Train Smash Time!

Yes, as promised a couple weeks back, it’s time for this website’s annual face-first plunge into the trough of Train Smash Women at the Aintree races over in Liverpool, Britishland, which started today.  And how better to begin, than with these creatures:

How about a group pic:

…and all these pics were taken before  the pubs opened.  And then they did:

All that said, it was a little windy:

…and rainy (because duh, Liverpool):

But why should I have all the fun to myself?  Hie thee hence to the today’s report, and enjoy the sights.  Just remember: tomorrow (I think) is Ladies Day.

I can’t wait.

Red Trousers

One photograph from last week’s event at Cheltenham stood out for me:

Now at first, my Murkin Readers could be forgiven in thinking that this is simply an example of the weird and crazy clothing tastes that abound Over There.  However, close scrutiny of the pic will show that the group does not consist of hipsters, actors, yobs and chavs [some overlap].  In fact, they seem to be rather a normal-looking bunch, other than in their choice of trousers.

And so they are.

You see, men who wear red trousers are generally of what I like to call The Polite Class:  men of substance, men of taste, men of class, and men who, secure in their position in society, do not care a fig for what other people may think of their color choices.  Here’s an article which explains the thing, in rising to the defense (defence) of red trousers and the men who wear them.  To whit:

Red trousers have become standard wear for the country gentleman—the type who drives up in a superannuated Land Rover Defender, two flatulent labradors fogging up the windows— both at home and in town. They are seen in the London SW postcodes along the District Line, on dear old things at Lord’s and at Cheltenham, in Stewards’ at Henley, at High Mass in Brompton Oratory and the debentures’ seating at Twickenham (although it’s always ‘Twickers’).

They’re worn by decent, upstanding chaps with names such as Giles or Henry, the sort whose heads are hard-wired to leap to their feet when a lady enters the room.

‘A naturalborn sporter of le pantalon rouge wears them as he does his deeply ingrained good manners—lightly.’

It is with shame that I have to report that Mr. Free Market — who fits into the above as though the category were designed for him — does not own a pair of said trousers.  Why not?  Well, there’s this, for starters:

 

…which has led to a backlash:

Overexposure has done for the red trouser, harrumphs the royal historian and commentator Rafe Heydel-Mankoo (six pairs), over drinks at the Carlton Club. Since both hipsters and social climbers— ‘akin to the Sebastian Flyte wannabes of the 1980s, carrying teddy bears around Oxford’—have appropriated them, he’s put his red trousers at the back of the wardrobe ‘until they become unfashionable again’.

…and the last sentence encapsulates the whole thing quite succinctly.

I can’t wear red trousers, of course — as much as I yearn to — because I am, in Mr. FM’s words, “One of those colonial chappies from America.”  Not even the Old School Tie can overcome this appalling nativism.

And I’m okay with that.  One does not go where one isn’t welcome, after all.


The website coyly referred to (and not linked) in the Country Life article is this one — whose name says it all — where I got the other two pics.

Final Comment: Cheltenham 2019

As always when it comes to this topic, I fall on the side of the conservative.  So let’s compare, for a change, how the men looked at Cheltenham this year.

First up is former England rugby captain Mike Tindall, with his wife, former GB Olympian  Zara Phillips (a.k.a. Princess Anne’s daughter).

At first, I looked askance at his shoes;  but then I realized that the oxblood on the shoes matched his tie.  Bravo.  (And Zara always looks elegant — quite royal, in fact.)

We’ve already seen Richard Hammond and wife Mindy, this time accompanied by his daughters:

Excellent.  For a Brummie (Birmingham yob), Hamster has good taste in clothes, and all the girls look lovely.

Actors Digby Edgley and Liv Bentley:

Things are starting to slip away, here.  When a man has super-skinny legs, he needs to wear fuller-cut trousers.  Young Digby’s trousers and boots make him look like the Third Urchin From The Left in the musical Oliver!   But he’s positively Beau Brummel compared to this idiot:

We’ve gone from Test matches (in pic 1) to test patterns… I think I’d better stop here.

Eucalyptus Now

Can anyone else hear the hoofbeats?  No?  Then read this appalling news:

They were the must-have accessory of the eighties and nineties but quickly fell out of fashion.
And now the humble bum bag, also known in the US as the fanny pack, has made a surprising comeback with top designers and celebrities championing the once wildly-mocked accessory.
Fashion houses such as Gucci, Prada and Louis Vuitton have all showcased bum bags on the catwalk.
And unlike the garish bright, polyester styles of the eighties and nighties, designers have given the accessory a sophisticated makeover with smart leather styles often called ‘belt bags’.

And if that isn’t enough to turn your stomach:

Style-savvy models and celebrities have been spotted donning this sought-after accessory, including Taylor swift who was spotted sporting the ‘Ophidia’ bag by Gucci over the weekend.

Oy vey.  (No pics, because I refuse to be responsible for mass projectile vomiting.)

All that said, I have to confess to owning one of these horrible things.  It’s made of polyester, it’s in my SHTF bin, and it holds five 10-round 1911 magazines.  For emergency use only, when I don’t care what I look like and there are multiple goblins to be shot.

No Shit, She-Lock

You have to be utterly self-absorbed and narcissistic to post something like this:

Apparently some things are too much, even for the French, and I can see why.  Fucking hell, I’ve seen more demure clothing on the midnight shift during Fleet Week.  From now on, every new edition of the dictionary will feature this woman’s picture under “Trashy”, and rightly so.

And of course, every bloody barracks-room lawyer is going to whine that the Louvre’s rules (note the capitalization, idiot) technically allow any outfits, even one like hers inside the building.  Yeah, fine, and I’m quite aware that the museum isn’t a church too.

But:  let’s hear it for the Louvre guard who didn’t want the priceless works of art inside his building sullied by this whore I mean “influencer”.  (Oh yeah, she has X thousand “followers” and groupies, so that excuses everything.  Not.)

Of course, she is Australian so it’s understandable that she would have no class, manners or sense of decorum, but that just makes me all the more satisfied that someone would actually step up and say, “Non!”

There should be more of that.  A lot more.

Much Better

After my rant last week about men who shame their wives by dressing like slobs, I’m glad to report that at least some men have got the memo.  Here’s someone apparently named Alyson Hannigan at a recent awards show, with her hubby:

Now that’s how a man should look.  Absolutely faultless appearance.  And she’s combined sexy with demure, with excellent results.  Well done, both of you.

And these guys get kudos as well, all dressed like grownups:

Maybe there’s a glimmer of hope…