Back in Business. July 2012.

Dear Rowley,

I am enraptured by the Julia McKenzie Miss Marple episode called The Pale Horse. It involves a story of witchcraft in Much Deeping. The standout performance is by Pauline Collins as the chief witch. She is suburban. She has a terrible accent. It is genius. Do hie thee hither to HMV and buy the DVD. I am very well acquainted with witches. When I was going through a particularly psychotic period, I thought the world was populated by blood drinking witches including my family and my Better Half. I thought I was being taken to a black mass in the Methodist chapel in Clerkenwell.

But enough about me. How about you? What do you think of me? I am slumped on the daybed in Bloomsbury Towers having had a very productive day at Henry Poole & Co. We have much excitement in 2013: an exhibition at the Bowes Museum, an official visit from Princess Anne to confer the British Award for Enterprise, a new book about Poole’s with Thames & Hudson and many photo opportunities with various organisations celebrating bespoke tailoring and handmade liveries for the Palace.

I am quite tired and have resolved to go to see a private ENT doctor on Harley Street tomorrow to sort my head out once and for all. What I do think is that I will have to have an operation on my sinuses to clear my head and make me see the clear day that is promised to all of us. I had a lovely Prosecco lunch with Keith ‘Ceremonial Tailoring’ Levett and Inga Ruby my old partner in crime in the archives at Gieves & Hawkes. We also met Don from Hardy Amies who was walking though Heddon Street and joined us for a glass of fizz.

I have been musing on the Olympic 2012 Opening Ceremony. Though there was no shortage of multi cultural references, where the hell were the Jews? My favourite race on the planet. Where were the gays? Where were the whites? I thought Danny Bolye had got the Muslaaaaaam vote covered when we saw all of those hooded Dementors and Lord Voldermort rise again. But then I realises this was not a religious reference. Where was the British military? Why did we not have the 10th Hussars riding round the Olympic stadium? Why did we not have Jews dancing, homosexuals kissing or Barbara Windsor giggling while dressed as Elizabeth I?

The whole point of being inclusive is to embrace all the colours of the British public’s psyche and sexuality. But no. All we got was a BBC perspective on how they would like Britain to be. Well, it isn’t like that outside London and Birmingham. I found the entire Opening Ceremony mad. I’d have much preferred pomp and circumstance to PC bullshit. It appears the artist would like to take me back to Nice in a week’s time. I am going. But before that I have the trip to Newcastle with Keith to recce the Bowes Museum. There’s more darling. There’s lots more. Until next time…