice was that, of the twelve people around the table, there was an interesting blend of old and young, posh and not-so-posh, as well as several nationalities thrown in. It makes for more varied conversation.

I must say that everyone was beautifully attired. We had a very funny discussion about the way us Brits dress. The foreign contingent was actually quite indignant about the slovenly appearance of British people at airports or in the street. Perhaps they come to live in the UK looking for the fantasy that they know from films and books? The foreigners and the not-so-posh ones also took the upper classes to task for trying to dress like Joe Bloggs! I'm sorry to say it but they are right (although they did kindly absolve me of any such sartorial crimes!). The upper classes should start dressing in a way that bloody befits them, as their fathers did before them!

I simply aore the charms of Mayfair but Britain today can seem like Dante's Hell. On an almost daily basis one is shocked by the appalling rudeness and the loutish behaviour of so many people in public places. The Duchess and I were taking a train from Euston one afternoon last week when six young men with bulging biceps and tattoos sat near us (sadly, there was no first class coach). We were forced to move due to their inane, expletive-ridden 'conversation' shouted all over the carriage. I have too many examples and will not bore you with them. In the past, it was enough to remind such types that there were ladies present. Such chivalry can nowadays have grave consequences. Even our politicians - the ones who make the rules - are corrupt and dishonest. Who can forget the drunken bar brawl in Parliament recently? Lord save us.

Our society is in sharp decline and something must be done to arrest it.  There are kind, decent and hard-working people amongst every social class. We must all be free to live our lives without daily fear of crime, violence and abuse. It should not be a luxury. When socialising, no sensible person wants to be sat near a table of foul-mouthed imbeciles. I predict that new members' clubs will soon start sprouting up everywhere and that existing clubs' waiting lists will see unprecedented growth. What else can one do?

This old Duke is absolutely in dire need of a holiday. Flying first bloody class! Somewhere warm, exotic and rather peaceful.

More anon.

The Duke of Snarlborough x

From The Boardroom To The Bedroom

Dear gorgeous readers,

You find me coughing and wheezing on my bed, wallowing in self-pity and surrounded by a veritable mountain of 3-ply tissues. However, I simply cannot tolerate boredom and am keeping myself amused in an appropriate manner.

I am re-reading Tolstoy's rather weighty Anna Karenina with greedy relish and it is every bit as superb as I remembered it. What a mind he possessed! I last read it at Eton in my pimply youth and, thankfully, remembered little of it in detail. I also have James Sherwood's latest tome, The Perfect Gentleman. It's sexy and glossy and is cheering me up no end!

As I am confined to my bedroom, I have also had the chance to go through my wardrobe with a fine tooth comb. I've just sent a pile of clothes over to my tailors for minor repairs and alterations. Although I do have a rather nice dressing room, I still keep a traditional wardrobe in the bedroom itself. It's a family piece and was made with staggering craftsmanship in Gdansk in Poland about 200 years ago. Walk-in wardobes are rather soulless in comparison.

My antique wardobe is reserved for my bespoke clothes according to the current season. The heavy cloths suggest an age of elegance, intrigue and adventure. 18oz grey flannel, heavy black barathea, tweed check jackets in wonderful hues, beige speckled Donegal, odd vests in tartan, Tattersall check and boxcloth. Butter-soft heavy camel wool trousers, a Harris tweed hacking jacket, double-breasted chalkstripes, an Inverness cape and my piece de resistance: a 23oz mid-grey herringbone overcoat with a Russian sable-fur shawl collar.

If I were a pauper, I would still find a way to fill my wardrobe with cheaper clothes that had nice fabrics and colours. Tracksuits, sweashirts, nylon coats and cotton hoodies are depressingly dull and unnecessary. People show little imagination in their dress these days. Budget does not come into it!

I was just back from France last week (my love/hate relationship with the frogs continues) and was walking along Piccadilly when I saw the magnificent sight of our soldiers in full ceremonial dress collecting donations ahead of Remembrance Sunday. Believe it or not, I have never seen a Welsh Guardsman in scarlet tunic and Bearskin hat up close! There were also Scottish soldiers in full highland regalia and various other soldiers beautifully kitted out, shaking their collection tins. Well, I had absolutely no cash at all about my person and I have never been so mortified in my life! I felt so ungrateful and hung my head in abject shame. I have made my contributions since but it still stings just thinking about it! I do hope you are also doing your bit?

Be good.

More anon

The Duke of Snarlborough