London's Contradian: A Colonist's Visit

Lloyd's of London Paper Weight

My wife at the time scolded me for pronouncing schedule - shed-yool, and for saying lift and fortnight. She didn't think the term "Brit" was appropriate and associated "across the pond" with the sort of American who used 'needless markup' for Neiman Marcus. I was allowed use of, 'POET'S Day' for Friday. 'Piss Off Early Tomorrow's Saturday.' Virtually unknown in the US twenty years ago as well as today.

Lloyd's of London Waiter by Susan Warburton

A friend from the States showed up at Lloyd's wearing a khaki poplin suit. He was prohibited entry and told to go home and change, "You are not on safari, sir."


A.A. Gill Restaurant Review

I discovered restaurant and TV critic A.A. Gill in 1990 through a classic Christmas review of TGI Fridays. I photo copied it and faxed it to everyone I knew. In this undated clipping from The Sunday Times Style section, Gill bemoans suits with hacking pockets as well as a suit sold with a, 'fashion twist.'

Cat Gut braces with Harvie Hudson shirt & tie

Lloyd's was my tutor for dress. I didn't need to look beyond the main underwriting floor to learn cloth. Many of the brokers and underwriters were clothes mad in the way men who lust for the knowledge of food, wine, cars, travel, music, books, and art often are. The pleasing line of a suit is carried over to a sports car or a photograph or a pair of chocolate suede tassel loafers.



Gangster stripe double breasted suits, double cuff shirts with double links (never swivel). Monk shoes, tassel loafers and socks from Mark & Spencer. I still have navy and black over calf hose from M&S that I bought 15 years ago and there's no evidence of wear. God knows what they're made of.

Double link cuff links circa 1910

I bought what I thought I needed. Over the years much of it has taken on a patina of wear and history. It's not just a tie or a suit or even a tee-shirt. It's an afternoon on Jermyn Street. "How is sir today? Is sir looking for anything particular? Is sir aware of our 3 for 99 pound sale? Sir would like matching boxers with his shirts? Where in America is sir from?"


"That's a lovely tie. Does sir play cricket?"

I saw some men wear the same tie everyday. Public school (why don't they pronounce it, Schoo-well?), university and regiment ties are proudly worn while a man's shirting takes care of any color diversity. Meanwhile, Americans wearing insipid Nicole Miller ties (today's Vineyard Vines) were criticized in much the same way American colonists were when they got off the boat in London 200 years ago.


As charming as these people can be, there is always a subtle superiority shown towards Americans. More so by the English upper class where aspiration is frowned on. These folks do not climb ladders. They're content with the rung they're on. If you're ever curious as to what it's like to be a minority in America -- Visit London and hang out with the upper crust.


Lloyd's of London Council

I was surprised many of the public school types have a fondness for jellied eel, spotted dick and meat pies. I was told it's their soul food from school years. They're very fond of taking Yanks to dinner in the East End, where, thanks to the Cockney Rhyming slang, we're known as Septics- "Septic Tank" - "Yank" When it's your time to buy, they'll usually suggest Claridge's.



I was constantly watching them and, as much as I love London -- London will never love me. That's okay. I'm an American Army Brat and all that entails. Missing home, I had dinner alone one night at the Texas Lone Star, a Tex-Mex train wreck of a restaurant in South Kensington. They piped in an Austin, Texas radio station via reel to reel tapes that were Fed X'ed from the US. At the table behind me a chap was having trouble with the menu. The man finally ordered a Chimichang-er and a glass of Cabernet. Anyway, have a great weekend. I have some reading to catch up on.

Contradian London: The Client & The Guinea

The Guinea Grill, 30 Bruton Place, Mayfair


"You're my beast of burden, Tinseth." He said Tinseth with a 'z' instead of an 's' and it always annoyed me. "I'm what?" I asked. "My donkey. You do my heavy lifting, mate." And I did. I was also well compensated for it. He was my biggest client and he was and is a friend. I'm proud to say he invited me to his wedding... both of them.


The Lamb Tavern, 10-12 Leadenhall Market


Holding pints, we stood outside the Lamb Pub in Leadenhall Market. He asked about another client of mine and a competitor of his. I lit a Silk Cut and spit a stream of disgusted smoke at his chalk striped shoulder. "How would you feel if they asked me the same question about you?" He laughed,"I suspect they already have," and took a sip of beer. We pause to watch a beautiful broker in high heels and a mini skirt walk drunkenly past us, her nail head heels slipping dangerously between the cobble stones.


The Tintin Shop, 35 Floral St, Covent Garden


I turned to him and, as he watched the broker stumble away from us, he said, "You're not being very forthcoming, Tinzzzzeth." The mother fucker had stones. And luck. He also suffered through a political incorrectness that took no prisoners at Lloyd's. His mother was English and his father Malaysian. We all had nick names. I picked up Tintin never realizing how lucky I was. His was the Slant Eyed Rice Monger.

The client didn't give a shit. He made millions and made others millions. A couple years ago we sat on the beach together a day after his second wedding. He asked why I was wasting my time writing and suggested I get back to a career I hated. He would help me and there were a lot of things he could do. I tell him I've dreamed of writing, 'tick, follow tock' for 30 years... and that I pass. I add we're probably still friends because he's no longer the client.



The Lloyd's of London Shop, 1 Lime Street


22 years ago, we had our first dinner in London at the Guinea. A pub/steak house that was smaller than a match box and was banging 12 on the virile meter with men tucked into Savile Row suits, Hermes swathed collars and tiny dining rooms. A loud American, with two quiet Brits, sat next to us. The American spoke from his diaphragm, like a drill sergeant or a trader at the Chicago Merc. Thunderous and more so when he asked the client, "WOULD YOU MIND NOT SMOKING WHILE I'M EATING."


Politically Incorrect Silk Cut Ad from the '70s


With elbows on the table, the client held the cigarette in one hand loosely folded over the other, and slowly turned to the American, "Yes, actually. I do mind if I don't smoke while you're eating." The client turns to me and says, "He isn't in America anymore," adding, "How is it, Tinzzzeth, that you Americans can eat mean little salads with iced tea in no smoking sections?" I laugh as quietly as I can and hear the American asking his waiter for a table in the no smoking section. "I'm sorry," says the waiter. "We don't have a no smoking section."

Off My Back: Vintage from Hornets

Hornets: 2&4 Kennsington Church Walk, London (photo: Not Mine)

Out of the way but worth it. (Photo: Not Mine)

A Shirt Valise (Photo: Not Yours. Mine)

from the 1920s according to Hornets. (Photo: Not Yours. Mine)

I'm guessing hog skin (Photo: Not Yours. Mine)

Anachronistic luggage, (Photo: Not Yours. Mine)

where purpose & style are served... (Photo: Not Yours. Mine)

for 25 Quid. (Photo: Not Yours. Mine)

London is a man's city. I'm not the first to say it and as long as there are places like Hornets, I will not be the last. It's hard for a visting American to find. Maybe that's intentional. I first heard of it from a claims man who worked for a Lloyd's of London syndicate. Whispered over pints on a Friday night in the Lamb, "Mate, you've got to check this place out, yeah?" As he offered me a Silk Cut he added, "But tell no one."

I have great respect for claims people. They know a bargain when they see one. They have to. I'll spare you the search. My poor sense of direction combined with a poor map (never get directions from claims people) are best left to history. But when I finally found it. It was worth it. A hundred times over.

Savile Row suits are crammed tight onto racks with new old stock shirts falling off shelves. Hats from St James, bespoke shoes, cricket bats, public school blazers, tweed sport coats, shooting jackets...it's almost too much. Any vintage hunter would shoot off a flare at the discovery of one item. In Hornets, there are thousands of discoveries. This was mine.

I bought a couple suits (Anderson & Shepard) and shirts (Airey & Wheeler) but the hog skin valise up there was my signal flare. The exchange was almost 2 to 1 but then it almost always is when I'm in London. $50 was steep but, like so many things in Hornets there was real authenticity. Even history. Who owned it and where had it been? I didn't need to hear I was recycling from the gentleman helping me but it didn't hurt.

I didn't tell anyone. Well, not many. And while its been almost 10 years -- I figure the shirt's out of the valise.

Relationships

Lloyd's Council by Snowdon - Met a couple of these guys - They didn't stay in touch

Association of Lloyd's Brokers: Me, H. and Jon - We've kept in touch

Nice letterhead

Geez, I'm guessing that's a 40 Reg I'm wearing. And it's all because of beer. Mostly consumed in a business that operates on relationships. Not that I ever profited from them but, more importantly, I cherish the friendships I've managed to keep. Any money made was pissed away years ago.

I still look to do business with people I like, respect and can laugh with. Actually, the laugh part should come first. I've turned down job offers because I knew the only thing I had in common with the boss was breathing air and drinking water. 'Pick the boss -- not the job.' Good advice given to me many years ago.

I was talking to an old friend last week about The Trad and what I was planning. I worked with him years ago and he was a great mentor and coach. I told him I was surprised by the success of the blog. He said it made perfect sense, "How could you screw it up when you're just being yourself." That beats a commission check.

The Friday Belt: V Trendy

I remember "V Trendy" from London in the early '90s. A not too flattering comment by conservative city chalk-stripe types in banking and insurance to define advertising types in ''Very Trendy' Boss, Gabbana, Prada, et al.

I thought The Trad was over due for a dose of 'V Trendy' and thanks to a party of old friends from London on a tiny island somewhere in the Atlantic - - the perfect opportunity presented itself. The Yank love of Lilly P - Resort - Go To Hell - attire has always been lost on Brits. My '80s vintage Lilly P golf trousers were more laughed at than with. That's okay. These people have been making fun of me for 20 years.

The crowd pleaser was A.K. in a culmination of Prada & Dolce Gabbana. A sort of V Trendy, pointed toe, jean wearing Italian cowboy spun loose with the Ocean Club's own Vesper cocktail (J.B. stayed here don't you know). I'd say he played to the cheap seats but there are none in this bar where a Vesper goes for $22 and a French 75 will set you back $32. Nobody bothered to take pictures of my pants.

Trad Approved Ephemera

Among rack after rack of 'curated' boredom at Capsule - I ran into Grahame Fowler. And what a breath of fresh air he is. We talked about all kinds of things including vintage Rolexes, Hornets and military salvage. He gave me the piece of paper up there and asked that I stop by his shop on West 10th.

I stuffed the paper in my pants pocket and didn't really look at it until I got home. Simple but imaginative. Stamps and bleeding ink. It reminded me of a Lloyd's of London line slip. Each underwriter takes a percentage of risk and puts his 'line' down via a stamp. Just like that thing they stamp your passport with. I love paper.

Anyway, with the fashion over load going on in NYC this week - I thought I'd share something you don't wear. Although, those stamps would make a bitchin' t-shirt. Hmmm? Dear Mr. Lauren...

London 1990

Everyone walks and everyone talks and sometimes their teeth look bad.

But I was made for London - It's the only home I've had.

Biscuits and tea and cards at three. Or is it four? Who cares.

I bought the store.

Harvey & Hudson. Poulsen & Skone. Steel Burrill Jones.
Make mine a G&T, Tony and ring the bell...when you're about to close.

To Roof Gardens for champers, Silk Cuts and dancing totty.

I was last to know that Sturge went in the potty.

Mixed grill next morning. Back bacon to boot.

Skip the beans but try the blood sausage

and pay for it with a game of spoof.

Twenty years since that job

that was a holiday.

But it stays with me always

while I look for a way...

To go back. To return. On BA to the place I love.

It won't be better than yesterday -

but at least I will have matured.

Damn! Missed Another Sale...

Click on image to enlarge

...by 297 years. The Spectator from 27 May 1712. Some great deals on Maderia. Some bad news for atheists.

More Brits

Doing what they do best. After work drinks where everyone gets tanked on White Tops followed by a late night Curry. It was after one of these nights of Curry I invented a new product. Butt sized chap stick. It should be sold in all Curry houses. Next to the cash register (till). One time use only. I could make a fortune in London.

Brits

Look at these cheeky bastards, yeah. Right away the stripes give them away. Always have. That and the double breasted suit and the Hermes tie.

These are two gentlemen who work in the "city" with the uniform of banking or insurance. Double cuff shirts are never called French cuff and are preferred for work. Button down shirts are too informal for the city and usually frowned on. Plus, you can't wear them with a DB suit so what's the point, yeah?

The mixing of stripes is popular and the wilder the better. A good friend of mine was asked to leave Lloyd's of London for wearing a Khaki poplin suit. He was told that he wasn't on Safari and to go home and change.

Shoes are usually Monk Strap or Cap Toe with metal taps on the heels. It's a sound I love hearing on the sidewalks near Lime St. Socks are Marks and Sparks. And on POETS day (Piss Off Early Tommorow is Saturday), brokers spill out of the Lamb Pub in Leadenhall Market and take over the sidewalk drinking pints and smoking B&H Golds.

I love it and I love them. Have for some 22 years now. Nothing gives me more enjoyment than to wear a single breasted sack blazer with an oxford cloth button down, a Repp tie with flat front trousers and shell cordovan loafers. But, when in Rome, yeah?

Trad Work

A painting of a Lloyd's of London syndicate. Insurance is a horrible profession made bearable by frequent travel, if one is lucky, to London. The bald man in the middle is the underwriter. His assistant is to his left. The broker to his right "brokes" a risk or pitches an insurance placement. Other brokers que at the "box" and wait their turns.

The Underwriter had this painting commissioned by the artist, Frances Watt. Titled, "Hard Bargaining at Lloyds", it really is a cracking good depiction of how boring insurance can be. The young man in the foreground to your right is the Entry Boy. A charming description that does not translate well to North America.