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March 2013


Morning Egg Decorators. For those of you on tenterhooks, and I am aware of at least three readers that were, The Luxury Missus and I suffered an anxiety hurricane last week brought on by a number of factors, not least mistaken occupational identity. The Indian High Commish’ had the nerve to suggest she was a journalist of all things and tried to veto her visa, the swines. We prevailed, largely by stealth begging and made it away.

We were so damn relieved to get away, I was happy just be sat in Pret in Heathrow. It was just as we were boarding that a man at the desk blew our minds by upgrading us to Business. Never been so meek and elated at same time. Karma? Who’d know, but there’s nothing like the fear of losing it all to make you appreciate something when it comes good. Thank you BA fella. You made a couple of previously anxious kooks very happy.

Stubbs is right out of The Metropolis.

PS. Having Bryan’s nephew gaff-sitting while away, I can’t say life is entirely with out angst, but things are certainly more tranquil than last week. The mean cockney presides over him in turn. But still.


Morning Colour-Fielders. Ginger or not, I’ve never wanted shorts like these to be relevant to my life so much as today. Let you know how things pan out, eh?

Orlebar Brown ‘Norwich’ shorts £160.

Its touch and go at the High Commission for me and the Luxury Missus today.

Stubbs out.


Morning Style Activists. If am under the cosh on deadlines and demands at the mo’, its a new improved, multi-faceted cosh, like one wielded by Shiva, or similar. Anyway, been using this perceived pressure as neat excuse to smoke cigars* from brunch time onwards. Not ideal for the health regime I concede.

So as today reaches a climax, a deadline vortex featuring multiple, yet enthralling challenges am gonna try and walk away. Its hard. Or is it? Globe-Trotting, Spending It, Cutting it, Apple bobbing/padding it, sugaring things, Telegraphing things, Matey off the Telly-ing, all just for one day. Maybe I’ll give up tomorrow. Waiter?

Stubbs is out in The Metropolis.

* AKA La de das.


Alright neutral Style Observers? Sat at desk smoking cigars on deadline, before lunch. Think my fitness routine has gone for a Burton. Talking of suits, fancy some poetry to take the edge off things? I do, and its better than some antidotes that spring to mind.  Paul Smith is here to help matters too.

Paul Smith channels John Cooper Clarke chic for ss13 collection.

Need to take the edge of the luxury watch vitriol thats been flying about too. All my fault, hands up, I know. Running out of socks too, know what you mean, John.

Stubbs out.


Morning Kettle-Leches. Working on something with this gold fella from big fat Franck. Croco-gold, just in time for Easter on The Nile. Some of you might not like it. Not madly bothered, as think its rather good for what am up to. May I present The Franck Muller Croco from the Cintrée Cruvex family: Flash resort styling with watch action to go, its the big thing today.

Maybe this isnt particularly resort, but it is particularly unapologetic about being flash. Quite wanted to see a non-chrono version, so I got Franck’s people to swap ’em. The case and strap merge pattern wise, even though the strap is hand sewn alligator, not croc. The Chron’ contradicts my argument about un-diluted leisure ethics in watch form, but perhaps is to time your poolside waiter over a series of different service based events? There’s an iron version too. Also good. Love much of Big Franck’s work. Perhaps its because instead of banging on about first time they made a ‘spindle rotate faster underwater without a release-spatchela’, or some boring huff about tourbillons for examples, they’re all about Muller’s own daringly style-driven watch ethos. Brilliant, bold, unusual shapes. Interesting influences such as the Art Nouveau fonts and detailing. Who really gives a monkeys about some old record-breaking firsts in miniature spring-cog world, when its all about the wrist-look really? I salute Mr. Muller, regardless of photo-evidence of you admiring my Luxury-Missus in Monaco last year with your massive hands: The New luxe-slant on croc’-a-feel from Muller-light-fingers. As you were men.

Stubbs out.

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