The London Lounge

Anonymous wrote:It does have a specific name but I cannot, immediately, think of it - but it speaks of: retired colonels, victorious at a race meeting in the Shires, an unself-consciously doffed brown felt hat and well-swung whangee-handled brollies; chamois gloves so thin and tight that you could take finger-prints; log fires and hot, buttered crumpets, waiting at home; together with battered, broken-in, turkey red slippers, long, weedy, gravel drives, leading up to sandstone edifices and vast expanses of irreparable, leaking, slate roofs (and old pales to catch the rain, otherwise dripping onto forgotten, attic-bound trunks of regimental uniforms and moth-balled, plumed bicorne hats); Petersham, billiard pipes, Afrikaans' mixture, Swan Vestas, horseflesh (and sweat) and the smell of well-loved tweeds (that he keeps rescuing from the the bag for the charity shop); 'the six o'clock news and a lime juice and gin'; the former Miss Joan Hunter Dunne, sitting on the sofa, awaiting his return home in his Rover 3.5 - and, in short - a world that has nearly passed away....

le.gentleman wrote:Unfortunately, the pictures in this thread are not working anymore. Recently, I wrote an article about the British Warm myself which might be of interest to you.