Gucci snowboard goggles: don't even bother

I can imagine it now, hammering towards that kicker, vision clear in these Gucci goggles, when wump! A mogul appears, sending me headfirst into a snowdrift.

As I'm dragged out by my ankles, my first thoughts are not of breathing once more - they are of the goggles I laid down the equivalent cost of my holiday for and which are now nowhere remotely near my face.

That snowdrift has just become the most expensive pile of white stuff outside Colombia, and I spend the rest of the holiday excavating it in order to retrieve them.

So in other words, no I won't be rocking these Gucci goggles on the slopes.

For one thing they are a liability, and for another I will look like a plum.

Visvim Alta jacket: The arrival

Last week was spent in a kind of expectant limbo. My new winter coat, the last coat I would ever buy, due to a new economical philosophy which basically involves the cessation of clothes buying, was supposed to have arrived from New York.

By rights it would have turned up by Wednesday at the latest. I'd already waited a weekend. I'd become so hyped up about this jacket that I'd actually had a dream about it.

This dream turned out to be a premonition. In it I was forced to drive to the depot to pick up my Visvim Gore Windstopper Alta 2008.

Then I got the message that all importers of nice bits dread. It was in customs. This signifies more than a sizeable charge. When customs impound your parcel, you are at their mercy. They can do what they want with it, kick about a bit, stand on it, open it , wear it. When they've finished their spiteful carrying on they might then release it and send it by means of a man on a bicycle the length of the country to your local Parcel Force depot, which will be a 40 mile return journey from your home. The man there responsible for booking in your parcel will then be off sick.

Around six months later you will receive a letter telling you that a parcel has been waiting in the corner of the North Essex depot since December, and you can have it upon the payment of a £54,000 duty fee which bears absolutely no relation to the value of your item.

Alright, I'm exagerating, but thanks to Customs, a delivery that would have taken three days from door to door took ten. And no, the duty charged bared no relation whatsoever to the amount paid for the jacket or the 15% VAT rate. And they say bribery is prevalent in the former Eastern Bloc.

On top of all that, the jacket turned up on a Saturday, which meant that if I hadn't gone to collect it, I would have spent another two days waiting.

Now there are two trains of thought here. The idea of duty is to line the pockets of our bank-bailing out Government, and I therefore despise it. One the other hand, had I been supporting UK retailers and brands, I would never have had such trouble.

None of which matters now, because I have the jacket, and it is the last one I will ever buy. (!)

London to Paris on a trackbike? Rather you than me

LONDON TO PARIS from Amazing Grace on Vimeo.

I've thought about doing the London to Paris bike ride many a time before. The closest I have got is the Essex 100, which is the equivalent to one stage of the London to Paris.

By the time I'd finished that, I was done. Every sinew in my body was killing me. And that was on a racer. To attempt a cycling feat of that magnitude on a fixed gear or a track bike? No gears, no freewheel, no brakes? That is madness. I'm wincing at the mere thought of it.

But that's what a bunch of fixed gear riders have done. The London to Paris on track bikes. That's more than madness, that's self harm.

The film's out now. The trailer is above.

For sale: One Prada jacket, history included

The system of 'out with the old, in with the new' that I employ in order to fund my wardrobe can often prove a tough call.

When it comes to some items, they have become more than just clothing. They unlock fond memories, key moments. Like going back a couple of pages in my history.

The sale of this Prada bomber is a case in point. I still remember the very day I bought it. Late spring I think, quite warm, 2004. Paul, Andre and my new love interest Lizzie had got the train to London, ostensibly to find Paul some new bits.

Him and Andre managed a couple of shops before plotting up with a pint in an Australian pub in Covent Garden, and I dragged Lizzie right across the West End to Prada, where this vision in black satin hung before me. There was no question, had to have it.

That jacket then accompanied me on many a memorable adventure, on holiday to the Isle of Wight, promenading in Pescara, a few lively evenings in town. And it still looks as good as the day I bought it.

But there's no room for compassion in an evolving wardrobe. You have to be tough on yourself.

Soon it will be on the back of another proud owner. Gone, but not forgotten.

SOLD

WTaps shemagh: More than a tablecloth

The reasons not to own this WTaps shemagh are legion. For one it is essentially a tablecloth. It is also cotton, and I would suspect it is not really much different to one of those shemaghs you can get from an army surplus store for a tenth of the price.

On top of that I don't even wear shemaghs. Because they give the wearer an appearance of someone with a tablecloth wrapped round their neck.

And in the case of this one, it is red.

But on the other hand this could prove a very useful piece of equipment. A ready made blanket at all times, a pillow, a groundsheet. I do believe Bear Grylls has even been known to pee on his in the desert to keep his head cool.

So useful are these things in fact, that they are standard issue for the SAS.

Good enough reason as any.

Available from The Glade.

The shelving unit of our lives

Now here's something you don't see every day: the shelves in our office. I call it an office but in reality it's a spare room, which doubles as an office, studio, clothes drying room, walk in wardrobe and dressing room.

Anything, in fact, except a bedroom. Because it doesn't have a bed. But it has got the shelves. Ikea, if my memory serves me well.

What I like about these shelves is that they are little glimpses into our lives - our taste, inspiration, past. Each little compartment has a story to tell.

Take the jeep at the bottom there - I built that jeep from a kit when I was about 15. Its got a little motor which still drives it, and every time my niece comes round she takes that jeep and sends it clattering off up the lawn on some mission. She makes ramps and puts obstacles in its way. The rest of the time it sits in its hole.

Then there are the art books, Monocle mags, Batman, Star Wars DVDs, the Munny I never painted, and up there in the top right, Lizzie's Where the Wild Things are toys. A stranger assortment you will never find.

There's more you can't see, records mainly, hundreds of them, but this is the bit of the shelving that I like the most.

A psychologist would have a field day analysing this lot.

Nike Dunk openzedoor special

Check these puppies out. The very first openzedoor designed Nike Dunk, brought to you courtesy of a fancy little thing called Nike ID, which allows anyone to custom design their own trainers.

You could reproduce one of those super hard to find colourways like the Tiffany. But then why would you want to when you can have something infinitely more exclusive, and stick your name on the back, too?

Or just go for the openzedoor design, with its minty underlay and grey panelling, offset by a yellow swoosh and sidewall stitching. I kept the sidewalls white, because that's the way I roll.

If you go for these I would feel doubly honoured. Send us a picture of you rocking them and we could get a gallery going on. If you think you could do better, let's see it.