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February 2010



Its massive a leap of faith to leave the warmth of the flat and Radio Three and to propel yourself out into nasty driving rain. Don’t think. Do it. Get out in it. One does ask self why briefly. It is literally faith. People with coats and scarves on were having a miserable time of it, I just had shorts, lycra, a Peak Performance windcheater and the gnome hat. Even looking  through my post on the door step couldn’t delay the inevitable. You leap into the rain, somehow knowing that deliverance will occur. You’ll end up immune to the elements and on a massive high, but not before you endure  the tempest. This is a metaphor for life.

I opted for Paddington Recreation for homely/comforting reasons. Had entertained the track, but felt lacked required steel. Then I saw a lone runner doing laps. Young and a proper runner, properly legging it.  He was running intervals of some sort. I hit the track with a gulp as the rain upped its spiteful vertical drive down.  My Nano choose to step up and, my God it played a set. Let me know if you agree, (see listing with links). To the backdrop of the monumentally hard, grey rain and my inspirational sound track, we began our super set battle.

                                                  Paddington Rec, back in the day.

The  magic super set interval works like this, with mad symmetry about it that allows you to push self very hard. Sprint 200 absolutely flat out. Jog 200. Run 600 (1 ½ times round) as fast as possible, bursting at the end. Jog 200. Then run 1600 (4 times round) as fast as can. That’s a set. Somehow the chopped up the sets allow you to push madly at each stage.  You find yourself really kicking and going quick for the last mile, at a rate you wouldn’t normally feel comfortable at. I’d burst past the running bloke as he was on his catch up lap, then he’d take me again at full speed when I was doing my 1600 meters.  It was an interval based duel. It went on for two and a bit sets. No one likes to be overtaken, and its always satisfying striding past another runner. With these two factors like flow and ebb the duel went on and on. Then with a nod he buggered off. The music however stayed at full throttle. The right tunes transcend the place you’re in and allow you to go even harder.

                                                                    Original Pad Rec running man.

When the end comes it’s quite an incredible high . Running faster and faster on the home straight up the Crescent, totally charged and driving self like mentalist. On finishing it’s like you’ve transcended your earthly being and are now stood in the semi hail immune to the elements. Steaming, triumphant, and listening to Morrissey.  The high is completely surprising considering you don’t take any drugs. Am smoking a Villiger cigar now to celebrate. I do love a contradiction.

Track listing from the running Nano track duel. click to visit and download.

Steely Dan – Show Biz Kids (mental to run to) (from Countdown to Ecstasy)
Stevie Wonder – Jesus Children of America (from Innervisions)
The Beatles- Hey Jude– (surprisingly mental to run to, the last chorus makes you feel like you’re running on behalf of mankind)
The Smiths Charming Man (always good in the rain)
The Smiths Handsome Devil both by The Smiths (the Nano is a big fan of The Smiths)
Jay Z with Bounty Killer public service announcement (Jigger and Bounty Killer kicks right  off) (The Black Album, but no Bounty Killer)
Ram Jam- Black Betty ( mad to sprint to. Mad)
MIA Paper Planes (brilliant to sprint to when gun shots go off)
Morrissey I’m Not Sorry (ideal to ascend to)


(It actually is British Pie Week this week. How timely)

I stumbled into a pie trap last night, proper Larry David style. I’ve just discovered a couple of things. You can’t make pie-based comments around fat people. At all. It’s such a shame, as pies are so comedic. I also find that people are more touchy about the internet than they are about the newspapers even.

                     Bartolome Esteban Murillo – The Pie Eater

I joked about someone I interviewed on video who was clearly behaving as if they wanted to be somewhere else. He made it hard to work with or like him. He was surly. He was also a little pie-faced on the visuals.  Later, I wondered on Style&Error if “perhaps the pie shop was about to shut?”. If it wasn’t funny I wouldn’t have done it. It was a tad mean, but life is a tad mean, especially if you go round giving it lard, sorry, large in interviews.

Let them eat cake. But someone stop them from eating any more pies for heaven’s sake.

The person was dead offended. People were up in arms. It’s definitely a shame. He was difficult with me, and I went for a cheap, but funny shot. How bad is that really? How does this person cope with real life? I mean to be fair he was fat all weekend, it’s only Monday afternoon that someone mentioned pies and now he’s all upset. Was he happy all weekend?

I spoke to a thoroughly non PC friend about this, and he said pies and any allusion to fat people and eating is out of bounds now. When  did this happen?  Has it become unacceptable to take the piss at all?

People are so worried about being offended. Offence is just an emotion. There are far harder ones to cope with than offence. What happens when other stronger emotions come along? How will people deal the pain of heartbreak, the pang of fear or loss of a loved one? These will come, and being offended will look silly in comparison. A bit of offence is doing people a favour in this preposterous, cosseted, lily-livered world that we’re operating in. I mercilessly get the piss ripped out of me most days, and that’s just by my mother.

                                                                                 Blue pie thinking

My blog/pie situation happened in the fashion industry, where beauty and the body are so highly scrutinised. How can people reject bigger models in a show, but then not cope with their own real size. I’m not good looking enough to model, but I never got all sensitive about it. If fat people feel so bad about their situation they should act accordingly.  I realise it can’t happen over night, but the solutions are pretty straight forward. Getting off drugs is hard, but its do-able. Some things are hard. Set your mind to them and do something to change your situation. Or shut up.

I said ‘cripple’ the other day and someone rounded on me. I wasn’t aiming it at anyone, I just used in a sentence. If I was hit by a car and lost my legs would I have become a  ‘disabled’? Has the word cripple been removed from the menu? What else has gone. What else is going to go? I’m going to draw up a word preservation list and get in there first to save a few choice ones.

Here is my first draft. I’m not saying these are comparable to fat, but I get the feeling that at some point there is going to be some social legislation with them in mind. Say them openly while you still can.

GINGER      (In Britain we are heartily ginger abrasive. Not so in USA)

OLD        (We do have problems with ageism, so maybe this is borderline)

BALD      (Not taboo and nobody’s fault. Hair/baldness subterfuge is however taboo)

UGLY       (Never a crime, but something that affects us all everyday for life if afflicted)

CHARMLESS         (I’ve been accused of all of these so far)







SENSITIVE        (This is offensive)

WEAK        (Very offensive)

COSSETTED         (God I’d hate to be cosseted)

UNLUCKY IN LOVE        (Ah, yes)

SINGLE         (Yes, always)

Single. I’m single and I can’t work out how to have a successful relationship. Until I do, I don’t want anyone to say the word single or bring up relationships near me, OK? Or wedding cake.  Or pie. No one is to mention wedding pie near or around me or on the internet, ever.  OK?

Thank you for your understanding.


London Fashion Week- Men’s day


LFW now boasts a proper full day of menswear. Out of manners I did every show. Also because The Sunday Times Style asked me to.  I interviewed on video every blessed designer. Exhausting but good. I even made first show on time. Partly keen, but also was lured by an audience with the fragrant Miss Carolyn Massey. Frankly I don’t bother with tickets at LFW men’s shows. I’m not being arrogant, but I’m 39, I’ve been doing this a while, and ‘If  I’ve turned up -let me in- I don’t do queuing’  is my policy. Fair enough, no? It works. (Even with my entourage of two that I acquired before  midday it works.  Jo who was working with me woke at 9.30 a.m. in Surbiton.  Jo, the clue’s in the title. London Fashion Week.  Get yourself up the metropolis sharpish young ‘un. Sanyika also joined late).

With LFW known as creative hot-futon, but not exactly a formidable financial concern, I asked designers about their inspiration, the origins of their product and how much of an eye they had on the coffers. I do hope it wasn’t boring of me .

(Click on designers for links).

Carolyn Massey

Once installed on the front row the show functioned nicely in various greys. ‘Anonymous military donor’ sounds most fascinating in the release, but Massey would yield no information. The results were some great and trench coat inspired smartness looking dead good, and felt like slightly new foray for her. Also working are Massey’s shawl collar cardies and waffle knit accessories.  Note all-in-one romp suit, ‘for weekends’ apparently. Like her knits, like her colour balance, like her glasses. Not sure men need a brooch quite yet. Massey was duly collared and questioned.


J.W.Anderson showed what I thought was  ‘Agro Highland wilderness folk-punk’. It was thoroughly engaging. Snatches of mad Shetland chiffon cable/argyle crossover & tartan bondage, then very wearable outwear anorak hybrids . He says this comes from ‘moments and people’. This is a lot to pack into a show, but he did it.  I nabbed Jonathan where he explained it all far better. The wild beasty Swedish military boots were notable.

-The Savile Row Special-

A schlep/dash (a schlash?) across to Savile Row in the rain didn’t dampen spirits. It did dampen one’s Ferragamo’s and caused one to sweat like a rapist however. Not a look for Hardy Amies gaff where the three Row shows were held. It was attended by HRH Prince and Princess Heinkel of Kent and Lord Freddie Windsor,  (key aristo’s). The juxtaposition with some key press was amusing. Freddie looks a little Frankensteinian at times, don’t ya think?

Sherwood, Clark, Heinkels of Kent, Lurch


We viewed the first Hardy Amies collection under Oliver Benjamin, who’s stayed nicely on brand. See interview and footage of young chaps turned out most dapper. Well done.


After tea, scones and some more tea and sandwiches with no crusts, the HRH mob filed in and we saw Gieves. Joy Division wafted up through a chimney breast in muffled manner, as classic fabrics got cut in a sharp Eighties manner. Liked suiting angles. Pleated leathers trousers, demi-bolero length jackets, prints and parkas Freddy Willems explains…


Patrick Grant’s presentation was charming as it was entertaining. He was quite magnificent and owned the whole bloody proceedings, royalty and all. That’s what an Oxford University education and a Number Eight’s physique does for your confidence. For trad’ Row, no one’s near him right now at Tautz. Strong English lines, seriously authentic fabrication and build. A great export all round for British fashion. I am getting on a bit though mind. Pat, nice one. (Do watch him styling it out like something from the Forties at the end of the clip).

Back to the BFC HQ at Somerset House for some more London trendiness.  Brace yourself men, anything could happen.


With his ‘Alpino Dalstano’ , the boy Shannon appears to be doing some pretty savvy outerwear and sportswear if you ask me. Great cement and navy shirts-track hoods.  He wasn’t asking me, frankly,  and couldn’t have wanted to be interviewed less.  I rate this bods work regardless of ‘Mardy’ interview technique, (note authentic use of Scouse slang) .


More up for a bit of fun both on and off the runway was young James Long. A boiler room based dream was his vision, and he saw it out in surprising textures for an industrial scenario. He also offers advice on how to do boiler suit chic. More of that specific later.


Elgar Johnson and I had a banter about this pivotal matter. We don’t agree. His ethos is pure, but too idealistic. No one wants to wear a bad track suit, right? You do have to think when selecting one. Opting out is a fashion statement too, Elgar. I’d like to see your jump/track collection,  I bet they’re not random. The best tracksuits are Lacoste cuffed bottom mono-colour affairs. Style fact. And your choice Mr. Purist Johnson?

Next, in a poorly policed and over crowed subterranean medieval cloakroom, not for the first time at LFW it was getting rather packed up the back passage. MAN is the Top Man sponsored new designer show case that frequently goes over my head, (or makes me laugh said head off). Fashion is about entertainment remember,  so this is fine.


Cutting edge British fashion often polarizes into either fantasy ragga/jungle or gothic Bauhaus bondage. We saw both poles in fully blown mentalness. The third offering was something rather clever in its balance and level.


‘Marabou Stork Nightmares’  was  both off the hook and off key, in a good way.  This was about the old skool matching pattern shirts and jeans ghetto lick, and she’d taken it further. Acid colour fake croc sets and zombie tooth regalia. I like it, but some of my pals busted the original stuff, and now they’ve grown up.  Does make me wonder who out of fashion land would wear this? You don’t see ’em doing faux ragga down the Kingsland, do you? Only in their silly mags. Quote from press release ‘held prisoner by your past the only way forward is to search and destroy.’ Is that wise Kate?


‘Mad Max meets Tom of Finland’ in fully blown bondage Gimp chic madness. Commenting on the state of the planet apparently, which I find hard to read. They’re allegedly a cult. They have their clients, such as Ga Ga and other loonies, and they’re not compromising. Fair dos, at least they’re clear on what their brand is about. Patrick Grant who was sat next to me seemed strangely transfixed, perhaps future fetish struck a distant cord somewhere. One model bled black tears. Of pain in those heels or just shame at his wig? Think they should approach Pledge polish for sponsorship with all that leather and rubber; it’d buff up ever so nicely.

New Power Studio

The evocatively named Donkey Monkey collection appears to be a modern reworking of the donkey jacket. Ragga picket line chic in parts, jungleist retro dustbin men in others. All about the variety of cultures and people in London,  held together by an even handed approach to colour and shape. Really simple, really liked it.  OK, you’ll note one bloke with a drum on his head, but this is LFW, so allow.  ‘Night of the living baseheads”(Click) reference perhaps? (Kindly ignore my gaff about disability wagon on video). Free up the Papal styling on the old geeza!


Back into W1, Soho. Soars stuff gets on my wick on occasion. Too many authentic Fosters menswear pleated trousers to be useful. I like this show. I like camel. I discovered I like Sou’westers. Camel, argyle, leather appliqué and snow wash denim: Derek Trotter I presume? The old two jackets/one outfit move we could live with out,  (stylist to note).


Sometimes this is good, sometimes it’s a little sycophantically earnest to runway trends. This particular Top Man Design show (click for vide0) was fully blown menswear mustard. I was sat next to Philip Start of  Start in East London. He really knows his menswear. He agreed this was brilliant. The fabrics were amazing, better than what I saw from Milan’s finest. The shapes rivaled Burberry’s outerwear  (of which there were many echoes to be fair). This almost WWII military outerwear interpretation looks well fanciable. I’d wear it and I’m an enormous jacket snob. East Berlin Boys was the story, (this appears to translate into little knitted hats worn on back of head. A current must for trendies) . Enough for three runway shows here. Gordon Richardson you just whipped the competition’s arses, except there is no competition. This is quite mad for ‘quasi-high-street’. Maybe menswear needs another TopMan to really get things going? I snatched seconds with Sir Philip Green, and a banter with the buoyant Mr. Richardson straight after. Green is backing G 100% with ‘a free rein’. Big ups Sir Phil! Note Harold Tillman, Dave Shepherd (brand director) and a mean looking bodyguard all in background. Green is double powerful man, no mistake.


This was proper London Fashion hype at its daftest and most pointless. I don’t know anything about this bloke, but one couldn’t help noticing down the end of the underground runway was a huddle of London’s ‘hippest’. Kate, Lily, a load of kids, some aging rocker or other and some of fashions anointed were sat in a  smug, whooping, coke gurning pile. Brilliant. He must be good if he’s mates with this lot, right? I cant bare fashion kiddy-winkies; fash-savvy nonchalance in the under tens is horrid. I also hate it when someone presents a collection about ‘layers and found items’. Bloody hell that is so weak; surely stylists and customers can do the layering, and the designer should worry about the clothes mate. Maybe I didn’t get it (again), but I though this was quite pony. I mean how much does all this semi-amateur  stuff actually cost? I’d council buy proper designer stuff like Comme or Jil. Has no-one noticed that when people try this stuff it always looks the same, and is nearly always rubbish? Try doing something good. 


Aitor Throup’s work and approach could not be further removed from the nonsense of LFW. His static show ‘Legs’ (click) included his M.A. project ‘When Football Hooligans become Hindu Gods’, and his new project inspired by the devastation of New Orleans. Watch his stop frame film of ‘Legs’. Hear his alternative approach to design. He just designed the new Umbro England kit too. From Argentina via Burnley, this man is going to change a few things on his journey. Yes Aitor. 


The last show of the day (11 hours of them no less) was a spectacle. This is the work Joe Corrie (Viv’ and Malcolm’s only progeny and co-founder of Agent Provocateur)  and London’s own berserk re-inventor and perennial off key style merchant, Barnzley. It’s their second show, and I’m impressed with the space they’re occupying.  A tangible pagan theatre is obvious in Joe’s fashion vision. Was too cautious to put that to him in interview, instead made tit of self asking about tin of paint reference. (It was late). Look at their elongated Edwardian jacket shape. Feel this could be something. A bit of  swagger and an assumed antiquated aggro posture is something that could work in style current insipid clime, especially now McQueen has gone. (RIP A.McQ). Barnzley and Joe Corrie  have pedigree for coming up with something that was an effect. Keep your minces peeled for what these two style vagabonds  are up to. 


I stayed sober all day, which at LFW is an achievement, frankly.  I took the tube home alone to make last orders at Porchester Spa, I hoped. Who should I see walk down the platform at Old Street tube complete with Chaos bandana, but  Vivienne Westwood. A Queen with an oyster card and proud. Spectacular. I said good evening, and, as she was alone introduced myself. She’s so easy to engage with so I asked her if she’d review Joe’s show for me, with half a mind to getting a short video to finish this post. I asked her if there must be ‘pagan theatre’ in their DNA? “What’s happening in the V&A?” she asked over the noise of the tube. I didn’t feel quite comfortable filming,  so I didn’t. We discussed the show and how she was impressed, liking it a lot. She told me a bunch more stuff but made me promise I wouldn’t write it,  so I won’t.  I looked up and squinted at the tube map and Vivienne asked if that was my stop. In my  dazed state I said yes. “You’d better not miss it then” she said. I jumped off. I didnt want to intrude. I hit myself in the head with my Flip Video all the way to the spa. In retrospect, I’m glad I did the dignified thing. After all, I’d hate to get a telling off from a legend on public transport.

Down the spa I told Lee Balch my friend and Schmeisser about my encounter, and he laughed at me. A good way to finish LFW was in the Russian steam room down the Porchester with  laughing, massive Israeli special forces masseur. Perhaps its the next big thing.  Lee is a big thing.

I can’t believe how long all this is. Is anyone gonna bother to read it?  I’m knackered just recounting  it. Will get spelling checked by my sister Julie.  Julie,  pull your finger out.

Tom Stubbs

Spencer Hart.


In walked luck and you looked in time, never look back, walk tall act fine’. David Bowie. Golden Years.

I wore my Spencer Hart suit yesterday. It’s utterly brilliant. I realised its time to lay some serious stuff down on Style&Error.  Spencer Hart is one of my favourite tailors. I only have two proper fav’s now Kilgour No.5 is no more. (Massive respect to Mr. Carlo Brandelli. I look forward to your next move brother). The other is Edward Sexton, Prince of tailors.

The Savile Row mob are all very respectable and that, but they can be boring. They lack edge and attitude. Hart has got in both in spades. Spencer Hart suits occupy a very specific slick, neat, sharp space in menswear.

Designer Nick Harts eye for razor edged work has been sharpened by an obsession with clothes from the age of 13. “I worked in a tailor in Maidenhead in my holidays. I had a total obsession with clothes from that age. I was a soul boy and a David Bowie fanatic.” His suits look modish, but also present are slices of Sinatra and the Rat Pack, the finish of the young Sean Connery, and the verve of Miles Davis and John Coltrane.  The lifestyle, music and cultural cross over drive Nicks creativity. All of the references seen here permeate Spencer Hart style.

Dave on Soul Train doing Golden Years.                                     Sammy, Frank and Dean.
(click Soul Train for interview, Golden Years for performance. Both pure style in effect. See also boys above.)

London’s club scene immersed him in the histories of Louis Jordon and Cab Callaway, and he became fascinated Jazz musicians look and stance. “That Jazz Cat larger than life attitude. The atmosphere it conjures up”.

Also the look of early sixties Coltrane, Davis and Malcolm X. “They misappropriated a middle class white look and gave it edge. I always liked that subversive element”

Malcolm.                                                                             Miles.

Hart imposes his own rubric upon men’s style. He’s very strict with colour deployment and his cut. “I am a disciplinarian. I like to work with very narrow perimeters, otherwise things can become very costume drama. I was inspired by Malcolm X’s army of immaculately attired guys.” The fabric edit is as keen mustard while the lines are a sharp as a tack.  British mohairs and Huddersfield worsteds in steel greys, chocolate brown, navy or black. Mainly single breasted with skinny lapels, with a night time’s accent on the pocket details and on the tiny collared shirts. Narrow ties in dark hues hit home like stiff Black Russians on the empty stomach of a crisp white shirt.

Frank and Elvis. Nat and Sammy.
(click on captions for style joker duets)

Hart deals in Cocktail suits with a hint of menace, sinister garb for metropolitan night manoeuvres, and uncompromising red carpet stances. He’s made suits for Bowie, Beckham and Kanye to name three from his illustrious roster.

“I like sending people out in my clothes, when the viewer can’t put their finger on why the person looks as sharp as they do. It’s about the details, the texture and understatement. Its slightly sinister.”

Nick Hart . Jazz cat attitude.

The shop is brilliant. Go there. It’s the best thing on Savile Row. Joe and Anthony are very smart blokes. You’re looked after in a special manner. When I’ve seen customers in the shop they converse with the team like knowing members of an exclusive club. The boys really get it, looking you in the eye with menswear nouse.

Rebirth of the cool? Down Spencer Hart’s place its like it never went away.

Spencer Hart, 36 Savile Row, W1S 3QBT. T. +44 (0) 20 74340000 www.spencerhart.com


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