I put the reason I found myself in the menswear department of Aquascutum down to the heat and a lack of sleep. Trying on a suit that was evidently not my size, while being persuaded by an assistant who had decided to tell me his life story, including recently being punched in the face by a professional boxer, that it was a perfect fit.
Granted, the suit, like the one above but in navy with a puppytooth check, was in the sale, at a very reasonable price, and the Pritchard Henderick cut was the slim silhouette I'd decided I needed. The jacket felt quite good.
It was the trousers. They were not just snug, they were so tight that I was losing all feeling below the waist. So tight that I feared I might do myself a mischief with a single step.
This alone might not have put me off buying the suit, especially when Perry, the Cockney ferret of a head of the suit department told me that yes, there might be enough material to let out in the trousers.
He could have salvaged that sale even though he told his wideboy assistant that he had delayed serving me because he thought I was a previous awkward customer making a return.
Perry could even have rescued it after leaving me standing there like a lemon for 15 minutes while he consulted with the tailor about whether or not the trousers could be let out.
But when I told Perry I would like a second opinion from my fiance, it really wasn't best to adopt a look of disdain and then retort: "ask the missus sir? A gentleman doesn't need the missus to choose a suit, sir."
Because a gentleman might not need the missus to choose a suit. But he needs the snide remarks of a fop-haired ponce of a suit salesman even less.
Above all, a gentleman values being spoken to in the manner he would speak to others. And besides, the missus has got a good eye.
I shall restrict my suit buying to those establishments which treat prospective customers with a little respect, and don't insist on pedalling a suit which clearly doesn't fit.
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