Admiral Cod on Tour

A Bad Man

A few days ago I was finishing my morning errands, dressed casually in black and headed to the gym. I was sporting a beard and my new aviator sunglasses. I walked past a young mother and her two little daughters. I heard one of the daughters say in that loud whisper that little girls have: "Mommy he looks like a bad man!" I laughed. The young mother said "Sorry!" as if she were used to it.

Crowns

Hunt Soirée

Note unamused stag

Peaches (The Stranglers)

Harsh Daze

Like many of you, I've been transfixed by the mystery of the missing Malaysia Airlines MH370 jet. It has provided a distraction from the hilarity of the Russian humiliation of the West in Crimea.

What I find amusing in the Malaysian case is the utter incompetence of both Asian and European authorities in responding to it.

But, I think I've stumbled upon an important clue that may shed some light on the perpetrator of this puzzle.

If you scramble the name of the missing Malaysian jet pilot, Zaharie Ahmad Shah, you get this sinister message:

 "ha ha I am harsh daze"

 I think this needs looking into.

 Get the crack team of Neocon reporters at Fox News on the case, pronto.

Fry and Laurie Reunited

Beach Scenes

I remind myself from time to time how fortunate I am to live in such a place. California may have some problems, but it is still gloriously beautiful country, drawing tourists from all over the world. It also attracts visitors from more local, less glorious places.

I visited one of the state beaches with a girlfriend last weekend. It was only a short drive away. We parked and hiked down one of the steep trails that lead to the water.

We encountered several large females stalled along the track, breathing heavily and clutching the guardrail. We were shocked to see a multitude of extremely fat girls lounging about on the sand like so many beached elephant seals. A few of them looked like giant beach balls with legs the size of barrels. Many of them had tattoos.

My girlfriend and I just looked at each other as if to say: "WTF?" She was shocked at the young age of so many of these girls. I'm afraid the age at which American women choose to 'let themselves go' is getting younger.

I had to avert my eyes. When my ladyfriend noticed me assessing the occasional hottie in a bikini, she said: "Hey!"

"Darling," I replied, "it's important I set my gaze upon more appealing scenery lest I suffer serious retinal damage." Or words to that effect.

She laughed and pretended to punch me in the arm.

Now, it's not all bad.

Near my house in Laguna Beach a cliff juts out into the water. One can get around it only by climbing over large rocks at low tide. Beyond it lie a small stone wading pool and a tower, where, I can reveal here, I have inadvertently stumbled upon erotic photo shoots and ladies sunbathing in the nude.

I trust you can imagine my reaction.

Cricket: la casquette des sportsman

I'm Shakin'

I live in a tall house by the beach. My bedroom is on the third floor. The master bedroom contains two main windows facing outward towards the ocean, and four internal windows looking out on to the living room and dining room below. They are the first to rattle when an earthquake occurs. I did not feel the earthquake this morning. Nor did I hear it. Probably--as one of my girlfriends has been telling me--because I was too drunk from the night before to notice.

Royal Flash

Radiant Trout

I was struck by the beauty of this animal. It brings back some memories. The earliest fly-fishing expedition that I can recall was in the mid-1970s, and indeed somewhere there is a photo of a proud yours truly struggling to hold up a string of rainbows for the camera. My most recent fly-fishing excursions were on the Mianus, Norwalk, and Saugatuck rivers in Connecticut--almost 20 years ago! I used to fish every weekend, spending most of the day in the woods along the riverbanks, catching brookies (at left) and brownies. Over the past decade most of my fishing has been in Mexico hunting for dorado, marlin, and tuna, with the occasional spearfishing trip in California and the Bahamas. But there's something about fly-fishing for trout that's a bit...different. Perhaps it's time to break out the old 9' Sage rod and reel and head into the mountains.

Tassel Loafers: Super Bien !

Although my predilection for the tassel loafer is well-documented, I would not go so far as to tattoo its image on my body. Even a chap like myself has limits. With the rise of Nationalism in France, however, it could very well be the case that tassel loafers are making a comeback amongst the youth market.

"In France, the tasseled loafer makes its own peculiar political statement. John Vinocur, the executive editor of The International Herald Tribune, said that the shoes were worn, actually flaunted, by young rightists in the mid-1980's who wished to demonstrate their distaste for the Socialist Government...To them, the preppiness of the shoe represented American prosperity and free-market conservatism. Thus, it became part of the battle uniform of the young soldier of la contre-revolution."

The Politicization of Tassel Loafers, Neil A. Lewis, New York Times, 03/11/93

Rhodesia (Japan)

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Style Matters

Ban Bitches

The current power elites never cease to amuse me. Facebook business executive Sheryl Sandberg has suggested banning the word "bossy" because it's a term disproportionately used against aggressive, motivated women in the office. This won't work, of course, because one can't go around simply banning words. It's madness.

I’ve written before about lady bosses:

Women managers, I have found over the years, are easily influenced and manipulated. They are highly susceptible to flattery, and easily swayed. Female bosses are unfocused. It is a result, I think, of multi-tasking. In one bank where I worked, I knew a group of male analysts who, on being approached by the female department head with some large task in hand, would immediately ask about her weekend, or ask about her daughter who was away at boarding school, or compliment her on her hair. After a while she would leave, flattered and flustered, apparently having forgotten why she wanted to talk to the analysts in the first place. I have seen this technique work time and again. In the past, when I had a female boss, I was usually able to use my charm and good looks to get my own way, or to obtain preferential treatment of some kind, including office sex. The trick with a female manager is, never make her forget that she is a woman first and foremost–even if she looks like your Aunt Phyllis.

I actually like female bosses, although I haven’t had very many. It’s the male managers–usually white knight douchebags–with whom I have issues. More on that later.

Oddly enough, the best manager I’ve had was a homosexualist chap who let it be known to me–and our team–that he had a crush on me. Needless to say, I got away with a lot.

The second best manager I’ve had was a hot Vietnamese married girl my own age who also had a crush on me and was apt to kiss me when our team went out for drinks. It was a bit awkward, I must say.

Indoor Sports

The Brazilian

Just recently I was in contact with a Brazilian ex-girlfriend. Tight body, big tits, sculpted arse, long raven-black hair, expertly-trimmed snatch, and energy level turned to 11.

It was an awesome match. My Nordic coolness contrasted well with her South American fire. She thrived on it. So did I.

During our conversation she revealed to me she miscarried a child of ours about 10 years ago. Which came as a bit of a surprise. Although, given my activities over the years, it really shouldn't have done.

I don't know whether to believe her.

Today she is comfortably ensconced in a relationship with an older gent, a high-flying European antiques dealer based in Los Angeles.

Brute Force and Breeding: Dornford Yates

The Sartorial Legacy of the Crimean War

Lord Cardigan
Note the impressive facial hair

With the Crimea in the news these days, I thought it an opportune time to consider the sartorial influences of the Crimean War (1853-1856) upon the British people, and, indeed, the world. War, as we can see, so often leads to sartorial invention.

(1) Cardigan sweater - The cardigan is named after James Thomas Brudenell, 7th Earl of Cardigan who led British cavalry in the Charge of the Light Brigade against Russian troops at the Battle of Balaclava (25 Oct 1854). The sweater was based on waistcoats worn by British infantry and quickly became popular when introduced in London. Today the cardigan is favoured by preppies, hipsters, and grandfathers.

(2) Balaclava cap - A knitted head-covering first worn by British troops stationed in the Crimea to combat the severe winter cold. It is named after the Crimean town of Balaklava. Today the balaclava is worn by special forces, winter sports enthusiasts, and terrorists. Also known as the Uhlan cap, or bandit hat.

(3) Raglan overcoat - A type of winter coat developed in 1854 to commemorate the promotion of FitzRoy James Henry Somerset, 1st Baron Raglan to the rank of Field Marshal following his victory at the Battle of Inkerman (5 Nov 1854). The raglan overcoat today remains a garment noted for its fine drape and loose sleeves.

For a unique eyewitness account of the events surrounding Lord Cardigan, the Charge of the Light Brigade, and the Crimean War in general, I can recommend the following key texts: Flashman (1969) and Flashman at the Charge (1973), both by Sir Harry Paget Flashman VC KCB KCIE (1822-1915).

Mixed Doubles

Note the exquisite tennis blazer

Bearded Young Fogey

The Grand Budapest Hotel (Official Trailer)

Suit of Tweed

Bowie in Russia

Old England Paris

Waiting Game

I recently sent a girlfriend home in the pouring rain.

She had been irritating me.

We had spent the day together going to the gym, having lunch, walking along the beach, laughing at the stupid tourists, fucking, and watching 'Game of Thrones.'

But her incessant offers to do things for me --e.g., mend my clothes, do my grocery shopping, cook dinner, do my laundry, etc.--irritated me to no end.

In the dark I escorted her to the door. As the rain poured down, I told her to keep her hair dry. She pulled the hood of her jacket over her head and walked into the street to her motor car.

There is something about a woman behaving this way that disgusts me. I don't want--or enjoy--women doing things for me.

I know she was only trying to make herself useful to me. But at this stage in my life I don't need a woman to do any of these things. I do them myself--and quite nicely, I might add.

I await the conciliatory text.

Baracuta