Gentleman's Life - Country Life Autumn 2023 by Future PLC

AUTUMN 2023

Hetty Lintell, Editor

Meet the team

‘To be a gentleman is to be refined in that which is not refined’ (page 32)

Filmmaker Guy Ritchie on the art of being a gentleman 14 Notebook

From a classic timepiece to the glorious colours of autumn, Hetty Lintell and Carla Passino pick out a selection of luxuries for the discerning gentleman

16 The art of conversation Everyone likes a good chat, but there is certainly no room in any social circle for a crushing bore. William Sitwell reveals how to keep your small talk scintillating

20 Brown all round

A chocolate hue adds a certain vintage appeal to this selection of six super-stylish watches

22 What makes him tick Editor-in-Chief Mark Hedges Editor Hetty Lintell Head of Design Dean Usher Senior Art Editor Emma Earnshaw Deputy Art Editor Heather Clark Senior Designer Ben Harris Picture Editor Lucy Ford Deputy Picture Editor Emily Anderson Chief Sub-Editor Octavia Pollock Sub-Editor Stuart Martel Advertising Katie Ruocco 07929 364909 Email name.surname@futurenet.com

What does your watch say about you? Nick Foulkes turns the dial to pair up timepieces with the standout character traits of watch-loving gents

26 According to you

Matthew Dennison welcomes the elevation of warm, soft and durable corduroy from functional workwear to elegant attire for a man about town (and country)

30 Blue suede shoes

Blue is most definitely the colour to get your foot in the door

32 A natural guy

Christopher Jackson visits Guy Ritchie’s Wiltshire estate, where the filmmaker opens up about his passion for the outdoors and love of all things natural

38 A helping hand

A range of gloves where elegance and practicality go hand in hand

40 Hey, big spender

Rupert Uloth dreams of ‘blowing it all’, imagining that his wildest financial fantasies come true

46 Tinkering around

Alan Titchmarsh shares the secrets of the shed—and, as the owner of three splendid specimens, he should know

50 Investor relations

Once a wardrobe nemesis that earned ridicule as a ‘Fulham lifejacket’, the gilet is now a musthave extra layer for Dylan Jones

52 Layer on layer

Six of the best gilets for a winning combination of style and warmth

54 King of the road

Ben Oliver goes for a spin through Charles III’s car collection, including the Aston Martin given to him by the late Queen on his 21st birthday

60 Bags of confidence

Six classic weekenders that will improve with age and last a lifetime

62 Waxing lyrical

Belstaff’s Trialmaster jacket is 75 this year. Simon de Burton charts the rise and fall and rise again of a motorcycling stalwart

66 Knit picking

Brighten up winter by adding a cheerful jumper to the wardrobe

68 Making an evening of it

Elegant eveningwear is anything but dull, as Max Hurd demonstrates with his bold, luxurious attire and beautiful watches

74 Drunken dishes

‘If you wouldn’t drink it, don’t cook with it’ is the advice from Tom Parker Bowles, as he raises a glass (or two) to some of his favourite boozy recipes. Cheers!

78 Add insult to injury

You never know when you may need to call upon a cutting barb. Carla Passino offers some inspiration for your armoury with an array of telling put-downs, delivered by everyone from Groucho Marx to Oscar Wilde

Millie Pilkington/Country Life Picture Library/Future PLC

‘A gentleman’s quote is a gentleman’s word,’ insists Dry Eye in Guy Ritchie’s brilliant film The Gentlemen. Who could be more fitting than the director himself to divulge all things gentlemanly when he invited us behind the gates of his Wiltshire estate (and even grilled us a steak—perfectly medium rare)? ‘Wit is the salt of conversation, not the food,’ encouraged the social commentator and philosopher William Hazlitt— and so agrees another William (Sitwell), who urges us with alacrity how not to be a raging bore. Charming Alan Titchmarsh regales us with his love for his garden sheds (he has three, one of which I’d happily live in—with COUNTRY L IFE pages as wallpaper) and we chart The King’s love of motoring with his life in cars. Gilets are more than a practical layer for Dylan Jones, who now can’t live without one (he’s not alone, I imagine). We then show you how to sport elegant eveningwear this season—it’s all about layering—and, finally, Tom Parker Bowles sizzles up a favourite dish or two with a good slosh of booze. Chin-chin to that.

Luxury Notebook Edited by Hetty Lintell

Legend of the deep

Shades of autumn

If Neptune, god of the ocean, ever had a watch, it would have been Fifty Fathoms. First launched in 1953, this is the timepiece of choice for divers, underwater explorers, scientists and photographers. It has come up close and personal with turtles, wrecks and the myriad extraordinary creatures that live under the Antarctic ice pack. Watertight to at least 10 bar (330ft), resistant to magnetism and equipped with self-winding mechanism and luminescent hour markers, it was conceived specifically with diving in mind after JeanJacques Fiechter, then co-CEO of Blancpain, ran out of air under water in the south of France. To mark the watch’s 70th anniversary, Blancpain this year created three models, the latest of which, Fifty Fathoms 70th Anniversary Act 3, has recently been launched. It is inspired by a model used by the US Navy in the late 1950s and has preserved the original 41.3mm diameter and 1957 moisture indicator. However, today’s reinterpretation, available as a 555-piece limited edition and water-resistant to 30 bar, adds a touch of luxury—a 9K bronze-gold case (right). Fifty Fathoms 70th Anniversary Act 3, £28,200 (020–7529 0910; www.blancpain.com).

New & Lingwood’s new collection captures the colours of the autumnal British countryside—a glorious triumph of cream and brown emboldened by pops of orange, pink or teal. Luxurious fabrics from heritage mills are turned into striking pieces—such as this raglan-sleeve coat (below) handcrafted in England from Magee’s herringbone Donegal tweed, £1,250, worn here over navy lambswool sweater, £275, camel flat front 5 Whale corduroy trousers, £225, and Chestnut calf-leather tassel loafer, £495 (020– 7493 9621; www.newandlingwood.com).

Dress to impress ‘You can never be overdressed,’ said Oscar Wilde—and menswear brand Oliver Brown has taken the maxim to heart. Its Evening Wear Anniversary Collection, which marks the company’s 25 years in business, captures the best of Britain’s sartorial elegance in luxurious cloth, such as Loro Piana wool or Scabal luxury velvet. Choose from classic black dinner suits to a white double-breasted evening jacket; we particularly like the opulent Carlyle velvet jacket in Vino (above), £595 (020–7259 9494; www.oliverbrown.org.uk). 14

Crockett & Jones’s inspiration for its latest footwear collection is rooted in the magnificent Trossachs landscape and combines the stylish lines of favourite designs—such as the signature Coniston or the Islay derby boot worn by James Bond in Skyfall—with robust, highperformance leathers that can withstand anything the skies can throw at them. The rugged Rough-out Suede, now available in a natural colourway, as well as in dark brown, only gets better with wear and the oil-tanned Hurricane Hide, now also in sand and dark coffee, looks tough, but feels comfortable. Cornell derby in coffee hurricane hide (below), £500 (01604 635927; www.crockettandjones.com).

Frasershot Studios Ltd 2023

Rooted and booted

Game & tonic The only thing that can improve a good G&T is knowing you are drinking it for a good cause. Blackeye Gin is developed by rugby stars Mike Tindall and James Haskell and television presenter Alex Payne alongside distillery Hawkridge. It features botanicals from each of the rugby nations and supports the Blackeye Fund by investing £1.50 per bottle on research and education to prevent risks to players. £35.95 (www.blackeyegin.com). Compiled by Carla Passino

did you see the match last night?

which one?!?

The art of conversation

Being a bore is up there with the worst social crimes, but boring people often have no idea of their shortcomings. Cracking conversationalist William Sitwell lets us in on his secrets to encouraging good chat, at every eventuality Illustrations by Joe McDermott

T was a conversation I shall never forget. Not because of how interesting it was; in fact, far from it. Mind-blowing, earth-shattering even, in its unutterable tedium. I wouldn’t really have called it a conversation, more a one-way stream of verbiage with us merely nodding along. I was with an old pal, an MP, leaving the dining room after dinner at the Carlton Club, a private members’ establishment for those who lean to the right on St James’s Street. ‘How very nice to see you,’ he said to my chum. ‘Very good to see you, too,’ he replied, before introducing me. The chap in question was well into his dufferage, embracing the spirit of duffer, doubtless excited that with every passing year he could add the prefix of ‘old’ to it, which would excuse and, indeed, enable his lugubrious chatter.

hang on! Let me tell you about this door

‘It was mind-blowing, earth-shattering, in its unutterable tedium’ ‘Do you know,’ he said perkily, ‘let me tell you something about this great big door here.’ He pointed at the large mahogany door we had just walked through. ‘Well, a few years ago, we had the hinges changed and then we re-hung the thing.’ ‘Oh really,’ we chorused, joyfully egging him on, a bottle of claret or two giving us the confidence to be what a more alert soul might recognise as cheeky. ‘Yes, indeed,’ he replied, stirred at our interest and getting into his stride. ‘Because, you see, previously, the door opened into the room. Which, of course, when opened, created a certain obstacle in the room. But re-hung, the door could then open out onto the landing, which gave us more space inside the room. Indeed, it meant we could add another table, and two more

chairs. Yes. It was one of my great triumphs on the house committee.’ We nodded in appreciation at this piece of information before hurrying away downstairs to find a corner of the bar where we could hide with some Port and where our friend would fail to find his fresh victims. The occurrence, I hesitate to call it an event, took place at least a decade ago, but I have never forgotten it, because it serves as a warning in the same way that one’s parents do. At all costs, at all times, during the entire course of your life, avoid being a bore. Being

a bore is one of the worst crimes, for it is deadening, it kills the soul, deflates the world and crushes the spirit. Murderers are at least interesting. I mean for a start they did a murder, which is undeniably thoughtprovoking. But a bore, they can bore on and on. Too few of us are brave enough to work out an escape route, so they think they are interesting, and they then bore on to others. Indeed, such was our grace, that same club bore is doubtless still telling folk about that door now. I suppose the advantage of the club bore, be it in the gents’ club, the golf 17

Well, you ruined my life, remember?

club, the gym or the pub, is that it does serve as a constant warning. Don’t be like them. Except, of course, the art of the bore is a subtle one, a selfish one. Because my bore might be another’s idea of stupendous company. Some people might crave door-hanging chit-chat. Thus it is vital that, to avoid being labelled a bore, you first understand your audience. For that is the bore’s biggest issue. What you find fascinating might be a subject that drives some to tears. Remember that your rightful interest in planets or Catholicism or Florentine marble might not strike a chord with others. Be selfless: at a wedding lunch let the guests on either side of you lead, as you then strike in with brilliance. Remember, charm is the ultimate weapon. Conversations should put people at their ease, from the vicar at the door of the church to the chap who is about to fix your car.

what kind of peculiar person stands at the urinal doing nothing?

‘Flattery will not fool the vicar: “Honestly the finest sermon I’ve ever had the joyous luck to hear”’ But get the balance right. Flattery will not fool the vicar: ‘Honestly the finest sermon I’ve ever had the joyous luck to hear.’ You may not understand what the mechanic is saying, but do not insult him with your overeagerness. ‘I’ll run a diagnostic then see if there’s a blown out cracked head gasket,’ the mechanic might say, to which you should not reply. ‘Oh will you? How frightfully amusing!’ And never fall into the blokey-chat attempts made famous by Alan Partridge when he asks some builders if they saw the match last night. One asks: ‘Which one?’ to which he replies: ‘Dunno.’ You must also understand the fine line between talking too much and saying too little. This can be a difficult thing to judge, particularly when it comes to awkward encounters with bosses or celebrities. Especially at urinals. As a young would-be hack on The Daily Telegraph, doing a shift or two on the Peterborough diary column, no sooner had I unzipped to face the porcelain than editor Max Hastings walked in, a very tall man with a cigar in his mouth. He stood right next to me and, as he was undoing his flies and had a cigar in his mouth, it was clear he was unable to begin a conversation. Being a young thrusting wannabe journo with a chance to impress the great man, it obviously fell to me to make a brilliant opening gambit. Instead, I froze with fear. Said nothing. Simply stood there, unable to pee.

He did his pee, from start to finish, zipped up, washed his hands and, although I did not turn to look at him, I could feel his eyes burning into me. ‘What kind of peculiar person stands in a urinal doing nothing?’ I could imagine him saying. And then telling every senior colleague. It was about 30 years before I braved a second visit to the Telegraph. Then there was the time I found myself peeing next to John Malkovich in the loos of the River Café. This time, I wouldn’t fail. ‘Gosh. How absolutely extraordinary to find myself next to you here,’ I garbled. ‘It’s not extraordinary at all,’ he replied in his famously curt voice. Get the tone right. When you bump into your ex-wife at the ski lift in Gstaad, ask how one of your children is, not how she is. That way you avoid the cutting: ‘Well, you ruined my life, remember?’ Be kind, be interested

and be alert to the sensibilities of others. But if you find that that constantly fails, take affirmative action. Remember, be interesting. Do not be dull. To the tedious wedding guest banging on about her darling little Ludo, tell her: ‘Gosh, what are the chances, I once had a labrador called Ludo, who sounds almost identical.’ To the wretched vicar dumbing down his sermons: ‘Don’t be scared of a little theology vicar. If I want beige wokery, I can watch This Morning.’ And to the smug colleague who always avoids catching your eye on the morning train, thinking he’s too cool to speak to you, stand up at the station one before your stop, then, just before the doors close, call out his name and shout: ‘And I’m never sleeping with you again!’ Then hop out of the train. Show the bores no mercy. Or you might become one yourself. 19

Six of the best

Brown all round Chocolate brown gives a vintage look to these stylish timepieces, perfectly suited to both town and country Edited by Hetty Lintell

Clockwise from top left: Aquanaut Chronograph Ref. 5968R-001 in rose gold with Sunburst brown dial, £60,950, Patek Philippe (01892 534018; www.gcollinsandsons.com); Hydroconquest GMT, £2,650, Longines (020–7409 1473; www.longines.com); M28603-0007 Tudor Royal, £3,130, Tudor (www.tudorwatch.com); ‘FiftySix’ self-winding, 40mm brown dial in pink-gold case, £24,500, Vacheron Constantin (020– 7578 9500; www.vacheron-constantin.com); Limited Edition Longitude with new ENG300 movement incorporating a piece of original brass from the Flamsteed Meridian Line at the Royal Observatory Greenwich, £14,995, Bremont (0800 817 4281; www.bremont.com); Day-Date 40mm Everose gold case on a Everose gold bracelet with Chocolate dial, £35,500, Rolex (www.rolex.com)

What makes him tick We hate to stereotype, but it has become apparent that certain timepieces ally with certain traits. Nick Foulkes delves into what else ‘turns the dial’ for each of these watch-loving gents Illustrations by Natalia Sanabria

THE SURFING FINANCIER

BREITLING, TOP TIME TRIUMPH CHRONOGRAPH YOU will have seen him on the terrace of George, where he holds his afternoon meetings. During the week, he is a model modern Mayfair hedgie, whose working uniform is dictated by the social-media feeds of half a dozen modern-classic menswear influencers: Gaziano & Girling made-to-order slip-ons (not bespoke, yet), flannel trousers from Brunello Cucinelli (slimline, of course) and a closefitting, soft-shouldered cashmere blazer (when formality requires). Peeking out from underneath the cuff of his white shirt (open neck), amid a tangle of man bangles and beach bracelets testifying to the diving holiday in Thailand to which he treated himself last bonus time, you will see the ice-blue dial of his Breitling Top Time Triumph chronograph. It is a watch that reveals

the man he becomes as soon as the markets close on a Friday, when, in his leathers and on his Triumph Thruxton RS 1200, he is to be found heading west on the A303 to pursue his passion for surfing and commune with his inner he-man. But, his is a personality in tension between his high-powered motorbikes and his concern about the environment (don’t get him started on the state of our rivers). To assuage his guilt, he has devised his own personal offset programme and, come sunrise on Saturday, he conducts a beach clean before heading out into the bay: Breitling’s new Surfrider partnership on his mind and an orange-dial Breitling Superocean, with environmentally correct orange Econyl strap made from recycled fishing nets, on his wrist. Back in town, he indulges in his guilty secret—watching Point Break for the 107th time and promising himself that this is the year he will chuck in the job and follow waves around the world… but reality prevails and, by Monday, he is back safe and sound on the terrace at George.

THE ART-LOVING TECH BILLIONAIRE VACHERON CONSTANTIN, UNIQUE CREATIONS, LES CABINOTIERS HE was previously little known outside Palo Alto, until news broke that he was divorcing his wife of 35 years. They had been highschool sweethearts, a fixture on the organic farmers’ market circuit and thought to have the most stable marriage in northern California. The high point of their year was an annual hiking holiday in Oregon in matching cargo pants the colour of Gangetic mud and zip-fronted recycled polar fleeces executed in a daring shade somewhere between porridge and concrete.

‘Vacheron Constantin has the rights to reproduce any work of art in the Louvre’ But that was before he commenced the affair with his art adviser (whatever you do, don’t call her an art dealer): a French countess who wrote a doctoral thesis on Mannerist Art, once worked at the French ministry of culture, speaks six languages (including fluent billionaire) and has one of the largest collections of Birkin bags outside the People’s Republic of China. She has opened tech billionaire’s eyes—and his bank account—to the beauty of art. Out went the cargo pants and polar fleeces and in came the Loro Piana in tasteful shades of slate and cereal. He is looking noticeably younger and leaner since he engaged the services of a longevity adviser, a dietician, two personal trainers (one for cardio, the other for functional strength training), a goat-yoga specialist and a spirituality consultant. When he is not busy extending his lifespan, he roams Europe in his Gulfstream

making offers on artworks, the bigger the better. He was very frustrated when the Louvre turned down his offer for Veronese’s Wedding Feast at Cana—all 724 sq ft of it. In order to soften the blow, a helpful curator suggested that he get in touch with Les Cabinotiers, the bespoke department of Vacheron Constantin, which has the rights to reproduce in miniature enamel painting any work of art in the museum (except Leonardo’s Mona Lisa). The trouble is that, such is the size of the original, that it will need to be painted in ‘instalments’ on five or six watches. The project could take more than a decade, as each dial takes between one and two years to complete and, for obvious reasons, the same miniature enamel painter has to be used for all the watches. Just as well that tech billionaire has a spirituality consultant to help him remain patient and a longevity adviser to ensure that he lives long enough to take delivery of the entire series of watches.

THE YOUNG AESTHETE CARTIER, TANK NORMALE

THE young aesthete looks like a fashion model, tousled Neronic curls tumbling over an alabaster-smooth forehead and features so well defined that they beggar the terms chiselled and sculpted. He could have walked straight out of a Dolce & Gabbana advertisement. But his is not the world of walking the runway or featuring in big-budget fragrance advertisements; instead, he describes himself as an old soul in a (beautiful) young body. He was born into a celebrated northern-Italian industrial dynasty and, after studying (and partying) at Le Rosey (the jet-set Eton), where he learned how to ski gracefully and order Champagne with aplomb at the

GreenGo nightclub in the Gstaad Palace, he dutifully followed his family’s wishes and read International Economics and Management at the prestigious Bocconi University in Milan, where his father and grandfather had studied. At least he tried, but he found himself profoundly unmoved by the dynamics of globalisation and the role of cultural differences at central banks in determining monetary policy. His life changed when he read the memoirs of Baron de Redé, the Parisian dandy who lived a life of beauty, comfort and supreme elegance in the Hôtel Lambert, where he threw the famous Bal Oriental in 1969. The young aesthete dropped out of Bocconi and fled to Paris where, with only the income from his trust fund to maintain him, he spent his time being instructed in the 400 different varieties of white shirts available to bespoke customers of Charvet, being fitted for suits at Cifonelli, curating his Instagram feed (@flaneuretdandyparisien), and buying Cartier watches. His current favourite is this year’s Tank Normale on a platinum bracelet—he finds yellow or pink gold a little vulgar and steel far too practical, but this icon of understatement suits him perfectly and can be worn under the close-fitting cuffs of his dazzling white Charvet shirts. A man of simple tastes, he is perfectly satisfied with the very best.

THE VETERAN FILM DIRECTOR ROLEX, SUBMARINER

THE veteran film director is the grand old man of British cinema, his unimpaired memory recalling with crystal clarity a career that began almost 60 years ago, working on David Lean’s film adaptation of Doctor Zhivago, not that you see his name on the credits. He was an assistant to the second assistant director on the second unit, but it was an experience that confirmed his love of cinema and furnished him with the first of a store of anecdotes with which he regales starstruck audiences at film festivals and conventions and has filled two volumes of memoirs. When working on Zhivago, he became friends with screenwriter Robert Bolt and later worked on the film adaptation of Bolt’s play A Man For All Seasons, where he met his wife. They are

still married more than 50 years later, living happily in Buckinghamshire, surrounded by mementos of a rich, diverse and distinguished career in film and television. Everywhere one looks, there are pictures of the veteran director with all the greats of late-20th-century cinema—actors, directors, and producers alike—as well as trophies from film festivals and awards ceremonies around the world. These days, his rambling farmhouse is a place of pilgrimage for film historians and biographers, whom he greets with old-world courtesy and a lively wit. He’s heard all the questions before and when he is asked to name his favourite trophy he looks around the room, his eyes lighting on the Emmy, the CBE and the BAFTA before returning to the well-used Rolex Submariner on his wrist. He unfastens it and hands it to his interlocutors, inviting them to read the dedication from Roger Moore, the cue for another anecdote about how he won it from the 007 star in an all-night backgammon session on a film set during the 1970s. ‘Lovely man, Roger. His word was his bond,’ he says with well-practised timing, adding, with a chuckle, ‘and he had great taste in watches.’

THE ARCHITECT

PATEK PHILIPPE, NAUTILUS APPROACHING 60 and garlanded with 5 the laurels of a successful career (knighthood, order of merit and honorary degrees from universities on every continent), the architect is at the peak of his powers. Whether it is a new museum in one of the Gulf States, a library for an Ivy League University, a performing-arts centre in one or other of the ‘-stans’, a memorial of reconciliation in a former war-torn state, an airport in one of those smaller cities in China with a mere 20,000,000 inhabitants or a seven-star wellness and longevity resort in Saudi Arabia, he is the default choice for prestige projects around the world. He came to fame during the Cool Britannia 1990s in London, when he spent time hanging out with the YBAs. His models (including one for a bridge over the English Channel) and drawings were the subject of a small exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery when it was still at Boundary Road. At that time, he had only two completed projects to his name: the 24

house of a noted art dealer and the interior of a fashionable London restaurant in the then daring location of Hoxton. His breakthrough was an Arts and education building in a former industrial town in the North of England that has since been likened to the Guggenheim Bilbao in its transformative power. It was the moment his career took off and, to mark it, he purchased himself a steel time-only Patek Philippe Nautilus. It has remained his signature ever since, together with the tailored blue workwear suit and collarless shirt he is always seen wearing. Having grown up during the 1970s, he was attracted by the watch’s unique design and has bought himself a new one every year, but, ever since production of the fabled Reference 571/1A ceased, he has been left in a quandary. Does he buy the white-gold Ref 5811 and hope no one notices? Or does he make a move to the Patek Philippe Grand Complications?

VINTAGE-CAR ENTHUSIAST

CHOPARD, MILLE MIGLIA EVER since he was taken 6 to his first Grand Prix by his industrialist father during the 1960s, he has been enraptured by the internal-combustion engine. He is old enough to have met the greats and he still talks of his encounter with Fangio as one of the defining moments of his life. Amherst Villiers was another of his automotive heroes and he still has his first vintage car, a Tim Birkin spec 4½-litre Blower Bentley (fitted with the famous Amherst Villiers supercharger). He bought it as a wreck back in the 1970s and he will never part from it. You might see him

parked up at the Goodwood Revival, clad in his tattered flying jacket, tweed cap and cravat. He still has the youthful grin and tumbling mop of Nero-like curls that made him so irresistible for the wives of his friends on the amateur motor-racing circuit of the late 1970s and 1980s, but it is testimony to his legendary charm that, although he has caused the break-up of at least three marriages (that he knows about), he maintains excellent relationships with all involved. He, however, never married; the internalcombustion engine is his first, true and only love. He is always ready to talk cars—just one thing, never, ever mention the Ferrari 250 GTO in his hearing. He once owned one, but, in the mid 1980s, he sold it to an American collector for close to $1,000,000. At first, he congratulated himself on his sagacity and shrewdness, but now that they can fetch $70 million (if you can find one), it is one of his greatest regrets in a life that has otherwise been full of fun and fast cars. He has competed as a gentleman driver at Le Mans, but, these days, he favours the vintage rally circuit, especially the Mille Miglia Storica, the celebrated Italian event for pre-1957 cars. It was there that, during the early 1990s, he met Karl-Friedrich Scheufele, co-president of Geneva watchmaker Chopard, which sponsors the race. As a regular entrant, he has collected almost every watch by Chopard to mark the Mille Miglia and has learned to enjoy watches almost as much as he enjoys cars. He jokes that he took up watch collecting because he needs an interest for his old age, but he shows little sign of slowing up just yet.

According to you Warm, durable and soft, corduroy was once solely a practical fabric, used in garments from military doublets to beekeeping outfits, but it is now the mainstay of modish gents around town and country. Matthew Dennison charts the rise of corduroy from working garments to elegant attire

N THE lamplit hut, the gamekeeper undresses, watched by his employer’s wife. Her gaze lingers as he removes his shoes, gaiters and, lastly, loosens his breeches. These, we read, are made of corduroy. The thick ribbed breeches worn by Mellors in D. H. Lawrence’s novel Lady Chatterley’s Lover, first published in 1928, are typical of working clothes worn by countrymen and labourers throughout the 19th century and beyond. Lady Chatterley would, indeed, have noted the fabric choice, so different from her own, less practical dress. In the last decades of the 18th century, in Britain, France and the US, corduroy emerged as a durable fabric for working garments on account of its combination of thickness, strength and softness: an advertisement of 1756 for the sale of stock of a bankrupt mercer called John Brander, of St Clement’s Churchyard in London, included ‘cordesoys’ alongside ‘a large and valuable Assortment of Silk’. Working men in town and country

Stylish: Matt Damon sports an olive incarnation in The Talented Mr Ripley with Jude Law

will make you look like a sausage. Hackett introduced corduroy trousers to the ‘The softness, drape, corduroy And the sound of your legs rubbing together Hackett range of men’s clothing more than violence on your person.’ 30 years ago, he conceived both ‘town’ and warmth and durability mayIn invite the third decade of the 21st century, ‘country’ variants: white, red, pink, lilac, improve with time; it is corduroy (or ‘cord’) is seen in towns, shires pale blue and mint green for Londoners; suburbs, no longer the preserve of farm straw, fawn, navy and drab for countrymen. a fabric for all seasons’ and workers—or, as one newspaper once sug- All sold out, inspiring Mr Hackett to use the adopted corduroy enthusiastically—for coats, waistcoats, breeches, trousers, aprons, caps and smocks, like the villagers in Tom Brown’s Schooldays, who dress for best in ‘clean, white smocks or velveteen or fustian coats’, velveteen and fustian both being forerunners of corduroy. These men and, in some instances, their employers, valued corduroy’s practicality, as well as its comfort; 18th-century doctors noted, too, the benefits of fabric breeches of the sort chosen by Mellors, which dried quickly, over leather or doeskin equivalents that were much slower to shake off damp. Today, hard-wearing and longlasting corduroy, with its distinctive ridged appearance, remains a staple in the wardrobe of every man bold enough to discount the dire warning once sounded by American GQ magazine: ‘Despite the verticality of the stripes, Facing page: Is it Robert Redford or his soft, lustrous corduroy jacket that draws the eye? Right: The epitome of 21st-century cool: Jeff Goldblum and Tinie Tempah

gested, ‘left-leaning polytechnic lecturers’—and is typically available in a rainbow of colours, unlike the snuff-coloured dyes that predominated 200 years ago. When Jeremy

fabric more widely, including for slippers. Purchasers of Hackett’s corduroy slippers included painter David Hockney, who bought them in an extensive range of colours— unsurprisingly, given his typically bold palette, with the exception of drab. Corduroy’s story begins centuries before the birth of Christ, in ancient Egypt. In its earliest form a heavy mixed linen and cotton weave, by the Middle Ages, when it was woven in Lombardy in northern Italy from cotton from the Near East and north Africa traded in Venice and Genoa, it had acquired the name ‘fustian’, probably after the old Egyptian city of Fustat: Italian weavers and merchants referred to fustagni to describe cloths made from cotton with wool, hemp or linen. In medieval England, ‘fustian’ became something of a catch-all term to describe many kinds of sturdy, sometimes coarsetextured wool, cotton or linen mixes suitable for heavy-duty use. Not only labourers, but priests, monks and nuns are recorded as wearing fustian; in the fashionable dress of the upper classes, serviceable fustian was used as padding to invest a garment with shape and structure. In 1554, early in the reign of Mary I, legislation permitted 27

Above: A sprinkle of stardust: even the flamboyant Elton John has embraced the soft, comforting nature of the fabric. Left: Was it the corduroy jacket worn by Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman) that attracted Mrs Robinson? over the following century, earned itself the moniker ‘Fustianopolis’. Lancashire-based manufacturer Brisbane Moss, which claims the creation of the world’s finest corduroys, has been producing corduroy-style fabrics since the mid-Victorian period. That each of its looms can produce only 400 metres of cloth a week is proof of the complexity of the specialised brushing and cutting techniques employed in the process of corduroy manufacture. The result, as managing director John Wright tells me, is ‘a luxurious cloth, beautiful to touch, warm to wear and very hard wearing’, characterised by ‘rich, vibrant tones and depth of colour that changes depending on the fall of light and the angle from which the cloth is viewed’. A 19th-century history of textiles explained that the distinctive ‘corrugated’ appearance 28

of corduroy was created using a warp of linen thread and weft of thick cotton, with additional fibres woven into the base fabric to create long ridges called ‘wales’. These wales vary in width, from the narrowest needlecord to broadest elephant cord, the former lighter for warmer weather, the latter heavier and more workmanlike, still in use, for example, for boys’ trousers in some prep-school uniforms. Given the strength that corduroy derives from its distinctive weave, it’s unsurprising that it remains a favourite for country clothing: corduroy trousers and breeches remain among countrymen’s staples, in some instances for sporting purposes. The fabric’s warmth also continues to endear it to those accustomed to draughtier living. Traditional men’s clothing has evolved slowly. Corduroy’s longevity makes it a perfect

choice for garments unlikely to be swiftly discarded, such as a favourite pair of breeks or a fishing waistcoat. Mr Wright points out that, ‘when washed and worn, corduroy ages beautifully, the softness, drape, warmth and durability all improve with time, making it a fabric for all seasons’, much like traditional British tweeds, with which corduroy has often been partnered. Yet this is a fabric of many identities. The 19th-century German philosopher Friedrich Engels specifically associated corduroy and its forerunners with working men and, at moments in its recent history, this link has made corduroy an excitingly subversive choice, a sartorial gesture of protest, an antiEstablishment visual flourish. The fabric’s softness lends it informality, the reason a cloth as conventional as boiled eggs eaten perching on the club fender has often been worn by pop stars, actors and activists. In the iconoclastic 1960s, this venerable fabric appeared close to eclipse. The revival in its fortunes, claimed the president of the Board of Trade in 1965, was attributable to a pop group. The Beatles, said Douglas Jay, ‘saved the British corduroy industry’. Less widespread than denim, more mainstream than velvet, corduroy seems set to keep its place in British men’s affections. Rightly so. As Mr Wright asks: ‘What can be more sustainable than a cloth that has a lifespan of more than 20 years?’

Alamy

weavers in East Anglia to label an English cotton-and-wool or cotton-and-flax weave ‘fustian of Norwich’, suggesting that, by the mid-Tudor period, fustian cloth was defined by its weight, texture, appearance and serviceability, rather than its place of origin. Evidently, English fustians acquired a distinctive look: many were napped fabrics, with a raised pile, like modern velvet, moleskin and, indeed, corduroy. Writers in the 16th and 17th centuries were voluble in their praise of the practicality of such cloths: their recommendations embraced purposes as diverse as military doublets and beekeeping outfits. One account of 1570 refers to shepherds, who, in adverse weather, keep warm in ‘doublettes of fustian’. More than 450 years later, modern wearers accustomed to Gore-Tex and central heating still testify to corduroy’s warmth. From the beginning of the 18th century, the weaving of such stuff was particularly associated with Lancashire’s Calder Valley, which,

Six of the best

Blue suede shoes Get your foot in the door with some sartorially savvy footwear Edited by Hetty Lintell

Top to bottom: Cornell in Ocean suede, £495, Crockett & Jones (01604 635927; www.crockettandjones.com); Sea-Sail Walk suede boat shoes, £785, Loro Piana (www.mrporter.com); Bannister Trainer in Blue Palio Suede, £245, Cheaney X Walsh, Joseph Cheaney & Sons (01536 760383; www.cheaney.co.uk); Perry loafer, £725, Manolo Blahnik Men’s (020–3831 7832; www.manoloblahnik.com); Portland 389 last in navy baby calf suede with flexible leather soles, £485, Edward Green (020–7839 0202; www.edwardgreen.com); Scion sneaker, £339, CQP (https://c-qp.com)

A natural guy Christopher Jackson visits the filmmaker at his Wiltshire estate to discuss the outdoors, his passion for wood and what it means to be a gentleman Photographs by Millie Pilkington

UY RITCHIE walks pensively up the path from Ashcombe House to greet me on the terrace. ‘I don’t know what it’s like elsewhere, but the weather’s always like this here,’ he jokes, referring to the first sunny day England has seen in six weeks. His charm is genuine. I sense it has to be wrested out of a condition of thought: as I toured the estate this morning, the 54-year-old creator of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998), Snatch (2000) and, most pertinently for this magazine, The Gentlemen (2019) was writing in the sturdy house that overlooks the 1,134-acre estate. But Mr Ritchie, it turns out, is always thinking deeply: readers of GENTLEMAN’S LIFE will be pleased to know that the philosophy that underpins his films relates profoundly to the question of what constitutes a gentleman. For an hour or so, we sit in an artdecked room called the Studio, an outbuilding beyond the main house: the name refers to the fact that the photographer Cecil Beaton, who lived at Ashcombe for many happy years after the Second World War, used to work in here. For Mr Ritchie, discussion of the weather is not a pleasantry: in fact, living alongside it with maximum efficiency and pleasure amounts to an obsession. ‘English weather is challenging unless you dial into it,’ he says. ‘I’m an advocate of English weather. You want to work at a temperature of between 12˚C and 18˚C— anything north of that is impractical.’ Mr Ritchie has dialled into it to an extraordinary extent. Over the past eight years, he has been refining his passion for the outdoors. This has culminated in the creation of The WildKitchen, an outdoorindoor environment that allows you to cook and entertain outdoors, even when the weather turns against you. Anyone who has seen The Gentlemen may remember a scene with Charlie Hunnam and Hugh Grant in which a prototype has a brief cameo role. The current version of The WildKitchen, on which Mr Ritchie will cook my lunch, has advanced considerably since then, via 38 prototypes.

Did he love the countryside growing up? ‘I was brought up in town, but my father had a love of all things traditional in relation to the English countryside,’ he recalls. ‘Early doors, it was what I loved the most. The birdlife in the UK is incredibly intense, as is the wildlife in general. These facts draw you in, until you fall in love with other components that the natural world has to offer. I’ve been beguiled into trying to remedy what I see as various challenges of the English countryside, especially the inclement weather.’ Mr Ritchie lives on the estate with his wife, the poet Jacqui Ritchie, and their three children. The WildKitchen is used by the family 300 out of 365 days in the year. ‘I want to be outside,’ he explains. ‘What I’m particularly interested in is how the natural world corresponds with me, the nutrition I derive from it and the curiosity that goes hand in hand with that.’ Does Mr Ritchie go into town much any more? ‘I’m surprised by how enthused I am about going back to town after a long period of time in the countryside. Town is really for work. Towns are competitive and it’s very hard to have a profound sense of identity in a competitive environment.’

‘The birdlife in the UK is intense, as is the wildlife in general. These facts draw you in’ Does he view the concept ‘gentleman’ as helpful? ‘You have to be definite about what you mean by that,’ he replies and I can see that he is far more primed for the question than I had expected. He chooses his words carefully: ‘To be a gentleman is to be refined in that which is not refined.’ At first, this might sound esoteric, but Mr Ritchie has a remarkably developed philosophy and it’s exciting to see that the question strikes a chord with him: ‘A gentleman should be able to see through the literalism of the current environment,’ he

Preceding pages: Brewing ideas: Guy Ritchie in his brewery with a Gritchie beer close at hand. Right: The filmmaker with his dogs, Coco and Ruby 34

continues. In other words, gentlemanliness isn’t a nostalgic thing: it’s nothing whatsoever to do with Georgian or Victorian manners or any vanished historical moment. Instead, it’s a timeless concept—a way of being. For instance, Mr Ritchie is sceptical about class—and about any system that lets you off the hook in terms of personal responsibility. ‘I’ve never understood a definition of a class society. It falls apart very quickly once scrutinised,’ he says. ‘I’ve never found it applicable in any practical way. I would argue that a gentleman is someone who can transcend—or at least see through—the conformist restrictions of a social construct.’ Of course, there are elements of his life— most obviously, making films—where hierarchy is important, but Mr Ritchie relishes that paradox. He is arguing for the supreme importance of becoming oneself and to do that, he says, a gentleman must first take responsibility for his own life. Having secured that terrain, we can begin to think about building community around us. ‘Community is really what I’m after,’ he says, ‘but I can’t begin there.’ We drive around the estate. The house recedes and, soon, we are threading a valley where the estate manager’s cottage sits, briefly inciting my envy. Then we pass a yard where an industrial charcoal-burner glows: the sale of charcoal is another form of revenue for the estate. Can the work on the estate be related back to his notions of a gentleman? ‘I can link them. I’m interested in both the artificial and the natural world. The artificial is less authentic, but the natural world

unbridled is a hostile environment—a jungle without a zoo. I’m interested in the reconciliation of the two.’ We reach a declivity where Mr Ritchie has created a lake: ‘I’m a big fan of water.’ Here, you find the 10th prototype of his current project, a luxury cabin and, on the lake’s far side, that harbinger of lunch: The WildKitchen itself. We walk along the lake towards it. Why should a gentleman be so urgent about the business of reconciling the artificial and the natural? ‘Think about when you’re sleeping in a tent: when you hear the rain, it gives you appreciation of the benefit of shelter,’ Mr Ritchie says. ‘When you’re in the house, you don’t hear the rain: being human, we immediately forget and don’t appreciate shelter. You need to hear the rain fall on the roof to feel a part of Nature. You need to feel Nature knocking at the door.’ The WildKitchen isn’t only a brilliant piece of design; it’s an embodiment of profound thought. I am beginning to understand the scale of its potential: it’s a revolution of the spirit told in wood, charcoal and meat. There are two aspects to the achievement here. One is the idea itself, a brilliant stroke of invention, which enables you to retain your relationship with the outdoors even if the temperature is -5˚ or if the day is tempestuous. The second is the meticulous execution. The comparison might at first seem too much, but like Leonardo da Vinci, Mr Ritchie is both engineer and artist. Echoing those archetypal Renaissance men, his ambition ranges: in this case, beyond film and storytelling into engineering, food,

‘In the house, you don’t hear rain. You need to feel Nature knocking at the door’

Indoors outdoors: The WildKitchen on Guy Ritchie’s Ashcombe estate in Wiltshire

agriculture, philosophy and architecture. He adores cathedrals, especially Wells in Somerset, which he recently visited: ‘Architecture should always be better than it needs to be; there need to be gestures which tell you that.’ Similarly, detail is everything in The WildKitchen. Mr Ritchie cooks a delicious rib-eye steak—an activity that prompts a dissertation on barbecuing. ‘Fish are mercurial creatures that change their minds about how they’re going to stick and not stick. Meat behaves itself. Mussels and popcorn also come out well on here.’ After we eat, when our fingers are sticky, he reaches above in the general direction of the knife rack to the structure’s corner, where there’s a napkin dispenser. He then discards the used napkin into the charcoal-burner itself: ‘That’s the game-changer,’ he says. In truth, this is a design with many gamechangers. At one point, Mr Ritchie leaps up

to show me how quickly the structure can be altered to keep out the elements. ‘Some 70% of the time, wind is the problem,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t rain as much in England as people think. People confuse a cloudy day with a wet day.’ Then, by the unloosening of various ropes, a canvas roof slides across: in a matter of half a minute, shelter is secured without our losing our sense of being outside. At the centre of Mr Ritchie’s vision of a gentleman is a passion for wood. ‘Charcoal is essentially incarcerated sunshine,’ he explains to me. ‘Extracting the most amount of energy out of wood and charcoal is the greatest expression of reconciling the infinite and the finite.’ An understanding of wood has knock-on benefits: ‘Until you cook on wood, until you have the benefit of being heated by wood, you can’t be truly connected,’ he explains. ‘That leads you into caring about trees. Some trees, such as hazel, have

to be coppiced and will die after 75 years if they’re not—but they’ll live for 1,000 years if you coppice them. Once you’re into trees, there’s a cascade of all the benefits of the understanding of the natural world.’ Beyond The WildKitchen, there’s the brewery that houses the Gritchie Brewing Company. ‘I love beer—if it didn’t make you fat, I’d drink it all day.’ But it’s more than that: the names of the signature beers—Angel’s Lore, Sun Lore, English Lore—point to Mr Ritchie’s love of pubs and a storytelling tradition he experienced growing up. ‘The tradition of folk music and storytelling manages to capture irony and irony is the greatest expression of humour,’ he explains. ‘Irony implies an awareness of paradox and paradox is an awareness of the madness of life.’ He also recently bought Compton Abbas airfield, just down the road. This has a thriving restaurant and bar, next to a flying school where punters can learn

The wonder of wood: cooking over charcoal helps connect Guy Ritchie to Nature

to fly vintage planes. ‘I want community and hubs of community,’ he tells me, as we walk in. ‘These people gathered today—what would they be doing if they weren’t here?’ They’d be the poorer. Mr Ritchie has evolved a complete and unified system of life. It is based on the rebirth of the gentleman. With The WildKitchen—with all his projects— he is looking at life with an independent creativity that has the potential to shift the world in a better direction. When I ask him whether his ideas for design and outdoor living emanate out of the same part of his brain as his films, he is swift to say: ‘The same part of the brain.’ After an afternoon in his company, I can attest: it’s some brain. Visit www.ccwildkitchens.com 37

Six of the best

A helping hand Keep frostbite at bay with some elegant and practical gloves Edited by Hetty Lintell

Clockwise from top: Leather and cashmere gloves, £550, Tods (0808 2343 5198; www.tods.com); red and green Road Rage Gloves, £315, Connolly (020–7952 6708; www.connollyengland.com); CD Icon Gloves in Dior grey grained leather, £600, Dior (www.dior.com); Härkila driven hunt shooting gloves, £69.99, Farlows (01544 322311; www.farlows.co.uk); Damien green suede gloves, £85, Hestra (0800 044 5705; www.mrporter.com); green shearling gloves, £175, New & Lingwood (0800 083 5102; www.newandlingwood.com) 38

Hey, big spender The daydream of ‘blowing it all’ becomes even more alluring with Rupert Uloth’s frivolous yet persuasive imaginings turning your wildest financial fantasies into (almost) reality

HE pied-à-terre in Hoxton for the grandchildren was such a lovely thought. A £500,000 nest egg in bricks and mortar will give them some security in this febrile jobs market. But… the little darlings don’t really need it yet and it seems a pity to have such a sum sitting there when you could have fun with it now. After all, wouldn’t they prefer to have a fulfilled and happy grandparent than 40

Illustrations by Adam Larkum having to be grovellingly grateful? Probably not, but why take the risk? Why not turn sensible, worthy bricks and mortar into liquid cash and go a little bit crazy? Let’s assume you have given generously to charity and helped your family in other ways. If the earth really is melting or Putin’s finger is hovering menacingly over the nuclear button, surely this is the moment to seek instant rather than delayed gratification. At least you’ll have

some great bedtime stories to tell your offspring’s offspring, even if their job prospects in London look less assured. We all have varying tastes and desires, but, dear reader, I think I can tap into some of your innermost longings simply from knowing that you have picked up this magazine. I’ve focused on various different possibilities and delved into each one to see how far my new-found lucre will take me.

0 0 0 , 0 0 5 £

An unscientific straw poll among friends put a world trip at the top of the list. Travel company Scott Dunn has a £500,000, 45-day southern-hemisphere trip that includes an African safari, the South Pole, Ningaloo Reef in Western Australia, helicopter trips in New Zealand, cruising on a boat in Indonesia and touring Rajasthan, including tiger safaris. You could spend the same amount in mere seconds on an ill-considered bet at the races, but it might be more fun to prolong the sensation by actually buying a racehorse. ‘Head to Tattersalls in Newmarket and secure a gorgeous, easy moving yearling for 250,000 guineas,’ says West Sussex-based trainer George Baker. ‘Bred in the purple, he or she will come with Ascot dreams, but more likely end up at Wolverhampton on a bitingly cold February evening. “School fees” payable to your chosen trainer will be about £25,000 per year. If you are extremely fortunate, your horse will win at Wolverhampton, earning a month’s training fees. If you are beyond lucky, your horse will take you on

the journey of a lifetime, winning fabulous fortunes in places such as Melbourne, Paris, Bahrain… and Wolverhampton.’ To participate in an equestrian activity yourself, polo with its handicapping system means you can play with some of the top players. Running a high-goal team for the season would cost a minimum of £1 million, but you could spend a happy summer at

Cowdray Park Polo Club, which hosts the world-famous Cowdray Gold Cup, playing in less high-octane tournaments such as the 12 Goal. To buy a string of polo ponies would set you back about £200,000 and they need to be kept and looked after for a year, with their concomitant shoeing and vets bills, and don’t forget that you would need to pay three professionals to play for you at

£300,000

about £2,000 each per match. Watch out, however. It’s dangerously addictive. For the fishing and shooting man, sporting agent Toby Burrell can plan sport every month to assuage even the keenest shot or rod. His suggestions include two 300-partridge days for £32,000 on the Drumlanrig estate in Scotland and fishing, for sea trout up to 30lb, at the Kau Tapen lodge in Argentina. The lodge alone costs just over £64,000 a week. Throw in bone fishing in the Seychelles, salmon fishing in Norway, grouse shooting in Yorkshire and fishing the Blackfoot in Montana, staying in the Orvis Company’s endorsed lodges, as well as stalking in Scotland and tiger fishing in Tanzania, and Mr Burrell can create a programme as varied as it is exciting and every month would be covered. You may want to throttle back on the travel if you want some of the kit. Bear in mind a pair of Purdey shotguns cost £225,000.

‘What’s the point of making money if you can’t have something special made by great artists?’ Your heart may be in your garden, so why not bring in a top designer and transform your plot into something spectacular? Show gardens at Chelsea can cost upwards of £1 million and I’m sure top designers Tom Stuart-Smith and Arabella Lennox-Boyd can easily help you spend half that on beautiful York-stone terraces, carefully crafted hurdles and even recently fashionable cortensteel rusted panels. ‘You need professionals, especially dealing with water,’ explains garden writer Tim Richardson. ‘I would love to have a wild swimming pool,’ he reveals, a beautiful natural-looking pond that is also the perfect place to swim. If the thought of finding a gardener and a pool boy is too daunting, perhaps you should opt for a beautiful car that could transport you round the country visiting Yellow Book gardens from the National Garden Scheme instead. A delightful 1954 Bentley R-Type Continental Fastback Sports Saloon was auctioned this year with Bonhams at the Goodwood Revival, always a happy hunting ground for motoring aficionados, estimated to fetch the sum we’re talking about. Metallic blue over a blue-grey trim with its original registration number and ownership history, its sweeping aerodynamic lines are wondrous to behold, British car design at its peak. Perhaps an easier indulgence is something that will not require maintenance or upkeep. 42

£500,000

A picture, perhaps? A gorgeous painting came up at Bonhams recently: The old gravel pit, Swainsthorpe by Munnings, with a top estimate of £500,000. If it’s books you’re after, renowned booksellers Heywood Hill will be able to create a bespoke library for you. Simply tell them the kind of tomes you like. You might want to include something similiar to The Great Gatsby, signed by F. Scott Fitzgerald, from the collection of Rolling Stones drummer Charlie Watts, sold at a Christie’s auction this year for £226,800 —although too many like that and you’d only have enough for a small bookshelf. For sheer exuberant indulgence, expensive jewellery is hard to beat and one of the best to help you choose is Theo Fennell. ‘What’s the point of making money if you can’t have something special made by great artists?’ he wisely counsels. ‘I would suggest a big, statement ring, again using a rare and beautiful stone, such as the Floribunda, neon-blue’. If there is no finger on which to place the ring, then Mr Fennell has another idea: ‘A dining-table set of silver, candlesticks, centrepieces, cutlery, the works, handmade with an appropriate theme and design to suit. The subject matter could be anything from animals and birds to flowers and historical subjects, but made absolutely to delight you. Having something created for you by great craftspeople should be one of the great joys of life and to get involved with the process should be a really happy trip.’ Or you could literally watch your newfound fortune go up in smoke. You would be able to afford the world’s biggest cigar, El Gigante Gran Habano No 5, which would set you back a cool £134,000. It is 19ft long and weighs the equivalent of 25,000 normal sized cigars, but is not really meant to be smoked, merely ‘collected’. However, a dedicated puffer could satisfy his needs for the next few years by buying the superb Davidoff Winston

Under the hammer

Unusual items for sale (or sold) at auction for about the price of your pied-à-terre • Pair of Louis XVI ormolu-mounted beau bleu, sold at Christie’s Exceptional Sale in July: £491,400 • Wooden bar from comedy classic Cheers, sold at a Dallas auction in June: $675,000 • J. K. Rowling’s chair, sold in 2016: $394,000 • Albert Einstein’s note ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way’, sold at auction in Israel in 2017: $250,000

250,000 GNS

Churchill Toro The Commander cigar. You will have enough for 500 boxes of 20. Reinforce the sensation of the bon viveur plutocrat with a bottle or two of Domaine Leroy’s 2011 Musigny Grand Cru at £55,000 a bottle. There are so many options: a Bulgari Magsonic Sonnerie Tourbillon watch (£464,000); a bespoke Overfinch Range Rover; a folly in Wales; a powerful speedboat; debenture seats at Wimbledon or the Albert Hall; or even a single Hermès handbag. There is also another choice: blow it all on a party.

And some things you still couldn’t afford • The last violin played on RMS Titanic, sold in 2013: $1.7 million • Cycladic marble figure from about 2400BC, sold at Christie’s in 2010: $16,882,500 • Patek Philippe Henry Graves Supercomplication Watch, sold at Sotheby’s in 2014: Swiss Francs 23,237,000 (about £20,000,000) • Leonardo Da Vinci’s Codex Leicester, bought in 1994 by Bill Gates: $30,802,500

Johnny Roxburgh has been organising extravaganzas for decades and has a Royal Warrant as an event planner. He promises to create a night to remember for 50 of your closest friends. ‘At the incredible towering, ceramic, sorbet-coloured “wedding-cake” folly, decorated with cupids, dolphins and mermaids, which Jacob Rothschild has built at Waddesdon in Buckinghamshire, I would construct a spectacular glass marquee perched on a glittering iridescent rock pool of water. Huge cascades of late-summer flowers and lavender-scented water would fall from the structure into the pool below.’ Dinner for 50, prepared by Mr Roxburgh’s favourite Highland chef, would include a gilded Scottish lobster and caviar fountain and rare venison on a bed of wilted wild herbs and woodland berries. This would all be served by cupids, some of whom would fly above the guests’ heads pouring iced vodka from gilded conch shells. In the glass ‘pavilion’, a 20-piece swing band would play and, at the end of dinner, a video projection would transform the 40ft-high ‘cake’ into a delicious collapsing ice-cream jelly. Guests would then be led into the ‘cake’ for pudding, dancing and vintage cocktails, to be entertained by scantily clad burlesque acts. The choice is yours. Just don’t tell the grandchildren. 43

IVE us the tools and we will finish the job,’ said Winston Churchill to the US Senate in 1941. It was an emotive appeal and one that must have resonated with any British man who had ever wielded a hammer or a screwdriver. There is pride invested in tools—pride in their very possession and pride in the way they are maintained. Or, at least, there should be. There is an assumption that 21st-century man must be familiar with the rudimentary workings of IT. In my case, this is quite misplaced, but give me a hammer and a saw, a spade and a fork, a trowel and a pair of secateurs and I will handle them with confidence and pride to put up a shelf, prune a rose or grow a crop of potatoes.

‘There is pride invested in tools–pride in their possession and in their maintenance’ Ah! The shed: the shrine of a gentleman’s tools; the place where he can escape the worries of the world to file and to hone, to plane smooth a coarse edge of timber; where the floor may be littered with aromatic sawdust and wood shavings, but where craft is king and the ability to reach for the appropriate tool —and know where it is to be found—can provide this simple soul at least with a feeling of being at one with the world. The chord my laptop plays me as I turn it on each day can never arouse in me the feelings engendered by the sound of a razor-sharp plane slicing a sliver of deal from a length of two-by-one or of the sound of a sharp pair of secateurs cutting cleanly through a rose stem at pruning time. My approach to my tools—proprietorial as it may be—is not one of machismo and muscle; more a feeling of being equipped, in an age of complex technology, to effect simple, yet practical repairs that will allow life to proceed smoothly or to turn the earth and produce food for my family. These are basic instincts, which a comprehensive set of implements will allow me to express. As such, my armoury of tools offers me a means of survival and a sense of satisfaction no keyboard can ever match. Some years ago, when I was appointed High Sheriff of the Isle of Wight, I found myself at the College of Arms selecting a suitable motto for my elevated status. With Mr Thomas Woodcock, Norroy and Ulster King of Arms —who was subsequently elevated to the position of Garter Principal King of Arms— Hail the king of sheds: the author, suitably attired, surveys his humble domain

Tinkering around Why are gentlemen so obsessed with garden sheds and what do they actually do inside? Alan Titchmarsh (proud owner of three) shares his secrets Photographs by Anya Campbell

Left: A spade to conquer all. Right: The author’s third shed, used by him alone, reflects his long interest in a certain weekly magazine I came down on Et stylo et rutro, By Pen and Spade. My crest is that of ‘a lion rampant guardant’, holding a spade. I am rather proud of my arms, especially as the presence of a spade in the hands of the lion reminds me that I am really a son of the earth and have no reason to assume affectations. My proudest possession is my grandfather’s spade. He died when I was eight, but I remember being with him when he used it on his allotment. My father, to whom it was left, was a plumber, with little interest in gardening. As a result, Dad used it for mixing concrete before he passed it on to me to return it to its intended use—planting trees and taking out potato trenches. The metal socket still bears the legend: James Potts Cherry Tree No.1. It is more than 100 years old now and still doing sterling service. The wooden shaft is smooth as silk and, every winter, it is massaged with linseed oil to prevent the timber becoming brittle. It thrills me more than I can say to wrap my hands around the implement my grandfather used. The well-worn blade is oiled and the spade spends its time between bouts of activity hanging on the wall of my shed. In winter, to escape to one of my garden sheds (confession: I have three) offers me not merely an escape from the family—heaven forbid!—but a moment or two of calm amid the…well, yes…bustle of family life. In my kitchen-garden shed, I can flop into my ancient and slowly unravelling Lloyd-loom chair with its lumpy cushion. I can sharpen my hoe and clean off the mud from my rake; I can make everything ship-shape, so, when I next enter 48

‘My sheds of tools are as valued and useful today as they were to my grandfather’ the hallowed portals of my temple, all will be in place: canes neatly stacked; cloches padded with hessian to avoid breakages; seeds filed alphabetically in their special box; and the battery-operated cuckoo clock (which refuses to cuckoo) ticking on the wall. There are coils of garden twine, trays that will, in spring, hold the sprouting seed potatoes and an enamel bucket half filled with blood, fish and bone that will imbue the air with an aroma of honest organic toil. Then there is the potting shed proper—part of the stone barn we renovated when we came to this Hampshire farmhouse 20 years ago. But this is not mine alone. On the days when my garden helpers drop by, my predilection for neatness must be reined in: they will put things down or move things about. They do not use the third shed, tucked behind the greenhouse. This is devoted to my DIY endeavours, rather than gardening. Here, you will find hammers and spirit levels, chisels

and screwdrivers fastened to wooden walls that are decorated, coincidentally, with wallpaper made from the pages of COUNTRY L IFE . They remind me of features I enjoyed, antiques I coveted and people I admire. Debo Devonshire in her 90th-birthday portrait smiles at me alongside the Allen keys and spanners graded according to size; the wall-mounted tape measures—one long and one short; the saws in ascending order of fineness of cut. Fortnum’s coffee tins—several years’ worth —are used to store nails and screws, neatly labelled with their sizes. I know it all sounds a bit finicky, but the bench itself, fitted with a vice, is always strewn with off-cuts of timber, a handful of screws that I saved from something I took apart or a bit of something-orother that might come in handy, but for which, as yet, I have found no use. (I haven’t succumbed to a tin marked ‘Pieces of string too short to use’, but it may only be a matter of time.) When my daughters were young, I set about creating a library that would provide answers to the questions they were likely to ask me when they were growing up and curious about everything from Nature and literature to flags of the world and famous quotations. Now, children can find the answer to any question in seconds at the press of a button. Many of those books collected as a fount of knowledge have been superseded by the internet. But my sheds full of tools are as valued and useful today as they were to my grandfather. With a spade and a fork, a rake and a hoe, I can look the world in the eye and fettle it.

Investor relations

NLY a few years ago, if you had quietly asked me what I thought of the humble gilet, I would have frowned, sagaciously wagged my finger and said, in an affected sonorous voice, ‘no’, in the hope of closing down the subject immediately. The gilet was nothing but a horrible fleecy ‘Fulham lifejacket’, I would have volunteered, a cringeworthy attempt by second-rate Sloane Rangers who wanted to give the impression that they owned a massive pile in Somerset when in reality all they had was a rented studio flat in Wandsworth (the wrong part of Wandsworth, at that). Wearing a gilet was no better than wearing thick yellow corduroy trousers or shiny red clip-on braces, no better than sporting a bulbous shooting jacket to work or a woollen necktie covered in cartoon teddy bears (‘I’m crazy!’). Gilet? No way! But oh, my, how things have changed. In 2007 and 2008, as the global economy started to tank in a completely unreasonable way, fashion designers took it upon themselves to broaden their portfolio, so to speak. Instead of simply designing shirts and suits and shoes and coats, they started sending models careering down the catwalk carrying holdalls, umbrellas, gloves,

skis, snowboards, Wellington boots, man bags, purses, pens and key fobs, in fact anything they could stuff a logo on. Anything that a man might conceivably buy. So desperate were they that they also started designing gilets, presenting them in their advertisements as if they were both newfangled and exciting, as well as heritage.

‘It cleverly became an extra layer, a piece of kit that appealed to all’ What on earth was this strange new hybrid? This half-jacket with a zip down the front? And you know what? They weren’t horrible. This was basically because designers reinvented them by making them look like quilted skiing tops, rather than fleeces. They immediately became the kind of thing you could wear under a jacket or over a shirt instead of a waistcoat. They rather cleverly became an extra layer, an additional piece of kit that appeared to appeal to all. For my sins, I bought into this craze, too, although my spending patterns were wildly conflicting. At one end of the market, I would From ‘Fulham lifejacket’ to fashion favourite: the gilet, as sported by (from left) a Dsquared2 catwalk model; Ryan Reynolds; Matthew Macfadyen in Succession; a Dolce & Gabbana show-goer; and fashion blogger Karb

buy something entry-level from John Lewis; at the other, I would save up to buy something from Brunello Cucinelli. My favourite was a white Brunello gilet, ribbed, in linen and wool, which wrapped around me like a gossamer tube, making me feel almost svelte. It cost £1,300, which was the kind of money that, 30-odd years ago, I would have spent on a car, but is now seemingly the average price of anything this great Italian designer produces. It was a habit I found extremely hard to break. Soon my wardrobe was full of the damn things, a habit exacerbated by the fact that everyone in HBO’s Succession appeared to be wearing one. After a while, I started to dress so much like Kendall Roy that it actually became something of an alter ego; something I started almost in jest became an alternative reality leading me to leave for the office shouting: ‘Today I’m going full Kendall!’ And all because of the damn gilet. I’m actually wearing one now, sitting at my desk, working out how I can afford a massive pile in Somerset. Perhaps a good start would be to stop buying quite so many gilets. Dylan Jones is editor-in-chief of the ‘Evening Standard’ and former editor-in-chief of British ‘GQ’

Getty; Macall B. Polay/HBO

From abhorrence to obsession: it wasn’t always true love for Dylan Jones, as he charts his up-and-down relationship with his wardrobe nemesis–the gilet

Six of the best

Layer on layer If Dylan Jones decrees the gilet a staple, then we suggest adding this practical garment on every occasion Edited by Hetty Lintell

Clockwise from top left: Plaid Car Vest in Navy/Vicuna, £350, Connolly (020–7952 6708; www.connollyengland.com); Grasmere Gilet, £475, William Crabtree & Sons (020–7535 8603; www.williamcrabtree.co.uk); Cavan tweed gilet in blue check, £195, Magee (03 53 74 972 4811; www.magee1866.com); Midnight Belvoir silk and wool gilet, £550, Favourbrook (020–7493 5060; www.favourbrook.com); Zip-up funnel neck wool fleece gilet in ink, £395, Private White V.C. (0161–834 7521; www.privatewhitevc.com); Suede padded gilet, £2,600, Purdey (020–7499 1801; www.purdey.com)

King of the road A keen motorist, Charles III is quite often seen in the passenger seat, but what about his own cars, driven and loved throughout his life? Ben Oliver gets under the bonnet of His Majesty’s personal collection of wheels

ITY—if you can—any car enthusiast who accedes to high office: even the highest in the land. World leaders live in a gilded and bulletproof cage, conveyed by motorcade from palace to palace. They need never drive and if, like our King and the current US President, they happen to enjoy it, they must exercise all of their considerable power to compel nervous bodyguards to let them take the wheel themselves. At least traffic and parking are never a problem. For all their lands and titles, they don’t get an entirely free choice of ride, either. The leaders of car-producing nations must choose largely from the home team. Politicians presiding over democracies will be permitted a degree of comfort by the electorate, but not extravagance: a Jaguar is fine for a British Prime Minister, but not a Rolls-Royce. Increasingly, if there is a viable green option, they must be seen to choose it. The scion of two skilled drivers, the young Prince Charles was always destined to be both King and a frustrated car enthusiast. On his accession to the throne, he inherited not only the state limousines of the Royal Mews, which are either owned by the Crown or loaned by their makers, but also a private car collection recently estimated by The Guardian to be worth more than £6 million. Most of this value is accounted for by stuffy and formal 1950s and 1960s limousines indistinguishable from the state cars, but which were bought privately by the Royal Family. It’s a fine collection, but not one His Majesty has curated himself. What of his own cars? What does The King’s personal choice of wheels tell us about the man? The answer, in short, is that he enjoys exercising great power with subtlety. He began, as every eligible young groover did in the 1960s, with an MG when a student at Cambridge. It wasn’t powerful, but it didn’t last long: not because he’d spun it backwards into a hedge as most young men do, but because he received an Aston Martin as a 21st-birthday present from the Queen, as most young men do not. An Aston Martin represents proper, double-barrelled, bigbore, blue-blooded British motoring and, although a thunderous sports car might not be fit for a King, it certainly was for a dashing young Prince. The car guy in Charles might occasionally The name’s Charles, Prince Charles: in the Aston Martin DB6 MkII Volante his mother gave him for his 21st birthday

steely-eyed industrialist using it to teleport himself between banks and boardrooms. But if driving yourself represents one of your rare moments of escape from that gilded cage, you probably want to magnify the sense of freedom and movement by feeling the wind in your thinning hair. There was no compromising on power, however. The then Prince again wanted the more potent 403 horsepower Vantage version, but with his taste for fine tailoring and one eye on his public image, he eschewed the garish, peak-1980s bodykit with its wings, spoilers and flared wheelarches that usually came with the more powerful engine. Instead, he worked with the appropriately named

Above: Could there be a more English scene? The poloplaying Prince with his classic Land Rover Defender. Below: Starting early: driving a toy car at Balmoral aged four

Kingsley Riding-Felce, Aston Martin’s in-house Q, to create bespoke bodywork as close to the standard car’s as possible: a Savile Row suit tailored to fit a sprinter’s physique. The result—devastating performance, but subtle looks—was so successful that petrol magnate Victor Gauntlett, Aston’s then owner, ordered one for himself. Another 25 were made in what became known as Prince of Wales or POW specification and, now, they’re easily the most sought after of that generation of Aston. The royal driver auctioned his own car in 1995 with Sotheby’s for £110,000 in aid of The Prince’s Trust. He may be suffering some seller’s remorse: Gauntlett’s POW sold for £651,000 in 2016. The King’s final Aston—a Virage —was ordered in 1994. Again, he chose the open Volante version and specified it with an upgraded engine, this time the absolutely ballistic 500 horsepower, 6.3-litre V8 motor derived from Aston’s Le Mans racing cars. Tellingly, he opted for the manual gearbox, the

Alamy; Getty

have wished to have been born five years earlier, so he could have had the prettier, more desirable and more valuable DB5 made famous by Sean Connery’s Bond in Goldfinger. But the DB6 MkII Volante he chose shows fine taste and is the first of three examples of the then Prince ordering the most powerful version of an already powerful Aston, as any proper motorist with unlimited means would. Only 38 of these models were made, but only a handful in the uprated ‘Vantage’ specification he picked, making them vanishingly rare now. The Emir of Bahrain bought him another Aston in 1987, and the specification that the then Prince chose is again instructive. By then, the DB6 model had been replaced by the V8 used by Timothy Dalton’s Bond in The Living Daylights—and later by Daniel Craig in No Time to Die. The royal driver once more chose the open-top Volante version, rather than the lighter, more rigid closed coupe version that would usually be the choice of the driving purist or the

choice of the proper, skilled driver. And, as with the previous car, there was a custom, leather trimmed tray in the cabin to hold sugar lumps for his polo ponies. That car was leased from Aston and returned in 2008 after 14 years. It was sold by a subsequent owner in 2019 for £235,000:

Buying The King’s cars Want to drive like a King? At least one of the Astons our monarch chose might make a decent investment

1970 Aston Martin DB6 MKII Vantage Volante Very few open Volante versions were made with the more powerful Vantage engine, as chosen by the young Prince. If you can find one, expect to pay about £900,000 1987 V8 Vantage Volante ‘Prince of Wales’ The specification Charles chose is now the most desirable of this generation. Only 27 were made, and they seldom come to the open market. Expect to pay up to £800,000 1994 Virage Volante Now worth about £150,000 in the rare 6.3-litre, manual gearbox specification Charles chose, but undervalued next to its Ferrari and Porsche contemporaries and likely to appreciate All values courtesy leading Aston Martin specialist Nicholas Mee & Co, Hertfordshire (020–8741 8822; www.nicholasmee.co.uk)

about twice what the same model might have made without the regal provenance, but rather less than if it had been owned by his first wife. A Ford Escort RS Turbo driven by Diana in the 1980s made an eye-watering £650,000 at auction last year, perhaps 30 times as much as an ordinary example.

‘There is an appealing lack of flash about his cars: perhaps he craves a yellow Lamborghini, but I doubt it’ The King’s disposal of his third Aston was prompted partly by the optics of driving a car of such prodigious power and thirst in the present climate. But he has been less influenced by public opinion when choosing his daily drivers. He has, of course, bought British, running Land Rovers and Jaguars; most recently the latter’s I-Pace electric car. He and his household have, however, courted controversy by choosing Audis. The King is known to have an eye for detail and to like things done properly, so the German marque’s cabins, zealously assembled with millimetric accuracy, will have appealed to him. It is a relationship so close that Audi’s former PR chief Jon Zammett, who brokered the deal to supply the cars, was a guest at the wedding of Prince William to Kate Middleton. Even as King, Charles continues to drive them, being pictured at the wheel of his

The elegant Aston Martin, complete with Welsh-dragon bonnet ornament (below), runs on bioethanol made from food waste

electric Audi Q8 e-tron mid-motorcade earlier this year. A quick DVLA check shows that it is, of course, the most powerful ‘55’ version. ‘There is an appealing lack of flash about his choice of cars: the Astons as well as the Audis,’ says Peter Haynes of RM Sotheby’s, which sold The King’s second Volante. ‘You see it in his tailoring, too, so I suspect it’s in his DNA, rather than merely being about public perception. Perhaps he really craves a yellow Lamborghini, but I doubt it.’ Mr Haynes add: ‘The colours he’s chosen —dark blues and greens with contrasting lighter interiors—are tasteful and exactly what the market wants, not that he’s particularly concerned about resale value. And the Prince of Wales specification that he created was inspired. They are very, very rare and you’ll have to put your hand deep in your pocket if you want one now.’ The other Astons may have gone, but Charles III has shown a constancy to his first of which his mother would be proud. He has had it for 53 years now, loaned it to William and Kate for their wedding and converted it to run on bioethanol made from wine and cheese waste to both promote alternative fuels and assuage his critics. Few cars tell you quite as much about their owner and, in the list of important Astons, this one is up there with Connery’s DB5.

Six of the best

Bags of confidence Arrive in style with one of these classic weekenders, sure to age beautifully and last a lifetime Edited by Hetty Lintell

From top left: Suede Weekender, Storm Grey, £1,750, Bennett Winch (020–8798 2487; www.bennettwinch.com); The Chapman Weekender in Olive, £730, Chapman (01228 514514; www.chapmanmade.co.uk); Green Sports Grip with badges, £1,300, Connolly (020–7952 6708; www. connollyengland.com); Meisterstück Duffle, £1,505, Montblanc (www.montblanc.com/en-gb); Pursuits Hurlingham overnight bag, £555, Ettinger (020–8877 1616; www.ettinger.co.uk); Harrison Weekender travel bag in Smooth Chocolate, £850, Aspinal of London (0808 169 5529)

Waxing lyrical Belstaff’s Trialmaster jacket turns 75 this year and who better than lifetime devotee Simon de Burton to chart its journey, from traditional motorcyclist garb to rock-and-roll fashion favourite

ACK in the mid 1980s, my friend Bruce and I were almost as obsessed with motorcycles as we are now and, without realising it, we were ahead of our time by being behind the times. We only wanted to ride old stuff, not merely because we couldn’t afford new stuff, but because we preferred the ‘retro look’ of machines and kit, which, today, is considered cool. Bruce took ‘looking old’ a bit further than I did, notably adopting a day-to-day outfit (aged 19) that comprised round-rimmed spectacles, shapeless corduroy trousers and shawl-collar cardigans, all of which was part of a Stanley Spencer phase prompted by hope that the randy artist’s ‘newly revealed promiscuity’ might have had something to do with the way he dressed. When saddled up, however, our garb was more or less identical: hopelessly inadequate ‘pudding-basin’ crash helmets, ex-RAF flying goggles, spectacularly camp Lewis Leathers ‘Motorway Boots 191’, off-white ‘seaboot hose’ and paisley-patterned neckerchiefs. The key item, however, was the waxed cotton jacket—which had to be a Belstaff Trialmaster. At the time, the Trialmaster was mainly associated with bearded old fools who still thought a pre-war Ariel Square Four with a sidecar attached was the last word in personal transport solutions, having yet to discover that modern-day motorcyclists dressed in clothing made from new-fangled Gore-Tex, which actually kept out the elements. Being lost in the past ourselves, we despised these often garishly coloured outfits, stoically soldiering on with our Trialmasters (bought second hand for £5 apiece) through the hell and high water that always seemed to be a feature of motorcycling in the North-East of England from mid July until early May. The thought that a Trialmaster could ever be perceived as trendy was a joke back then, with the distinctive odour given off by the combination of engine oil, road dirt and the wax that was supposed to make them ‘rain resistant’ being guaranteed to stall any potential amorous encounter. The re-waxing process also caused a few problems, mainly because it involved heating up a tin of the

odorous substance on the kitchen stove before daubing it on the Trialmaster, laid out on a suitably large flat surface that usually (and often controversially) turned out to be the dining-room table. All of the above might come as a surprise to anyone who knows that, after the millennium turned, the Trialmaster became the height of waxed-cotton chic in many corners of the globe and that, against earlier odds, it celebrates its 75th birthday this year. The story of the garment’s rise and fall and rise again dates back to 1909, when a Latvian Jewish immigrant called Eli Belovitch started buying up old tarpaulin and sailcloth and repurposing it into waterproof capes, groundsheets and tents. After the First World War kicked off, Belovitch made a mint supplying the British Army, enabling him and his son-in-law Harry Grosberg to set up a new business selling kit made from breathable waxed cotton, registering ‘Bellstaff’ in 1927 (the second ‘L’ was later dropped).

‘The odour given off by the engine oil, road dirt and wax was guaranteed to stall any amorous encounter’ The name combined the first three letters of ‘Belovitch’ with the first four of ‘Staffordshire’, where the company was based. The firm soon found a market for ‘specialist garments’ in the fields of aviation, motoring and motorcycling, kitting out celebrities of the day, including Brough Superior fan T. E. Lawrence ‘of Arabia’ and doomed aviatrix Amelia Earhart, with choice items, such as the F. S. 90 suit ‘made from double warp rain-proofed gandrill’ and ‘interlined with double egg-shell oilskin and heavy woollen fleece’ (what a joy that must have been to remove after a good soaking). The early 1930s also saw the introduction of the 34-shilling ‘Senior T. T. Competition Coat’, a shin-length affair made from ‘double texture waterproof cashmere’ and supplied to

Facing page: The author sports his vintage Belstaff Trialmaster. Above: The refreshed new version, the Flash Trialmaster jacket ‘military units, corporations and public bodies’. Other top sellers were the ‘non-ballooning Ventilator Cape’ and the ‘Austro wind jacket’ with ‘Jiffix’ waist fastening. But it was dayto-day motorcyclists who were most drawn to Belstaff products, prompting Belovitch to adopt record-setting Zenith rider Joe Wright as the brand’s first ‘ambassador’ in 1929. Throughout the 1930s and 1940s, cyclist’s jackets and dirt-track suits made from leather sold especially well and the fact that they were adopted by other celebrity riders of the day gave them a kudos that the man (and occasional woman) in the street appreciated. It was in 1948, however, that Belstaff’s pièce-de-résistance arrived in the form of the now-beloved Trialmaster—the name and original use of which will likely need explaining to the majority of people who today wear one as a fashion item. The ‘trial’ in Trialmaster refers to a still arcane branch of motorcycle sport called ‘trials riding’ that originated in England more than a century ago, the aim being to ride a motorcycle through a series of marked sections set out around natural obstacles, such as rocks, slopes, streams and trees, without touching the ground with your feet. It’s not a race; speed is irrelevant. The penalty for touching the ground once (or ‘dabbing’) is a single point, with two points being lost for touching down twice, three for three times or more and a shameful five for stalling, falling off, veering outside the markers or otherwise failing to complete the section. The most famous (and most testing) fixture in the British Trials calendar has long 63

‘Steve McQueen turned down a night out with Ali MacGraw in favour of “staying to home to wax his Belstaff”’

Above: Kate Moss advertising for Belstaff. Right: Steve McQueen wears a Trialmaster during the 1964 International Six Days Trial 64

and into the 1970s, helped by the endorsement of motorsport stars, such as Jackie Stewart and trials meister Sammy Miller. But, by the 1980s, the arrival of the aforementioned Gore-Tex, a slump in motorcycle buying and the UK’s economic malaise saw Belstaff sales slow to a trickle and, having already closed the brand’s two Staffordshire manufacturing facilities, James Halstead sold the brand to Italian entrepreneur Franco Malenotti in 2004. It was then that Belstaff was elevated from maker of niche motorcycling kit to supplier of ‘adorably functional’ clothing to the jet set, helped by Kate Moss landing a £1 million contract to advertise its products, the opening of stores in some of the world’s trendiest locations and product placements in blockbuster films, such as Mission Impossible III, The Aviator and even Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. As a result, everyone from Angelina Jolie to

‘Tested under gruelling conditions’: a 1953 advert for Belstaff motorcycle stormcoats

Tom Cruise and Daniel Radcliffe to Leonardo DiCaprio was seen wearing Belstaff, putting the brand well and truly on the map—and ripening it up nicely for a further sale, in 2011, to the Labelux Group, which aimed to reposition it as a luxurious English heritage brand, even joining forces with the now Duke of Richmond to create special Goodwood versions of the Trialmaster patterned with his Gordon clan tartan. Since 2017, Belstaff has been owned by Sir Jim Ratcliffe’s Ineos Group, maker of the rugged Grenadier off-road vehicle—one specially trimmed version of which is called the Trialmaster. At July’s Goodwood Festival of Speed, I felt strangely proud to have been among 75 motorcyclists invited to ride up the Goodwood ‘hill’ behind Yorkshire trials riding hero Dougie Lampkin—14 times winner of the Scottish Six Day Trial—in order to mark the Trialmaster’s birth three-quarters of a century ago. Naturally, we were all attired in Trialmasters and, when the sun began to warm the waxed cotton and that old, familiar scent began to rise, I was taken right back to those motor-cycling days of my youth. The odd thing was, when it began to rain, my modern-day Trialmaster didn’t start to leak. Surely some mistake? To mark the platinum anniversary, three special Trialmaster editions have been produced. The ‘Tribute’ most closely resembles the original and has a resin-coated finish to give it a vintage, oft-waxed look; the ‘75 Edition’ is made from classic, sixounce black waxed cotton with trim, lining and ‘hardware’ in Belstaff blue; and the ‘Concept’ features a semi-transparent outer sheet made from ‘waterrepellent taffeta’. Each costs £895 (www.belstaff.com).

Sam Pelly; Alamy

been the Scottish Six Days, which began (coincidentally) in 1909, the very year in which Belovitch started his business. It wasn’t until the 1948 edition, however, that Belstaff— which that year became a subsidiary of textiles firm James Halstead—created the Trialmaster jacket specifically for use in the event, which is famed for foul weather and the harshness of its terrain. Features of the original design (which prevails today) include ‘pivotal’ armholes to increase comfort when reaching for the handlebars; precurved sleeves that don’t ‘ride up’; a belted waist to reduce general flappage and five front pockets, the most distinctive being the top left, which is attached at a 45° angle to make it easier to insert and remove a folded map. The Trialmaster soon became a top seller and its use spread beyond Britain to off-road events in Europe, such as Italy’s Winter Golden Rose and the International Six Days Trial. On the other side of the Atlantic, motorcycle-mad, wildly overrated Hollywood actor Steve McQueen is said to have once turned down a night out with Ali MacGraw in favour of ‘staying home to wax his Belstaff’. Belstaff, and the Trialmaster in particular, rode the crest of a wave throughout the 1960s

Six of the best

Knit picking Add a cheerful jumper to your wardrobe this season, gents–winter needn’t be dull Edited by Hetty Lintell

Clockwise from top left: Jacquard-knit crew neck jumper, £175, Sirplus (020–7127 4213; www.sirplus.co.uk); crew-neck wool cashmere sweater in Dhal, £245, Toast (0333 400 5200; www.toa.st); knitted lambswool-blend sweater, £550, Paul Smith (www.paulsmith.com); patchwork wool-cashmere jumper, £949, Ralph Lauren (020–3450 7750; www. ralphlauren.co.uk); Britten knitted cardigan in Loftus Multi, £279, Oliver Spencer (020–7269 6469; www.oliverspencer.co.uk); green brushed Shetland crew-neck jumper, £225, Drakes (020–7734 2367; www.drakes.com)

Making an evening of it Elegant eveningwear needn’t be dull, Max Hurd proves, as he models bold attire and fine Chopard watches at the Jessica McCormack Townhouse, Carlos Place, W1

Shawl lapel jacket, £1,200, silk point collar shirt, £450, both Edward Sexton (020–7838 0007; www.edwardsexton.co.uk); bow tie, stylist’s own; tartan wool trousers, £350, New & Lingwood (020–7493 9621; www.newandlingwood.com); socks, £14, London Sock Company (020–3879 4558; www. londonsockcompany.com); Lion Rampant slippers, £360, Crockett & Jones (01604 635927; www.crockettandjones.com); Gypset hoop earring, £5,500, Jessica McCormack (020–7491 9999; www.jessica mccormack.com); L.U.C XP Sleletec watch with black dial, pierced centre and indexes set with 13 baguette trapeze-cut diamonds and a trapeze-cut diamond bezel, self-winding mechanical movement, set in 18-carat white gold, limited and numbered edition of 28 pieces, price on application, Chopard (www.chopard.com)

Tuxedo jacket, £199, bow tie, £25, both Moss (0115–647 8487; www.moss.co.uk); Marcella dress shirt, £225, Edward Sexton (as before); cufflinks, £3,200, Deakin & Francis (020–3784 9369; www.deakinandfrancis.com); Dale painted 3 tailors Jacquard waistcoat, £790, Joshua Kane (www.joshuakanestore.com); trousers, £295, Campbell’s of Beauly (01463 782239; www.campbells ofbeauly.com); socks, £14, London Sock Company (as before); Kensington loafers, £520, Crockett & Jones (as before); earring, £5,500, Jessica McCormack (as before); L.U.C Flying T Twin watch with a ruthenium dial, in ethically certified Fairmined 18-carat rose gold with a hand guilloche gold dial, poinçon de Genève quality hallmark with flying tourbillon, selfwinding movement, 50-piece limited edition on black alligator strap, price on application, L.U.C. Backgammon set, £11,200, Chopard (as before)

Rust Grantham Newport jacket, £1,290, Favourbrook (020–3911 9707; www.favourbrook.com); ivory silk shirt, £350, Emma Willis (020–7930 9980; www.emmawillis.com); 18-carat rose-gold, enamel and copper-ore cufflinks, £5,800, Deakin & Francis (as before); Ink oversized velvet bow tie, £24.95, Moss (as before); navy classic silk trousers, £980, Connolly (020–7952 6708; www.connollyengland.com); claret socks, £14, London Sock Company (as before); claret velvet Carlton loafers, £975, Manolo Blahnik (020–3793 6794; www.manoloblahnik.com); L.U.C XP Special Urushi edition watch featuring a Japanese lacquer plum blossom dial in 18-carat rose gold with the mechanical self-winding L.U.C calibre 96.17-L on a black alligator strap, £24,700, Chopard (as before)

Carlyle velvet jacket, £595, Marcella dress shirt, £195, silk bow tie, £65, all Oliver Brown (020–7259 9494; www. oliverbrown.com); Dale painted 3 Tailors Jacquard trousers, price on application, Joshua Kane (as before); Hexagonal bar cufflinks, £7,265, Deakin & Francis (as before); tie pin worn on lapel, price on application, hoop earring, £5,500, both Jessica McCormack (as before); socks, £14, London Sock Company (as before); Carlton suede loafers, £975, Manolo Blahnik (as before); L.U.C Quattro watch in platinum with a grey-blue dial, COSC certified chronometer poinçon de Genève on dark-grey alligator strap, £31,300, Chopard (as before)

Dressing gown, £2,750, shawl collar double-breasted evening jacket, £995, both New & Lingwood (as before); Sand silk point collar shirt, £450, Navy House dress trousers, £600, both Edward Sexton (as before); velvet bow tie, £24.95, Moss (as before); herringbone socks, £18, London Sock Company (as before); Defender slippers, £275, Campbell’s of Beauly (as before); L.U.C XPS watch featuring a COSC certified chronometer, poinçon de Genève, limited and numbered edition of 250 pieces, self-winding mechanical movement in 18-carat rose gold on brown alligator strap, £21,900, Chopard (as before)

Grooming: Beth@machmanagement

The Morning Regency swirl Jacquard coat, £3,900, ruffle bib and cuff cotton dress shirt, £1,600, both Joshua Kane (as before); tuxedo trousers, £245, Oliver Brown (as before); socks, £14, London Sock Company (as before); stag slippers, £245, Campbell’s of Beauly (as before); L.U.C XP Urushi Spirit of Shi Chen watch featuring a black glitter Urushi lacquer dial with pink gold index, limited and numbered edition of 88 pieces in 18-carat ethical rose gold on a black alligator strap, price on application, Chopard (as before)

Directed by Hetty Lintell Photographed by Chris Allerton Styled by Gareth Scourfield

Tingling the senses: slug some decent booze into a pan and salivate at the smell and the sizzle

Drunken dishes

Most plates taste better with a splash of something from the drinks cabinet, says Tom Parker Bowles, but it’s not the leftover cheapo plonk that’s the answer. Here, the foodie charts his favourite recipes, deliciously doused with booze

COOK with wine,’ W. C. Fields once said. ‘And sometimes, I even add it to the food.’ The old wit may have liked a drink (or nine), but he certainly had a point. Because booze—be it red or white wine, sherry, brandy or whisky—is as essential a kitchen ingredient as garlic, onions, oil and butter. In fact, barely a day goes by without my pouring a splash of this, or glass of that, into some bubbling sauce, stew or gravy. It doesn’t just add acidity, but flavour,

too, ranging from the subtle to the altogether more pronounced. There are, however, strict rules as regards the use of booze in the kitchen. Don’t for a moment imagine that you can use any old rubbish. Your boeuf à la Bourguignonne is not a dustbin for that bottle long past its prime. Nor is the white wine you opened a few weeks back, and left in the fridge to slowly turn to vinegar, any good for gravy. As for those hideously acidic ‘cooking’ wines—

keep clear. If you wouldn’t drink it, then don’t cook with it. Conversely, this is most certainly not the time to crack open that Lafite ’82, or bottle of Louis XIII Cognac. Nope, just a decent bottle will do, usually the one you’re sipping as you stir the pan. The key is to burn off the booze, so only the flavour remains. When that alcoholic fug has disappeared, you can carry on with the recipe. It’s all about trusting your nose.

Dry white wine

This adds depth, sharpness and flavour, as well as being ideal for deglazing or scraping the sticky bits off the bottom of your pan. Dry is usually best, unless you’re after the sweetness of, say, a German Riesling. I do try to match the nationality of the wine with the dish. Not that it really matters. So a Greco di Tufo for spaghetti alle vongole, sautéed prawns with a whack of Albariño or chicken, morels and vin jaune. But it’s gravy for roast chicken where I use white wine most.

Roast chicken with white wine Ingredients 1 chicken, roasted 1 big glass of dry white wine 300ml chicken stock Juice of half a lemon Salt Pepper

Method oast your chicken and let it rest R for 20 minutes. Pour off most of the fat, then put the roasting tin over a high heat and, when it starts to sizzle, pour in the wine and stir vigorously, until the smell of booze has disappeared.

dd the stock (plus any juices A from the resting chicken), add the lemon juice and season. Let the gravy reduce down for five minutes, until it tastes rich and intense. Strain through a sieve and pour into a warm jug. 75

Classic chicken livers (Serves 2)

Ingredients Big glug of olive oil 1 medium onion, finely chopped 2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped 300g chicken livers, trimmed of excess fat and gristle Salt Pepper Generous lump of butter Half a wine glass of Fino or Manzanilla sherry Good shake of Tabasco Juice of half a lemon Handful of chopped parsley Two slices of toast

Sherry

A glass of Manzanilla or Fino, ice cold, makes the most bracing of aperitifs. But it also makes a sprightly, very easy, sauce for chicken livers.

Method Add oil to a heavy frying pan, over a medium heat, and soften onions and garlic for about 10 minutes. Season the livers generously, increase heat and add to the pan, together with butter, cooking for a couple of minutes until nicely browned.

eeping the heat high, add K sherry and sizzle until the alcohol smell has entirely disappeared. Add Tabasco and lemon juice, cook until

the chicken livers are just pink, then throw in the parsley, stir everything vigorously, pile onto the toast and pour over the pan juices.

Chieftain o’ the puddin’-race Ingredients A couple of drams of whisky One haggis, cooked

Whisky

There are plenty of recipes for creamy whisky sauce. But when it comes to haggis, a Scottish friend tells me, ‘there’s na’ae point mucking about’.

Method Warm whisky in pan, set alight, then pour it over haggis. Eat haggis, with a few more drams. And a few more after that.

‘Don’t for a moment imagine that you can use any old rubbish. If you wouldn’t drink it, then don’t cook with it’ 76

Oeufs en Meurette Ingredients 350ml robust red wine 200ml beef stock 1 onion, thinly sliced 1 carrot 1 stick celery, chopped 2 cloves garlic, roughly chopped Bouquet garni (thyme, bay leaf, parsley) ½tspn peppercorns 100g smoked lardons 50g butter 70g button mushrooms 2 shallots 1tspn plain flour Fistful of chopped parsley 4 fresh eggs Toast

Red wine

Getty; Alamy; StockFood; Shutterstock. Images for illustrative purposes

When making gravy for roast beef or lamb, simply substitute a glass of decent red (Claret, Burgundy and so on) for the white, adding a glug of Worcestershire sauce. It also adds mellow depth to stews, ragus, braises and sauces. Classics include coq au vin and boeuf à la Bourguignonne. This recipe is perfect for a civilised supper.

Method Put the wine and stock in a large saucepan and bring to boil. Add the onion, carrot, celery, garlic, bouquet garni and peppercorns and boil until reduced by half (15–20 minutes). Strain wine through a sieve and press vegetables to extract every last bit of flavour. Set aside. Fry the lardons in a little butter, until crisp. Remove and drain on kitchen paper. Then fry the mushrooms in the same pan, with a little more butter, then remove and fry the

onions, for another 10–15 minutes. Set aside. Mix the remaining butter with the flour. Bring the wine mixture to a boil and whisk in the rest of the butter mixture. Reduce for a few minutes, until thickish, then pour sauce into the pan with the lardons, mushrooms and onions. Heat gently.

ring a pan of heavily salted B water to the boil. Break eggs into a ramekin, and slip into boiling water, two at a time. Cook for 2–3 minutes, then remove with a slotted spoon and drain on kitchen paper. Put the eggs on the toast, cover with the sauce and sprinkle with fresh parsley.

Steak Diane (Serves 2)

Ingredients 2 medium fillet steaks A little olive oil Salt and pepper 100g butter 2 shallots, finely sliced 1 clove garlic, finely chopped 50g button mushrooms, sliced Lusty glug of Cognac Hearty jigger of Worcestershire sauce 2tbspn Dijon mustard 100ml double cream Good pinch of chopped parsley

Method Rub steaks with oil, then season well. Heat a heavy-bottomed frying pan until smoking, then cook the steaks for about two minutes each side for rare (3–4 for medium). Remove and put in a warm place. Add butter to the same pan and cook shallots over a medium heat, until soft, about 8–10 minutes. Then add garlic and mushrooms. Cook gently for a further five minutes. Increase heat, add the

Cognac and set alight by tilting towards flame, Or use a match. Keep eyebrows and fringe clear and allow booze to burn off. Add Worcestershire sauce and mustard and cook for another two minutes. Add cream and let everything bubble down for another couple of minutes, until the sauce coats the back of a spoon. Add chopped parsley, pour over steak and serve tout de suite.

Brandy

Nothing beats a bit of tableside flambé. Not so much retro as oldschool magic. Steak Diane seems to be back in fashion, seen at the likes of Harry’s Bar, and I can see why. Butter, booze, mustard and steak. What’s not to love?

A slight for every occasion ‘He can brighten a room just by leaving it’ Various attributions, including politician Lord Lilley on Gordon Brown

‘What exactly is on your mind—if you’ll excuse the exaggeration?’ American television presenter David Letterman

‘A face unclouded by thought’

Said of actress Norma Shearer by American playwright Lillian Hellman

‘I have had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn’t it’ Groucho Marx

‘The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes’ Coriolanus, Shakespeare

‘A triumph of the embalmer’s art’

Said of Ronald Reagan by Gore Vidal, quoted in The Observer

Addu lt itoninsjury

From Martial to Oscar Wilde, past masters of the sharp barb provide inspiration for the times when you need to wield your words like a rapier, finds Carla Passino

‘An educated fool is more foolish than an uneducated one’ A comedy of errors, Molière

‘A man of hidden shallows’

Said of Sven-Goran Eriksson by journalist Jim White and of Gordon Brown by journalist Jenni Russell

‘The trouble with her is that she lacks the power of conversation but not the power of speech’ Attributed to George Bernard Shaw

The right gibe for the job ‘I do not care to speak ill of any man behind his back, but I believe the gentleman is an attorney’

Samuel Johnson, reported by James Boswell in The Life of Samuel Johnson

‘Economic forecasters were invented to make weather forecasters look good’ Irwin Stelzer in The Times

‘Diaulus had been a surgeon, and is now an undertaker. He has begun to be useful to the sick in the only way that he could’ Epigrams, Martial

‘Military intelligence is a contradiction in terms’ Groucho Marx; also attributed to many others

‘It has been said that, though God cann ot al the past, historians ca ter n’ Erewhon Revisite d, Samuel Butler

‘Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second–if there is one’ Exchange between George Bern Shaw and Churchill

‘A poet to whom Nature has denied the faculty of verse’

‘If you were my wife, I’d drink it’ Exchange between Nancy Astor and Churchill

‘I enjoyed talking to you. My mind needed a rest’

an Henny Youngman

Said of Thomas Carlyle by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Barbs for the rude

‘An editor is one who separates the wheat from the chaff and prints the chaff’ *

Apocolocyntosis, Seneca

Attributed to American politician Adlai Stevenson * With the notable exception of COUNTRY LIFE’s own

ard

‘If I were married to you, I’d put poison in your coffee’

British-American comedi

‘Only the dull are brilliant at breakfast’ An Ideal Husband, Oscar Wilde

‘I am enclosing two tickets for the first night of my new play. Bring a friend, if you have one’

‘The cock is proudest on his own dunghill’ ‘In offering to no one the cup from which you drink, you give a proof, Hormus, not of pride, but of kindness’ Epigrams, Martial

‘In civility thou seem’st so empty’

‘You can pick out actors by the ir glazed look that comes into the eyes when the conversation es’ wanders away from themselv Attributed to actor Mic

hael Wilding

Ready retorts ‘I refuse to have a battle of wits with an unarmed man’

Anonymous, attributed to Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, Mark Twain and Sir Winston Churchill

As You Like It, Shakespeare

When you really can’t be bothered ‘Very sorry can’t come. Lie follows by post’ Charles Beresford to the Prince of Wales (later Edward VIII) by telegram

‘Oh dear, I find I’m watching television that night’

Satirist Peter Cook, turning down an invitation to dinner with the Duke of York and Sarah, Duchess of York

‘It’s always nice to be expected and not to arrive’ An Ideal Husband, Oscar Wilde

‘Fine words! I wonder where you stole them’ A letter of John Calcraft, Esq., George Anne Bellamy

‘I never forget a face, but in your case I’ll make an exception’ Groucho Marx

‘Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows’ Troilus and Cressida, Shakespeare

‘I have nothing but respect for you—and not much of that’ Groucho Marx

For more inspiration

Matthew Parris ed., Scorn: The Wittiest and Wickedest Insults in Human History, Profile Books, £9.99 Hugh Kingsmill ed., An anthology of invective and abuse, Eyre and Spottiswoode, in libraries Wayne Hill and Cynthia Ottchen ed., Shakespeare’s Insults, Vermilion, £3.29

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