Tea And Parties

"...what I feel we ought to do at this juncture is to dash off somewhere where it's quiet and there aren't so many houses dancing the 'Blue Danube' and shove some tea into ourselves. And over the pot and muffins I shall have something very important to say to you."

P.G. Wodehouse, 'The Amazing Hat Mystery', Young Men In Spats (1936)

Rugby Polo

For the summer season I picked up a few Rugby shirts from the San Francisco store to augment my existing collection. Here is one of them (at left). It fits exceptionally well. The candid image, snapped by my crack team of photographers, reveals part of the design. The back of the shirt contains the word 'ENGLAND' and a large number '11'. I no longer play rugby, but I once did; I have the broken nose to prove it. Still, while wearing the shirt, I've been asked if I played for England, which of course is not the case, just as it is not the case, despite inquiries, that I am a cop, military officer, nazi, or Russian gangster. I just naturally look the part. Which I suppose is a good thing. At least I'm not mistaken for a bearded academic, dirty hippy, or politician.

Anse Intendance, Mahé, Seychelles

A few years ago my beautiful young bride (now ex-wife--first of several, I imagine) and I spent a week of our three-week honeymoon in a villa overlooking this, the famous Intendance beach on the southwest coast of Mahé, the main island of the Seychelles. By day we drank champagne after a large breakfast, lounged about the sun-drenched swimming pool with various European bankers and their supermodel wives, and then repaired back to our quarters for a mid-afternoon romp. Afterwards we cooled off in our private pool overlooking the pounding surf. For supper we visited one of the nearby restaurants, and then met on the verandah for wine, cocktails, hors d'oeuvres, and conversation with fellow guests. My petite blonde bride, fluent in French and Arabic, charmed the gathering and quickly made friends. We settled down as the evening drew on, the women chattering away, the chaps drinking whisky and smoking cigars and discussing the rugby scores, business opportunities in Dubai and Qatar, and the global economy. The evening wind and rain tore through the landing, giving us a light soaking. Down below the surf intensified.

All You Need Is Me (Morrissey)

la plus belle aventure

"Toutes les faims mènent à Dieu"

Jean-René Huguenin

Flashman: Death Or Glory

Tiger Hunting In The Raj

Do Something

'If you know some guys you can connect with, and who are on more or less the same page philosophically, make sure you make time for them. Set aside time to create that history and build that trust. Even women who are "like one of the guys" will have a chilling effect on that process. Men are not honest with each other in the same way when women are present, and establishing trust requires honesty. Men are going to want to have girlfriends and wives and families and other connections with women in their lives, and that is all well and good, but as I said, you can't expect men who don't really know you to help you through tough times. Put in the effort. Eating and drinking together is fine, but it makes more sense to plan tactically oriented outings. You need to learn how to read each other and work together as a group. Go to the shooting range. Go hunting. Play paintball. Go to the gym. Take martial arts classes. Join a sports team. Take a workshop. Learn a useful skill. Fix something. Build something. Make something. Get off your ass and do something.'

Jack Donovan, The Way Of Men (2012)

True Light

"We have come from God, and inevitably the myths woven by us, though they contain error, will also reflect a splintered fragment of the true light, the eternal truth that is with God. Indeed only by myth-making, only by becoming 'sub-creator' and inventing stories, can Man aspire to the state of perfection that he knew before the Fall. Our myths may be misguided, but they steer however shakily towards the true harbour, while materialistic 'progress' leads only to a yawning abyss and the Iron Crown of the power of evil."

Locals Only !

Love, Wine, Revolution

Reds Don't Surf !

Breaking Up

I recently dodged a bullet.

The young, hot blonde. Things hadn't been right between us from the start. Not much to talk about. Lots of awkward silences. A look of annoyed miscomprehension on her beautiful face whenever I brought up a subject about which she knew nothing, which was often. She was cripplingly boring. Once a chap finds himself preferring to spend an evening sipping cocktails instead of spending time with his girl, as I did, it's time to move on.

For this reason and a few others, our break-up was inevitable.

The sex, I can report, was great. I loved the way she gave me head--arguably the best I've ever received. And I appreciated the way she doubled-up and clawed at my back, gasping, moaning, her eyes rolling back in her head when I bottomed-out inside her. Good times.

Her family originated in colonial New England from Mayflower stock. But it was all down hill from there. Her parents were divorced. Her mother was a crazy mudshark who had shacked up with not one but two sub-hominids in Los Angeles and had a daughter by one of the creatures; the mother now lives as an old hippy in a dingy lower class neighbourhood. Her father, for his part, was addicted to little Asian slags with pasty, pockmarked faces.

During the final break-up session, when I realised it was irretrievably over, I told her certain truths about herself, about Western women, and about life that in all honesty she had probably never heard before and will never hear again. Most men are pussies when it comes to beautiful girls. I'm just a selfish asshole (her words). Which, of course, simply means I don't put the filly on a pedestal.

Modern life, as you know, is not without great cost.

Brazil: Luxury Poolside

Hotel Fasano, Rio

Ah, Brazil! My parents used to visit Brazil quite often, for business and for pleasure. Somewhere in the coastal interior of that vast country there is a plantation named after my family, a tribute from one of my late father's good friends. I went to school in England with the sons of Brazilian diplomats. (My goodness, how those chaps liked to party...!) And I once dated a Brazilian girl. I ponder these escapist memories as I sit poolside in California, roasting in the heat and sweat, not always appreciating as I should the singularity of my present circumstances.

Panic (The Smiths)

contre le monde moderne

Old School Banking

As you may have heard, I've just been recruited for a key investment role by another firm.

My new home is a small New York City-based trust company founded by hard-drinking WASP financiers, whose corporate culture, I can now report, has been happily transported to West Coast offices. Longwing brogues are de rigueur. Facial hair is verboten. Gents' jackets are to remain on at all times. And don't forget cocktails at half six. This sort of thing.

You don't need me to list for you the perks of a new job offer. I can disclose, however, that they do include lavish lunches and dinners with eager headhunters, who, in my experience, seem to vary widely between dull betas and cute and willing blonde fillies, the latter providing an opportunity to charm my way into both bank and panties.

Chaps of my background, experience, and impeccable profile are in stiff demand at the moment. The recruitment process is a bit like courting a new girl. The bank for its part sets out to determine with unblinking eye whether the applicant can provide the necessary assets, networks, and expertise to increase revenue. The aspiring banker, for his part, decides if said bank will put out and provide a home in which he can thrive.

When it comes to marriage, as you know, I'm a bit of a traditionalist. So parlous is the idea of marrying a modern girl, however, that one is tempted to demand a dowry. It's the same in banking, where it appears in the form of a hefty signing bonus. Or, as it is sometimes called in the industry (for reasons that elude me), the money shot.

Forgive me if I appear to honour the occasion in excessive, yet private, style.

California Beachside

Polo Club Set

orbis non sufficit

Bermuda Shorts and Tassel Loafers

Montherlant On Love

"I have heard it said that one loses a woman by loving her too much, that an affectation of coldness, from time to time, brings better results. And so on. I shall play no such tricks with you... Let love be truly love—that is, let it be peace—or let it not exist at all."

Henry de Montherlant, Les jeunes filles (1936-1939)

The Perfect Suit (BBC)

The King's English (Kingsley Amis)

'But what does shine throughout is Kingsley’s love of his language. He is exact, but not pedantic. Even when making minute points about the letter of the law, he is really talking about its spirit. Amis’s approach reminds me of the best sort of guide to a great city. He has plenty of learning derived from formal study, but he also knows the place like the back of his hand. He loves the city’s perfections, but also its oddities, and even, because they make him laugh, its defects. He loves its past, but lives vigorously in its present. Rome, or Paris, or London cannot be defined: rather, they can be known – the more intimately the better. So it is with English.'

"Mind your bad English, Kingsley Amis 'don't like it'", by Charles Moore, Daily Telegraph, 4 July 2011

Hemingway Loafers

Finca Vigia, San Franciso de Paula, Cuba



Waugh On Praise

'A man desires praise that he may be reassured, that he may be quit of his doubting of himself; he is indifferent to applause when he is confident of success.'

Alec Waugh

The English Gentleman: Golf and Tennis

Games like golf and tennis are not taken seriously by gentlemen although they sometimes play them for the sake of the exercise. They do not have the same approach to these games as lesser mortals. In the case of golf, for instance, a gentleman is never seen with one of those vast leather bags filled with gleaming clubs, some of which are adorned with little wooly hats. Instead he has a thin canvas bag with half a dozen assorted clubs, some of which have wooden shafts which he calls his 'knockers.' With these he hits the ball great distances and has the knack of hacking the ball out of the most appalling rough onto the green. He is altogether a maddening person to play against.

The same applies to tennis, for which he dresses in long once-white trousers, now yellowed with age. In mixed foursomes he plays with great courtesy, serving underhand to the lady even if she is a Wimbledon player. Most of his best shots are played off the wood, which has a demoralising effect against even the most expert opponents. When he wins he is so sporting about it and goes on so about the luck of the game that most people feel like wringing his neck.

Douglas Sutherland, The English Gentleman (1978)

Lollies

Huntington Beach



Reap The Wild Tweed

Hunting Kit