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The effortless style of Mr Frank Sinatra, the grace and authority of Prime Minister Winston Churchill, or the notoriety of the Kray twins. Why is it that as a nation we have rejected the suit from everyday life? We smirk at the City Boys, we demonise the politicians, we feel sympathy for the grey bank workers.
However, I love the three piece suit. I love slanted hats, I love pins in ties, pocket watches in waistcoats, newly shined brogues and argyle socks. I love the gentleman.
However, as generations pass, I am worried that the gentleman is a dying breed. In fifty years time will men put on a suit to buy milk from the corner shop? Or will they pull on a pair of tracky bottoms and a kappa t-shirt? Yes, standards have dropped and they will carry on doing so.
I love harping back to the good old days, I love watching films from the 40s, 50s and 60s. Men were smart, men were refined. Now we are a bunch of baggy jeaned, baseball capped, conversed scruffs. Even the young mods donned suits to beat the shit out of rockers on Brighton beach. The gangsters of London ran the streets with style, ties at the correct length and pressed white shirts. Not the happy slapping neanderthals of 2010.
I for one long for those days to emerge from the flames. Proud Second World War veterans must
look at us with shame. With medals shining on their suit pockets, handkerchiefs perfectly aligned and trousers sitting at the correct length, they represent all that is wonderful about Great Britain.
So when that lottery money rolls in, I'm off to Saville Row. I'm off to an era where the gentleman ruled. Where doors were opened, cheques picked up and manners were free.
Spare change guv'ner?
