Saturday, 26 December 2015

Browsing boxers on Boxing Day

In which G.M. Norton sniffs out the perfect smalls for the discerning gentleman.


With today being Boxing Day, my mind naturally turned to one's undercrackers. I usually rely on good old M&S for my boxers but I must confess to being underwhelmed with them.
Feeling a need for more support and style, I've scoured the entire internet and picked out my three favourites. As luck would have it, all three are made here in Britain.

Saturday, 19 December 2015

Christmas all wrapped up with the Carnaby Collar

In which G.M. Norton makes his first foray into faux fur.


At this time of year, I often see ladies resplendent in fur and can’t help thinking how wonderfully stylish they look. 

During the 1920s and '30s, flamboyant men like New York City Mayor, Jimmy Walker were often seen flouncing around in fur too. This is exactly what I was reminded of when I spied a faux fur collar by London clothing marvels, Peckham Rye. Setting eyes upon what has been named the Carnaby Collar, I thought to myself, "Norton, dear boy, if you have any mayoral ambitions then you simply must have it." 
Thankfully, the generous chaps at Peckham Rye kindly made a collar up for me and sent it over with their regards.

Saturday, 12 December 2015

Eves&Gray tweed brogues

In which G.M. Norton shows off his subtly extrovert shoes.


As a self-confessed tweedaholic, I’m absolutely cock-a-hoop with my new Wellesley Tweed brogues from the wonderful new enterprise, Eves&Gray.
I first spied Eves&Gray on Instagram where they would insist on teasing me with endless pictorials of sublime shoes. After a while, the addiction took me in it's unforgiving grip and I needed more to feed my footwear desires. What did I do, you may wonder. Well, I liked them on Facebook too.

Saturday, 5 December 2015

Biography of a bounder: Oliver Reed

In which G.M. Norton introduces his first rapscallion idol.


Welcome to the first of a new segment where I'll take an in-depth look at my favourite cads and bounders. Who better to start this less-than-truthful series than with chief rapscallion and every pub landlords' wet dream, Mr Oliver Reed. 

Oliver Reed was born in a drinking tavern. You could say he was a natural born drinker. You might be right.
When he wasn’t partaking in a little liquid libation, Oliver enjoyed nothing more than to read to his Elephant.