Jeeves & Gail. January 2018.

Dear Rowley,

Do you know who always helped me keep body and soul together over the past decade? That’s right! Gail from Capri (the dry cleaner not the island). Gail is a buxom Irish lass with eyes that sparkle like crystal and a mane of raven hair framing a face like Marilyn Monroe. She’s one of the few people in my life who has true glamour. What’s not to like?

When Capri sank, Gail moved to a tatty place in Bloomsbury where she was not happy and neither was I. I had a few sightings over the years but it was only last week that I promised to pay a visit to the Prince of Wales’s dry cleaner by appointment, Jeeves, where Gail rules the roost in the St Paul’s branch.

Jeeves is a lovely shop with a very talented lady tailor on site and Gail standing behind the counter in soaring stilettos with hand on hip and a beaming smile on her lovely face. I’d bought a pair of bum-hugging bespoke trousers cut by Edward Sexton that were lovely on the outside but frayed and unlined inside. Some chafing might occur.

Anyway, the seamstress half lined and repaired the trousers and they are better than they were on the day I took delivery of the suit. Gail also washed, folded and packed my shirts to perfection … so handy when you’re travelling and easy to store at home. Needless to say, I will be with Jeeves for life as I think Gail will be in mine.

It is always a lesson in London to follow HRH the Prince of Wales’s feathers around town because whether it is Lobb shoes or Floris perfume, Prince Charles has exquisite if expensive taste. Actually Jeeves is not that many shekels more than the crappy dry cleaners on Theobald’s Road but the difference is like that between a tramp and a supermodel.

Good service is so important to me especially if the person serving is a personal friend. I knew I would meet Gail again somewhere along the road and I am delighted that she is Queen Bee at Jeeves. It takes an older lady to rule with firmness and charm. Like me, Gail won’t take any crap from the punters. Maybe she should get involved in Jewellery for Gentlemen. 

Speaking of the business, I bought two darling stickpins at Ullman’s off Hatton Garden today. One is a square cut ruby set in a diamond of yellow gold with three seed pearl accents. Needs a good clean, mind, before it is presentable for the website. The other is my initial, J, spelled out in old mine cut diamonds. That’s a keeper. I’ve already worn it stoating from Hatton Garden to Jeeves.

My throat is improving by the second but I keep getting put back by the troubles with the Chinese thieves downstairs. They reported ME to the police because I wrote them a threatening letter. Apparently I can be arrested for harassment. And they say justice is blind…

So I set a trap today. I left a diamanté brooch by my laptop with the camera switched on and another insurance camera secreted on top of Debrett’s. Sadly they did not bite because they tend to work at night whether I am in bed or not. So the next step will be a disguise in order to catch them in the act. I have it all ready for nightfall. Drama Queen? Moi? How very dare you!

I will get my Grandmother’s ring back come what may. As insurance I went to see the makers, Smith & Harris, on Hatton Garden who can remake it once I have raised the funds. It will be on my finger within the year. Who will I leave it to in the event that I don’t have time to swallow it before I croak? La Farmer has more diamonds than Mae West and Mr Bowering doesn’t care for such gee gaws.

I know Mrs T would cherish it as would the Ruby. It wants to go to a lady when it leaves my finger and, believe me, I’m no lady. I’m no gentleman either though I can put on a good show before too much gin blows my disguise. I have just dispatched two Jewellery for Gentlemen envelopes to Queensland for darling Louis Circé. I also enclosed a diamanté choker from the London Cut exhibition and some naughty tight white knickers. You dirty old man!

My hair is now so long I can put it in a top knot like Bet Lynch. I choose not to however. Segue, I am so loving Hart non-stop 80s on the wireless. It is my era in music when artists had to hold a tune and do all their own singing as Miss M would say. It is so much more sublime than Hip Hop doof doof crapola that I try to avoid at all costs. I am a throwback I know. To Versailles as it happens where Tessa and I were courtesans.

I fully intend to have a cosy evening watching Burlesque in bed and uploading all the telly CDs I found under the stairs. It will be a real memory lane evening: my favourite kind. Until next time…