Friday, August 29, 2008

Prat a Porter

I am in London on business this week. It is grey and humid. I am in back to backs for most workdays. I take solace on the roof top terrace of my Soho club with good friends. The cocktails are world class and I enjoy a Marly Light under the veiled grey sky.

The talk is of the Olympic closing ceremonies. I did not see them. I am told the scene depicted a typical London street. Cyclists ride by. A double-decker bus pulls up to a stop in perfect time for the roof top of the bus to open up. Jimmy Page is wailing ‘Whole Lotta Love’ on guitar.

This is surely fantasy land and does not depict typical London street life. In London, you wait for ever for a bus and two come at the same time. One is likely to hit a cyclist on the way into the stop. The last time a roof top opened on a bus was the result of explosives and Jimmy Page wasn’t playing guitar.

Interesting choice of tunes London. Whole Lotta Love is about a guy who intends to fuck the object of his desire senseless. The lyrics were penned by Jimmy’s partner Robert Plant. It is alleged he stuffed a sock down his hip hugging trousers for shows. His conquests testified that he was hung like a prize horse.

The talk strays to hip hugging fashions. A friend tells of his frustration that his wife is trying to get him to upgrade his wardrobe and into designer labels. He asks the table what we think. I couldn’t possibly comment sitting in 7 jeans, a Michael Kors shirt, Marc Jacobs jacket and Prada leather sandals.

I explain that my personal stylist, aka Mrs. Beaverboosh, dresses me. The truth of the matter is that when we met, Mrs BB immediately disposed of my casual wardrobe and replaced it with urban chic items. I missed my plus fours and frilly shirts for a few weeks but am over it now.

He continues. His wife wishes for him to see a tailor and give up his off the rack suits. He again solicits opine. I could not agree with her more. His ill fitting Italian off the racks have the shine of a cheap street criminal.

I recommend my tailor in Saville Row but warn the time to purchase is now during the summer month discounts. In fact, I am off the next day for my yearly fitting.

“Mr. Beaverboosh sir, may I suggest that we reconfirm the measurements we have on file,” asks my tailor, his sights fixed on my small but perfectly developing love handles.

“Chop chop man, I have important appointments and do not have much time,” says me in a testosterone pulsing hungover haze.

“Mr. Beaverboosh sir, it would seem that the girth of your midriff has expanded slightly. Should you wish, I know an excellent doctor on Harley Street that can sort these sorts of things out.”

He is a very cheeky tailor.

He re-checks the measurement of my inside trouser leg. I gently pass wind and ignore him.

Surprisingly, he makes no comment on the girth of the large sausage I have stuffed in my briefs.

Beaverboosh

14 comments:

Joanne said...

You are having us on? Micheal Kors shirt, Prada shoes - are you serious.

kyknoord said...

Maybe he's a vegetarian?

livingladolcevita said...

You've been reading American Psycho again, haven't you?

daisyfae said...

Jimmy Page still rocks... just on the front porch of La Raisin Ranch. Ain't poppin' outta no chinese double decker buses, my friend...

donstuff said...

"I gently pass wind and ignore him."
Funny with or without the sausage reference that follows.

nursemyra said...

Lucky Mrs. Beaverboosh!

ian in hamburg said...

Hey Mr BB, bring your dress designer and your best casual along to the Germany expat bloggers' meetup at the end of September in Bremen! Remember my invite a while back?

You can find out more here:

http://jbittner.com/germany/2008/08/28/attention-meet-upers/

Would be great if you could make it.

itelli said...

I don't know why, but ur tailor reminds me of the gay bar owner in Goodmorning Vietnam.

Ariel said...

Prat a porter... yup. I hope the sausage isn't chorizo!

Caroline said...

I feel so ...... incompetent. I don't dress my husband - he dresses himself (and me). What can I say - the man has excellent taste.

Anonymous said...

my my...

Prada, Kors, 7 , Jacobs.....

Good thing Mrs BB actually dresses you, because when the dementia sets in her help in co-ordinating and installing your fashion salad will be invaluable...

Perhaps some fashion advice from a physicist would be useful;

"Keep it simple; as simple as possible, but no simpler."

beaverboosh said...

joanne - well, my Paul Smith shirt was at the cleaners and my Bontoni's are in for re-soling

kyknord - yeah, I'll try a banana or perhaps a cucumber next year... no... no... wait... I'm pretty sure he is a sausage jockey

dolcevita - more like living Canadian Psycho. Regards, Patrick

df - yeah, he's at the Rock & Roll Retirement Home (UK Branch) in Dorking. They have him on soft rock...

donstuff - Thanks. I'll leave sausage references out it the future

nm - I'm the lucky one...

ian - many thanks, will look into it and get back to you

itelli - sausage jockeys often have common traits

areil - it was a Norwegian elk sausage cured in red wine and junipers. I’d never stick a Chorizo down my trousers… well, unless I was at the beach in the Costa del Chav

caroline - welcome! don't feel incompetent darling, we that are dressed by others feel inept... not incompetent

anonymous - dementia has already started to set... have you seen my reading glasses?... oh, look at the moon tonight...

Zhu said...

I was at the closing ceremony and I loved it. Come on, Beckam and Jimmy Page... better than Jackie Chan singing (yes, it did happen), trust me.

beaverboosh said...

zhu - too cool girl, hope you had a great time! Jackie Chan singing, whoa!