I'm here to admit that I have a bit of a soft spot for the finer things in life, those things that help a man to feel like he is actually a gentlemen, an aristocrat even. Now i'm of course aware that I am still in my twenties and so surely am too young to appreciate these things with the maturity of a 50 year old, but honestly, please believe me, I just love indulging in the things designed for gentlemen to be reassured that they are indeed gentlemen...Sadly, many of the 'finer things' are now largely archaic, old fashioned, of a bygone age and seem out of place in the 21st Century. This is a great shame. Any fans of P.G. Wodehouse or Conan Doyle will know what I am talking about. Here are some examples just to illustrate my point;
So you get the point; in decades and centuries past, there was an appreciation for opulence and class that has somewhat changed...The term 'Classy' no longer denotes a gent with a good tweed, striking leather brogues and a well positioned pipe. The sort of man who had a well stocked cigar and brandy cabinet to match a broad supply of ale and an eclectically filled cheese larder. Men no longer have letter openers, ink-pots and quills, personalised silk handkerchiefs, tailors, barbers (proper barbers) and book binders...The waxed moustache, the personal valet and the obligatory pocket-watch are long dead features of the average man on the street. Sadness. Society has become sick with some nameless malady of the soul. We have become the playthings of corporations intent on converting our world into a gargantuan shopping precinct. Pleasantness and civility are being discarded as the worthless ephemera of a bygone age - an age when men doffed their hats to the ladies, and small children could be counted upon to mind one's Jack Russell while one took a mild and bitter in the local hostelry.
Instead, we live in a world where children are huge hooded creatures lurking in the shadows; the local hostelry has been taken over by a large chain that specialises in chilled lager, whose principal function is to aggravate the nervous system. Needless to say, the Jack Russell is no longer there upon one's return.
The Chap proposes to take a stand against this culture of vulgarity. We must show our children that the things worth fighting for are not the latest plastic plimsolls but a shiny pair of brogues. We must wean them off their alcopops and teach them how to mix martinis. Let the young not be ashamed of their flabby paunches, which they try to hide in their nylon tracksuits - we shall show them how a well-tailored suit can disguise the most ruined of bodies. Finally, let us capitalise on youth's love of peculiar argot Ð only replace their pidgin ghetto-speak with fruity bons mots and dry witticisms.
It is time for Chaps and Chapettes from all walks of life to stand up and be counted. But fear not, ye languid and ye plain idle: ours is a revolution based not on getting up early and exerting oneself - but a revolution that can be achieved by a single raised eyebrow over a monocle; the ordering of a glass of port in All Bar One; the wearing of a particularly fetching cardigan upon a visit to one's bookmaker. In other words: a revolution of panache. We shall bewilder the masses with seams in our trousers that could cut paper, trilbies angled so rakishly that traffic comes to a standstill; and by refusing the bland, watery substances that are foisted upon us by faceless corporations, we shall bring the establishment to its knees, begging for sartorial advice and a nip from our hip flasks.
I will live my entire life secretly wishing I could justify being as old fashioned as possible.
No comments:
Post a Comment