Newcomers to this blog may well be thinking "Why do we need to see Mr.Ashley's new trousers?". Well, I made a thing about them a few weeks ago (six to be precise) when we went over to Holt in Norfolk to look at and try on a pair of High Rises as my Christmas and birthday treat at Old Town Clothing, and my loyal band of commentators have been equally fascinated by them ever since. Delayed gratification was stretched to the limit like an optimistic waistband, and so I rang their Miss Willey last Thursday. I heard her shoes tap away across the linoleum, followed by a silence where I thought I heard the tick of a station waiting room clock, and then the return: "They've only got to have the buttons sewn on". The rest was down to Parcel Force, who claimed that they came to my village on Monday, only to find I'd gone out. I hadn't. So they very kindly sent me a letter that directed me to a Post Office at the back of a grocers in Market Harborough. I tore the brown wrapping paper off and...I love 'em. Have I tried them on yet? Steady on, I've only had them a day. It'll be at least a week to decide which braces match the herringbone Harris Tweed. Delayed gratification kicking in again you see. However, some young know-all on the Guardian said recently that the people who buy Old Town's clothes must still have outside lavatories. Yes. So?
Alan Feltus: guided by instinct
1 day ago