Alongside the superfine merino wool, wool and cashmere, pure cashmere and cashmere/silk blend, we now have…
85% cotton, 15% cashmere, in 30 colours, including navy blue!!!
Same number of styles, and all ready for spring…
Some good news, is that delivery dates are starting to improve. We had been looking at delivery times of 6-7 weeks, this is now down to 5-6 weeks, pedantic I know, but every little helps…
Meanwhile, Rishi’s had the bonnet up and has been tinkering with the engine again.
Doesn’t he know, it’s all electric now?
The problem with his Big End continues; no matter how much grease Rishi uses, it won’t budge, refusing to turn or go quietly. It remains in a continual state of denial, and even Vlad the Lad has apparently tried to crank him up, with a another whopping great turn on the starting handle!
I think I preferred it when carts were pulled by horses, at least you knew how and where to avoid the ‘bull’.
But, the obvious question is can Rishi get this vehicle up to 88 miles per hour, or will he go left? I am obviously not condoning exceeding the national speed limit, but where he’s going, we don’t need roads. Well according to Citizen Kahn…
We have no planes, trains or traffic free zones, only Ulez. I’m surprised we have had more complaints about that anachronism!
Ah, transport infrastructure projects, all aboard the gravy train/boat, delete as necessary.
I am also looking forward to many more comments from 30p Lee… I hope he is set to run, and run.
New stock has arrived, in dribs and drabs thanks in the main to Brexit, FedEx, and UPS. If you place an expletive in front of the last one you get exactly what this is.
I am, like you should all be… back in a suit!
Read on if you want to subject your senses to my latest rant!
Growth is out of style!
I despair for us all.
We’re doomed, doomed I tell you!
The Bank of England has spoken!
Hunt (spellchecked!) is sharpening his scythe, Halloween has been and gone, another 10 years of austerity await…
My mother loves Rishi, heaven knows why, apparently, he is compassionate especially to his lower-class friends; smart too, but not smart enough to stay out of politics
Last Thursday I walked past a tiny pub called the ‘Two Chairmen’ in Westminster. There must have been two hundred people drinking on the pavement outside, and this wasn’t the only place I walked past where this was the case, and not the first Thursday I had seen it.
Now, I have absolutely no problem with the revelry, Bacchanalian parties, huge quantities of alcohol being consumed or the pavement drinking, my birthday was a low-key affair by comparison… I am just not one to throw stones in glass houses.
But, Thursday is the new Friday!
Ergo…Friday morning is the new Saturday morning!
Don’t forget I have seen, or not seen, many of you at this point. Incapable of holding a pen or a pint pot, let alone putting the pen to paper.
It’s the Tuesday, Wednesday And Thursday (put it together) workers crowd, who on Friday mornings have to drag their sorry posteriors out of bed, literally 2 metres to a ‘zzzzzzzzzzoom’ meeting, camera off.
My argument is about productivity…
The assumption might be, that given the proximity of these establishments to our centre of power, these people may be employed by the Government; or by us?
We’re back in the Seventies and we have the three-day week, power cuts are looming, I shall be back huddled around fork handles on my mother’s living floor, for light and warmth.
There are rolling strikes, high interest rates and even higher inflation, a useless Government playing musical chairs, and a witless Opposition.
Have we learnt nothing in the last 50 years? As for mother the passage of time has not dulled all of her senses.
We have our country back, as we are continuously told… We have the Bank of England, we issue our own currency, not beholden to the European Central Bank, or any other, so in essence we can’t run out of money. We printed money during the pandemic, which bypassed the financial markets, the issuing of bonds, and often into some underserving people’s pockets, who are never likely to be brought to book.
The debt is owned by the Bank of England, does it need to be repaid? Certainly not quickly… so why not the same response now.
Why the talk of austerity, we have had a decade of so-called austerity prior to the pandemic, and where did that get us?
Maybe we have the need for self-flagellation!
Certainly I don’t, and why should we care what the rest of the world thinks, they would do the same, if only they were brave enough.
You load another sixteen tons, and what do you get? Another day older and deeper into debt. Saint Peter don’t you call me ‘cause I can’t go I owe my soul to the company store…
The indomitable rise of the Technocrat! And AI
The GOOD news…
The lemons on my lemon tree are finally turning from green to yellow!
To begin with on Saturday 8thOctober we will be closing at 14.30. Sharp!
Yes, I am aware of the optics of that sentence. We will be open on Monday 10th at 11am as normal! Nothing like a little media drama to draw your attention, perhaps raise your interest rate!
Meter readings done?
Welcome to your Winter Warm Space.
New stock is imminent…
I will be throwing open the door to all comers as always. You do realise that you don’t get this warm welcome from an online store?
The more of us the merrier, and the more hot air we can generate the better. We could become an Air Source heat pump, perhaps even start fracking. As Roger Moore once said… when necessary, shared bodily warmth, whoa, slow down tiger!
But just think about it, you can come round and hang out here; keep warm, drink my booze coffee, spend a little money, and get something in return.
I am sure you’d rather that, than handing over a significant wedge (wheelbarrow full of readies) to the utility companies, it’s a win, win!
Do not forget the made to measure knitwear, now available in merino wool, a wool/cashmere mix, pure cashmere, and a cashmere and silk blend.
A myriad of colours and styles… Much akin to my personalities!
Sadly, Queenie is Underground, I shall miss her, not perhaps so keen on those who will follow, but the Elizabeth Line is up and running!
I wonder if they will name a line after Charlie?
We have also learnt that the pen is mightier than the sword, if one is prepared to get one’s hands dirty. Damn, blasted, thingy…
Then, our great leaders in Westminster have had so much time off, I was beginning to wonder if they were on strike. Better pay and conditions perhaps? Do they want jam on it, it’s starting to look like another Eton Mess?
Labour’s conference was a damp squib, and you know you are on to a loser when Rees-Mogg is pilfering your ideas, to make matters worse, they pinched their ideas from the Greens.
The Tories on the other hand look to be tearing themselves apart. Luckily for Liz she may get a year’s grace, otherwise it seems the 1922 Committee will be opening their Christmas cards early. What a bunch of rats in a sack, even the box of frogs across the water, seem to be behaving better. Riveting!
Ms Trust, Ms Placed, Ms Guided, Ms Taken, Ms Calculated, or just don’t let me be Ms Understood?
Then there is the Italians. Playing a blinder, sucker in the ref by rolling on the ground. One of the worst economies in Europe, they elect a far-right Government, threaten to do all sorts of things to migrants, even leave the EU. Problem solved!
That’s how you lever concessions, Mr Oven Ready Turkey. You’re not the one doing the stuffing much as you deludedly, thought you were.
Vote for Christmas!
Just how many sleeps away is that? I am not sure I can cope with the nightmares until then…
But wait, doesn’t that involve a large man, dressed in red, with white hair and a beard climbing down my chimney…
Perhaps I should be ‘Trading Places’, Billy-Ray.
PS… I shall be deleting any of my newsletters where I may have referred to Vlad the Lad in nothing, but the most glowing terms!
So, don’t read on if you don’t want to. There is new stock, just look at the new arrivals page on the website! Just click on the button at bottom.
RANT ALERT – An abridged version
So where are we headed?
Hell, handcart?
What happened to the re-introduction of Imperial measurements?
Perhaps, the reason is that Col. Fotherington-Smythe (no relation) would not like to know that the price of 5-star petroleum is now over £8 per gallon, and when he first bought his still pristine Daimler Double Six, it originally cost less than that to fill the wretched thing.
Then, who knows what fun people would have with inflation if, and when, a pint of milk soon costs the same as a litre! Riddle me that one!
Just ask almost any politician, they don’t know the price of anything, worse still, the value of nothing. Take a look around, you’re out of touch, I’m out of time. Don’t you just love Hall & Oates.
Now I have that song stuck in your head, I am standing on my Imperial Leather soap box, it’s slightly unsteady, it had 4oz bars at one end, and 100gm bars at the other, but that’s a life on the ocean wave for you…
Talking of which, the ‘Priti-Celeste’ is still in dry dock, or in a hanger. Luckily, she has found a soft target, and Mr Assange could well be on his way to the US, somehow, I think, he of all people may in fact prefer Rwanda!
This may not be popular to everyone, it is only my opinion, but Priti is now talking about tagging some of the migrants who have swum the channel…
Doesn’t she imagine they have endured much worse on their journey here, and the bounds of their ingenuity may outstrip her witless schemes. Give them a smartphone, switch on the activity tracker, and let them work, it amounts to the same thing, we all seem happy doing the same thing. Perhaps, they will be doing some of the work, paying taxes, contributing to society and doing the things that some people apparently ‘wfh’ should be doing.
Ethics? I had to look the meaning up, and as Oscar Wilde said in paraphrase…To lose one may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.
Shame? I had to look that one up as well. Nothing to see here, move along now… Sometimes less is more!
The Conservative Party Cabinet Line Dancing team is all out of step, Chassé, Chug, Heel Grind, Sailor, Twinkle and Backstab… these are fictional characters, and in no way are a depiction of any past or present politicians! Do you think???
To think that my politics are the politics of the left would be incorrect, I am a centrist.
We are led by mutton, dressed as lamb, and about as far from lions as we could get.
Perhaps you were wondering why I had waited so long.
Maybe it was the tree house at Chequers, no penny pincher there, ever the hope that there might be a slip between cup and lip.
Call me an Uber…
STOP PRESS…
There is new stock on the website, ergo there is new stock in the shop as well. Do your worst…
Press any of the associated buttons, one might work.
As for pressing my buttons, that is reserved for a distinguished and honoured few!
But I know what you all really want, what you really, really want…
It’s all over bar the wriggling and the squealing! The salaciousness of it all, the sordid wranglings of man and beast, the greased pig and the snake.
Is it Chinese New Year again?
We await the parting honours list, Carrie-Antionette and pater will be taken care of. That’ll do pig!
Meanwhile the avengers have assembled. Who will be Captain Marvel, does any of them have a presence to be Maverick?
There is talk of Liz Truss, Liz who?
Then there is Rishi, who I would imagine will struggle to know the price of goods in a Poundstore! He could phone a friend, or ask the audience, but he freely admits he has no friends in the lower class…
So, a choice between a former member of CND, latter a Liberal Democrat, or Maggie Mark II.
If I say it enough times, I might actually believe it, but for the moment I am stifling a snigger.
However, events are moving fast, Hunt has gone, thank goodness for that. That was a slip of the tongue waiting to happen… Zahawi as well, the lights are on, his prized stallions warm… yet, no one is at home. And now, Suella is back at Southfork.
They’ll all be pledging undying love for one another, bigging each other up with trite sound bites about honesty, integrity, liberté, egalité, fraternité, whilst looking for somewhere to stick the brown envelope or the dagger!
Boris is stood at the dispatch box, dodging bullets as if he were Neo from the Matrix.
He hasn’t managed to stop them mid-flight yet, but I must say he’s flexible, you must have seen him groove, all that gesticulating (waving of arms, to the uneducated amongst you), it makes him appear like a magician! His vain hope still exists; that he will disappear through the trapdoor in front of the Speaker’s Chair, rather than be sawn in half by Sir Keir! Houdini, whodunnit? Save Big Dog… Woof!
He will end the session like he began it, without a single hair in place.
I fear, the similarities between Boris and Neo, may end there, but having said that, I’m sure the ladies on the red wall will love a man like him in a leather trench coat. He’s no ‘Milk Tray’ man, and not likely to swan dive off a cliff in to a sapphire blue ocean. Rather, he’ll divebomb your kids in the shallow end of the pool, whilst yelling tsunami… then deny it was him whilst turning the water golden…
He is all snake, and no polo neck! That one is brass, and a really slippery sucker… I am tempted to say, “Don’t Go” we’re all having too much fun. Luckily, this lad is not for leaving…
I have just returned from Italy… work; it really was. Look if ‘he’ can get away with it, so can I!
Why do you have to ask? Travel is back on the agenda… Milan, Rome, and dinner at Il Moro.
The main topic of conversation, apart from Brexit, yes, they are still laughing about that one, was Boris, and his parties.
They consider him more of a fool than Berlusconi. That’s a stretch, and I say hold on a moment, there is no evidence of that, it was the dog that ate my homework….
Dear Silvio would just throw Bunga at it, fly everyone to Sardinia for the weekend, obviously at the Italian non-taxpayer’s expense. Could you imagine our cheeseparing leader, he’d be desperate just to get someone else to cough for the Lambrusco from Waitrose.
Any way there was a reason for this newsletter. We are in the process of launching a range of made to measure knitwear, initially in single and two- ply merino wool, later in cotton, cashmere and cashmere/silk.
There are a huge number of styles, all your favourites plus some fantastic new ones, and they available in 30 fabulous colours, with an option for pockets and a contrast trim. There are some samples in make which will be here over the next couple of weeks.
The same deal with shoes. I know we haven’t made shoes in many years, however now there will be sneakers, and business shoes, again with similar fairly limitless options.
So, as you can see I haven’t been just sitting around on my perfectly formed posterior!
I hope to add this to the online shop at some point soon as well.
OK, just because of your of FMO… NEW STOCK – Please don’t panic buy, there is enough to go around…
Get yourself to the website…
I wonder how many of you don’t get past my first few words. In your head, ‘ere he goes again, what the ‘eck is he on about.
Tip – Stock up on candles, I lived through the winter of ‘73. Warming your hands on a naked flame is only fun for the first 5 minutes.
Anyway, I am returning from Ibiza, and at last I can write these few words from the comfort of an airline seat.
I had spent two days with Neil and Eugene, drinking Mezcal Penicillin in a hippy cafe…
Any hallucinations were a figment of my imagination. You may think that I am unhappy that Boris is on holiday, far from it… I am overjoyed.
It would be hypocrisy on the level only ventured to by Government Minsters, and I would prefer a Prime Minister who is fit for purpose. Our journey to hell should have someone at the reins of the handcart, and he was desperate to have that job. Let’s get it done…
During my journey into ayahuasca I realised that the similarities between our great leader and myself run much deeper than first imagined. Both products of a flailing education, vain, verbose, megalomaniacal, egotistical and self-absorbed. There, I imagine the similarities end.
Perhaps we don’t share a hairdresser. I can’t imagine him having his hair cut by a Colombian transsexual who is just back from Izmir after an operation to augment her breasts. I have checked with her, she can still see her toes.
But perhaps Boris does, as he still continues to prefer the balloon brushing method of hair care!
If there are those amongst you who are unsure how to address someone like this… Let’s steer Sir Keir, she prefers ‘she’, and ‘they’ are her toes.
Then there is the elephant in the room.
Suits are back… the attached photo of me as Captain Kirk in skin tight red Lycra only goes to show you that although you think that sitting in your ‘Captain’s Chair’ whilst wfh, doesn’t necessarily transfer to the office environment, and whatever Trekkie fantasies you may harbour, get ship shape, or ship out. This is an Enterprise free zone.
This photograph was also the reason why a certain actor unsubscribed from the Newsletter, I expect you to follow in droves… Envy…
I felt upon revision, best not to attach the photo. If you feel you can’t do without it, lease send a stamp, self-addressed envelope and a postal order for £5, and I’ll see what I can do!
New stock will be upon us shortly, which means there will be new stock on the website, wait for it! In the meantime, feast yourselves at my table of idiotic ramblings…
There are some of you who are new to this, please don’t worry, it gets easier!
Yes, I am newly woke, and as if from a slumber… a new world awaits, is it snowing outside? Has the climate changed?
Lying here, I am squinting into the glare of a ring light, I plan my next foray into the land of TikTok, frankly the make-up looks ridiculous, when I would rather relish a duvet day. I wipe a snowflake from my cheek.
The joker has shuffled his deck. In his head he’s playing five card Stud, Randy Andy is standing at the back of the room hoping for a few hands of an altogether different game of poker. Sadly, I think it is bad for moral!
For those who Boris dealt out… there will be tears and no happy ending. Of the others, I suspect one or two are once again destined to be lightning rods, others makeweights, yet all will be amply rewarded at the Crap tables.
Sir Starmer, was sold as an ‘ideas’ person (Biologically male, no specified agenda), he seems to have run out of ideas, but if he has one, after four weeks he can change his mind again. Let me check which way the wind is blowing.
I make a gesture that in the current climate could get me arrested, raise a moistened finger aloft, and immediately I am struck by lightning. It appears once again, all the pain, none of the gain…
Were Boris and Kim given reflex hammers, alongside the chocolate money, sugar mice and a tangerine in their stockings for Christmas? The slightest touch to the patella, or anywhere else sensitive, has them reacting as if mighty Thor had dealt the blow. The knee jerk that follows would stop an out of control, high-sided, 44 tonne, multi-axle truck!
500 visas, valid until Christmas Eve, sounds like a W H Smith giftcard!
100,000 lorry drivers short, all that talk of drone deliveries, and driverless vans… How I long for the days, when from a windowless van I hear a robotic voice, 10111101, 10111011101, bleep, 011101100011, bleep, where did you get your 10111011001 software programmed?
I have heard the shortage is down to Brexit, IR35, pay levels, working conditions, retirement? Amazon, anyone? But we are not allowed to criticize the men with their giant, interestingly shaped, space egos!
And what about the Yorkie bar? It may become extinct, another innocent victim of climate change!
Interestingly, Santa gets it done in a night, and carbon neutral. OK, there is a slim chance he may be drinking, whilst in control of a vehicle, but it doesn’t seem to worry those folks on electric scooters… Is there a red nose on Elon Musk’s rocket?
Returning to the topic of visas. In the January transfer window Angela Merkel is out of contract, and we can get her on a free, she can be our new midfield enforcer. In reality, we need a goalkeeper, but there no longer seems to be a politician who can be described as a safe pair of hands… Priti paid £54 million for a French defender which has let in more goals than a leaky boat, even Harry Kane has lost his sense of direction, N17 isn’t off the M11!
Then there is the petroleum crisis… Luckily, it has not yet turned into the ‘Gas Station’ scene from Zoolander, ye! But give it time… When questioned, the Government blame the media, who blame the hauliers, who blame the Government, and so on!!!
None will admit to being prone to hyperbole… after all which came first, the chicken, or the egg?
PHOTOS OF NEW STOCK AT THE END, SO TRY TO PERSEVERE!
Am I alone in the dark again?
Apparently, I ramble, and not in the one foot in front of the other way. I shall leave that to mother, who is thriving.
I am also aware that you all care more about her, than you do about me!
The Government’s attempt to change the ‘Traffic Light System’ for travel has left us with something looking like the Pride Flag!
It reminds me of a line from Starman, where Jeff Bridges’s understanding of traffic lights is that red light, stop; green light, go; orange light, go very fast!
And yet, the Euros continue, on one hand the Pariah, the other the Saviour.
But, ‘Sleepy Joe’ is here, it will be shoes and socks off for barefoot stroll of the beach with our own Robinson Crusoe!
At this point, you must forgive me for playing around with French History, but it is the only way I can make this work, and it’s not as though anything that comes out of Hollywood is entirely factual and historically correct, and yes, it is only French history.
Faced with Monsieur Macron’s chagrin I will display my usual sang froid. Allez le Weekend!
Carrie Antoinette and the Sun In King tied the knot and retired to their Versailles.
I wonder what shape the champagne glasses were at their little gathering, and the garden was no doubt filled with confetti made from shredded super injunctions and NDAs.
Did I hear her say, “Qu’ils mangent de la Mr Kipling’s”!
In the Bois de Boulogne those exceedingly expensive net curtains are twitching, and the proletariat have become accustomed to Burnt Basque Cheesecake. (A recipe will follow at the end!)
One emissary returned from Lisbon; a trophy held aloft. Yet, no sooner had he planted himself on Terra Ferma when he received a note written in lemon juice from the Sûreté. He has been in contact with the inflicted.
Normally he would be expelled to the 16ieme arrondissement; but the Sun In King is clever.
He has devised a new challenge, 10 cunning tests for this transgressor, like Abraham, he is tested by a higher authority. A new one every day which will set him apart from mere mortals, yet he can move amongst us as if immune. This exemption elevates him to such a position of power he is unlikely to fail!
A friend asked for a similar dispensation, he was re-buffed.
It seems the rest of us will continue to tug our forelocks from under our flat caps, for we are not worthy.
Staycation, is whispered on the wind… with a knotted hankie for cover, my Bradshaw’s guide tucked under my arm, I may head for my childhood haunts of Crimdon Dene, Easington Colliery, Hartlepool and yes, Barnard Castle!
North of the ‘Red Wall’ to a place where the sun rarely shines and the foodie highlight will be Spam fritters, washed down with a pint of warm Newkee! Not much chance of romance soiree following that!
Burnt Basque Cheescake:
1kg Cream Cheese
6 eggs
400g of sugar
200ml of double cream
A tablespoon of plain flour
A splash of vanilla essence
Preheat the oven to 140C.
Whisk all the ingredients together by hand into a batter. Doing it by hand means you won’t over mix them.
Line a 10” spring form pan with baking parchment, and pour in the batter.
Place in the middle of the oven and cook for 20 minutes. Increase the temperature to 200C and cook for another 35 minutes, just keep an eye every so often and turn so it browns evenly on top.
The centre will still be soft.
Take it out, let it cool, and then remove the springform and place in the fridge overnight.
