A Viennese song whistles through Mr. Lush’s head as he walks through Mayfair. It tells of gentlemen who have their foot on the gas and have a firm command of the current fashion. They never miss out on the latest trends and their outfits always have the latest flair. It is precisely such demi-gods that he encounters on his stroll through Mayfair. As always, sans bag, with an empty money clip in the inner pocket of his old suit by the family tailor (Ogilvy & Oglethorpe), antique keys in his right front pocket (to which there is, of course, no lock) and accompanied by an old umbrella by Swine, Adelaide & Prick, he walks slowly and stops at nearly every shop window featuring expensive ladies’ jewellery. He begins to wonder at the three gentlemen strutting in their new, perfectly-brushed Savile Row suits and overly immaculate bespoke shoes.
They stop and congratulate him on his great tailor. At this point, he is already aware that these must be modern-day heroes. His father had always taught him that one should never compliment the suit, but only the wearer. The London peacocks ask for a self-shot and Mr Lush has to contort his face into a visage of mirth at the command of ‘cheese’. Fortunately, at just the right moment, he realises that the gentleman’s pomade, which smells of avocado and sunflower seeds must be from Soho. The picture is subsequently edited using various filters. When the question arises of the name of his tailor (so as to tag him), Mr Lush feels compelled to flee this Kafkaesque scene. The fact that the gentlemen are surprised at his refusal to answer their ridiculous question makes him all the more furious. Firstly, it should be entirely obvious given the politically inspired lapels and, secondly, how dare one ask such an intimate question. If they had asked about his morning toilette, he likely would have answered more willingly.
By the time he sees his old Etonian cigarette friend on the horizon, Mr Lush has calmed down and is strutting with his umbrella – his apanage of matches at the ready. The friend asks what this evening has in store for Mr Lush. I have to find my wife in Knightsbridge, says our hero of yesteryear.
