A bottle-green velvet shawl-collared smoking jacket, bought from Harrods by my father in the early 1960s.
Its label claims it’s water-repellent, so it was clearly designed for a party. Sadly, it’s not stain-proof, judging by the lapels; I can’t be sure which of us was reponsible for that.
This is indeed a smoking jacket. But who wears such a jacket now, except drunk crazy old men? Well, this Autumn, I’m going to. Not out in public, of course; but I see myself putting down roots in an armchair with a large scotch and the new Michel Houellebecq, the smell of woodsmoke and louche living filling my nostrils.
Curiously, it has a 1964 silver sixpence in the pocket. Could this have been my father’s “lucky” jacket? And seriously, why would you need more luck if you were wearing a jacket like this?
Its label claims it’s water-repellent, so it was clearly designed for a party. Sadly, it’s not stain-proof, judging by the lapels; I can’t be sure which of us was reponsible for that.
This is indeed a smoking jacket. But who wears such a jacket now, except drunk crazy old men? Well, this Autumn, I’m going to. Not out in public, of course; but I see myself putting down roots in an armchair with a large scotch and the new Michel Houellebecq, the smell of woodsmoke and louche living filling my nostrils.
Curiously, it has a 1964 silver sixpence in the pocket. Could this have been my father’s “lucky” jacket? And seriously, why would you need more luck if you were wearing a jacket like this?
Taxi! I'm coming over. Louche living = good times. Miriam
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