Nike Matagi pack: winter not included

Let's fast forward a few months. The snow is piling up at the back door and the wind is whistling past the windows. It's a cold and bleak night and I need more logs for the fire. They're piled up at the bottom of the garden.

Quite a task to retrieve and not one for the faint hearted, but one which I am prepared for nonetheless, because I have on my toasty feet a pair of Nike Air Baked mid QS.

All fur lined and suede in a kind of eskimo slipper type fashion but with a trainer sole, these little beauties were clearly made for late-night dashes into the frozen wastes of the mid-winter garden to restock on firewood.

All that and back in front of the fire to toast some more marsh mallows before you can say "Linford Christie," and without even having to take them off.

That's what I call versatile. What do you mean I need a pair of wellies?

CP Company 20th Anniversary goggle jacket

Now I wouldn't want to own this jacket myself, a little too terrace casual for me these days, although I guess I could be persuaded if I was given one of them, along with a 1932 Bugatti in which to compete in the Mille Miglia in Italy.

But there's is no denying the thought that CP Company designer Aitor Throup has put into his re-invention of the company's signature jacket. If the fact that it is made from Gore-tex, and dyed with a pigment taken from the very earth itself doesn't impress you, how about the fact that it is designed around the seated driver, so that it provides sufficient protection both standing up and while hairing down a country lane with the roof off.

Add to that the redesigned ergonomic hood, complete with trademark inbuilt goggles which make you look like a retro super hero, and you have the ultimate in technical jackets.

If you still have any doubts about the whole thing, just take a look at Aitor Throup's account of his redesign, which begins with the effect the legendary Goggle Jacket had on his career and more importantly his decision to go into fashion design. It's a tale written with the sort of passion only a true devotee could author, complete with concept sketches which are a work of art in themselves.

It's enough to make you want to speed up to Beak Street in London and grab one of those iconic creations for yourself. Then hack the roof of your Escort, just so you have an excuse to put the goggles on.

Scarves: big up your neck

I have a selection of scarves - little dandy silk numbers for when I'm feeling flouncy, nice thick heavy warm affairs to stop the ice chill of a February morning penetrating my gullet, and even a massive cotton thing I got in Ibiza one year which doubles as a beach blanket. Actually I think it is a beach blanket, it's just that I roll it up and use it as a scarf.

But no matter how many of these little oblongs of material I acquire, I can always find room for more. That's the beauty of them, they occupy the smallest of wardrobe spaces and even the most luxurious of scarves can be justified on the grounds of practicality.

Now the sporting of a scarf is not without its detractors. For the one thing, a scarf is to all intents and purposes a cravat that hasn't been properly tied, and thus a scarf tied with a flourish, like in a fancy bow, becomes a cravat. The wearer, to the uninitiated, becomes Terry Thomas, and while Mr Thomas was quite a chap, his memory does carry with it a certain caddishness, which one would be wise to carry off with confidence and more than a little self deprecation for want of being quite royally ridiculed by the opposite sex.

If in doubt of the cravatishness of one's neckwear it might be best to stick to the traditional scarf material of wool and its varying forms, and to only sport a scarf outdoors.

If you have no shame, no fear, and a penchant for the ouvert, then when it comes to scarves in their varying shapes and forms, the world is your crusty shellfish. You could even go for one of those snood thingys all the kids seem to be raving about.

Just don't tell Terry. I say!

My three preferred scarves for A/W 2009: Acronym neck gaiter, €129, The Glade; Louis Vuitton Eaton scarf, £300; CP Company light depoul wool dogtooth scarf, £75

40 Thieves featuring Qzen: Don't turn it off

Don't expect much from the video, because that light swtich is all you get. I suppose it's some kind of reference to the title of the tune, a lazy disco number reminiscent of the kind of thing they were churning out in the Studio 54 days.

This tune's been around a while but this is the first time I've found anything on it that I can post. If I come across anything else, such as a moving image, I'll let you know.

Ralph Lauren makes a decent coat? Really?

Sometimes I'm flicking through the latest mag, not really paying much attention, when I'm optically grabbed hold of by the short and curlies to stare in wonder at the sheer genius before me.

This vision can take any one of a number of forms, some of which I choose to share here, as with this Ralph Lauren over coat.

Even if I forgive him for using Ken doll models with dodgy hair, I don't even like Ralph Lauren really. Theres nothing wrong with the clothes, and let's face it, he's cornered the market when it comes to preppy dressing. But he's too good. In making his brand just the affordable side of expensive and easily available, he's become the easy option.

Can't be bothered to seek out something rare or inspired? Fear not, just slap on a Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, available on any high street.

So it was with a mixture of surprise and regret that I was looking at the perfect overcoat, the Chesterfield coat with vest, and it was made by Ralph Lauren. He only narrowly avoided being dismissed out of hand by the revelation that this garment is from his Black Label line - a more refined collection, and a bit harder to track down.

And damned expensive, I turns out. Which is why I'll let someone else have this one.

The roof is falling in

No, it's not a metaphor on the state of the economy, the roof really is falling in. The bathroom ceiling to be precise. What I always thought was a damp patch caused by the shower has turned out to be the bed of a lake, the water above growing in volume with the passing of every downpour.

The recent high winds and general monsoon-like conditions have clearly proved to be the downfall of the ceiling, which has started to bulge in an alarming manner, with water oozing through.

Now I know that on the scale of things this could be a lot worse. The bathroom could be within the house for one thing, meaning the lake could have been caused by a burst pipe - just imagine the carnage.

But it's still a pain. On the plus side, now I've (on builder's advice) poked a few holes in the plasterboard to release the water, I have the choice of two showers under which to stand in the morning. I could even do that hot/cold routine they like in Finland, or some other arctic territory.

Luxury. International luxury no less, soon with a bonus view of the sky through the collapsed roof.

Nike Livestrong M65 jacket: catch one if you can

I don't really know why I'm showing you this, because if you don't pick one up today you're going to have a bit of a job finding one.

So if you're not already living in New York or Los Angeles, you might as well forget it.

The Nike Livestrong M65 jacket is available today (October 10) only, in select stores in the US, including Undefeated LA and Nike Sportswear and Dave's Quality Meat, both in New York.

For your $395 (£247) you get a lightweight nylon jacket, with ultrasonic welded and taped back construction replacing the stitching. This means it will fold down and stash into one of its own pockets.

Now personally I can't stand that egomaniac on wheels Lance Armstrong, but he does raise money for an admirable cause, and there's no denying the personal hardship he's been through.

So before you make too much noise about that price tag it's worth remembering that the entire proceeds from the sale of this jacket go to the Livestrong foundation.

The proceeds from the plane ticket you buy to get to New York will just go to British Airways. And cost about four times the price of the coat, but hey, there's always Ebay.

Raleigh 'High Life' cyclocross bike

When I was a kid, Raleigh was the make of bike to be riding. You had your Burner BMXs, the Commando (which my overweight neighbour snapped in half), Grifter, and then there were the racers.

That was the heyday, back in the eighties. These days, Nottingham based Raleigh has about as much clout on the bike scene as Puch or that other crappy make, Universal. At least that's what I thought until I stumbled upon this Raleigh cyclocross bike, in a colourway inspired by Miller High Life.

All white with deep red graphics, some serious wheels and a pair of Easton forks just to reinforce the quality aspect.

The thing is, this bike is nowhere to be seen on the Raleigh UK website. Instead we're presented with an uninspiring selection of Airlites and Avantis.

Click over to Raleigh USA and it's a different story - single speeds, fixed gear, racers you would actually want to ride. And to add insult to injury, the website even looks good.

So what's going on Raleigh? You're an English brand, once the Number One English cycle brand, and all these years you've been churning out nothing but mediocre offerings.

Meanwhile, your American counterpart has caught the cycle zeitgeist and run with it, producing dreamy single speeds and racers to slobber over, as well as a cyclocross bike that looks so good it would be a shame to get it muddy.

Best you get your act together.

The last train from Fenchurch Street

There I am, plotted up in my usual seat, last train home, last man sober, the only one who's just worked till midnight, and there's a phone ringing.

It's one of those old fashioned ringtones, the default one you get on a Blackberry - urgent, loud, piercing - and the bloke in the seats in front of me is saying "Hello?" but he hasn't pressed the button, he's so out of it, so it's still ringing, and he keeps saying "hello?"

And after about twenty rings or so we're all telling him to push the button, and he says "Im trying", and eventually he finds it and he's speaking in this sort of gibberish, all his words merging into this monotonous tone. It's pitiful.

Then he passes out, forehead in his torpedo roll, phone in hand outstretched.

Further up the carriage, a security guard is standing between some seats. Just standing there, smiling, not saying a word, and from behind these seats you can hear a couple of blokes, sounds like they know each other, but they're getting a bit fresh, giving it the large. And all the while the guard is just standing there, smiling.

Next stop is me. That phone starts ringing, like it's some sort of alarm, right on cue. But this time it's ringing and this bloke keeps pushing the button, semi-conscious, then it rings again and again, like someone's desperate to speak to him.

So I tap him on the shoulder, tell him it's ringing.

He looks at me with this half grin, like the words have gone in but he's forgot how to process them. And then, like it's the most natural thing in the world, no dramatics, no nothing, he gives this tiny jerk and throws up. Mainly red wine by the looks of it, I can smell it now as I'm typing. It's all over the table, floating his torpedo, sloshing onto his suit.

The doors open and I'm gone. As I'm walking along the platform, I can hear a phone ringing.

Ahoy there, enormous houseboat thing

I can't really say I've had occassion to step aboard many boats in my time. Despite my best efforts I've still managed to avoid knowing anyone in possession of a ship, yacht, or even a dinghy. The nearest I have come so far to a life on the ocean waves has been the ferry to the Isle of Wight in 2004.

But that hasn't stopped me gaping in wonder at any new arrival in St Katharine Docks as I stroll through on my way to work - it might even have stoked my fascination. I spend the entire walk through the docks wondering what exactly the Dutch barge Noelle looks like below decks, and if Playbuoy really is lined in faux tiger fur as its name suggests.

Every now and then a vessel turns up that has my jaw scraping the floor. This is usually a multi-million pound Sunseeker (Eddie Jordan's, The Snapper, springs to mind) or a round-the-world yacht with a brushed alluminium hull.

Or this. Matrix Island turned up last week and it is basically a houseboat on steroids. A floating five-bedroom home. It has the lot - portholes the size of bistro tables, and double glazed windows cut out of the hull that you could fit a jetski through. There's even a water-level balcony.

Two things fascinate me about Matrix Island; first, what kind of mind decides to turn what appears to be a massive barge of some description into a floating detached house, and second, how it managed to stay afloat on the open water long enough to make it into the dock. Surely even mildly choppy water would have those windows out in a splash.

The fact it is floating at all makes it a lot more interesting than a Sunseeker.

The sun always shines at Louis Vuitton

The leaves are falling off the trees and it's been chucking it down for most of the day, so the last thing on my mind right now has to be sunglasses.

And what happens? Along comes a clip for Louis Vuitton sunglasses. As slick as the puddle outside the front door, it takes the viewer on a journey around one of the latest designs, with its Damier signature check etched into the framework and all that precision workmanship.

You just know that this is a pair of shades built to last. Especially since with the speed the winter seems to be steaming towards us, you're not going to get the chance to wear them for at least six months.

Blow me (up), it's a shopping bag

I still haven't made it to a supermarket till without having forgotten to bring one of the 2,000 Bags For Life presently spilling out of the kitchen drawer.

The thing is, it's not like I don't intend to take them. I'm an environmentally conscious person. I separate my waste.

But Bags For Life do not lend themselves to being re-used. First off, they look crap. The bags I'm constantly given are the most aesthetically unpleasing to the eye as I could possibly imagine. They have pictures of groceries on them for god's sake.

Besides that, they never seem to figure in my checklist before I leave the house. Keys and pants for sure, shoes optional. A Bag For Life? Not even on it.

But now I need to forget my Bag For Life no longer, because it will be attached to me at all times like a ripe hemorrhoid, dangling utility-like from my belt.

This is thanks to Greenaid, who have invented a re-useable shopping bag that rolls up and stuffs in a neoprene shell, shaped like a hand grenade. A weapon in the fight against climate change.

And just imagine the fun you could have with a hand grenade shaped piece of neoprene. Lob it into the basket on your trolley and watch the sea of Saturday morning grocery shoppers part before you as you make your way through the aisles. Play keepy uppey at the deli counter, volley it through the tills.

If you're really lucky you might even get the Counter Terrorism Unit to take you home with your shopping.

These boots were made for crying

We were about halfway down the hill - about 500 yards at a push - before I knew something was seriously wrong. It was the boots. My brand new, just out of the box Visvim Serra hikers were going to kill me if I took another step. They were already killing me - it had been foolhardy to set out in nothing but a thin pair of dress socks between the leather uppers and my tender heels.

But those boots had been burning a hole in my shoe collection for a couple of months. Ever since I nabbed them at a bargain, but still eye-watering, price, they've been sitting atop my wardrobe waiting for some suitaby inclement weather to get an outing. The lack of a suitably stout pair of walking socks wasn't going to ruin their christening.

"I'm not going to make it," I said to Lizzie through gritted teeth."Leave me, and save yourself."

So Lizzie carried on down to the train station as I made the long trek back uphill, wincing with every step, to slip into something more comfortable.

The episode was proof if further were needed that the pain threshold of women is far above that of men. Lizzie also had her new shoes on - a pair of dainty little brogues. No socks, no nothing. After a trip to London which involved us getting lost in Bloomsbury and somehow ending up in Wagamama's in Soho, then tubing over to a pub in Islington before the long trek home, her feet were so raw that they were actually weeping blood. Not a whimper, all night. That's well hard.

Meanwhile, I continue to suffer. My heels are still showing the evidence of the failed outing of the Serra hikers, and even with the thick walking socks I have now invested in, they're still agony to wear some 24 hours on. I have been forced to admit that in contrast to the butter-soft nature of other Visvims, these blighters are going to need a bit of wearing in.

Looks like I'll be needing some lessons in pain control from Lizzie.

Where the Wild Things Are: wear the movie

I totally missed Where the Wild Things Are as a kid. At first I thought this was because I was too old for the children's book until I found that it was first published in 1963. So it must be because it was American.

I know Lizzie didn't miss it, because we still have all the toys and figurines from her childhood peeping over the top of high shelves in the office here, threatening to launch theselves at my head. It was the book that her dad read her to get her to go to sleep, and knowing Lizzie, it must have been good to have kept her quiet.

I've already posted on the the film, directed by Spike Jones, which is due for an October 16 release, and now we have the movie tie-ins.

They don't come much wilder than a clothing collaboration with New York label Opening Ceremony. As well as some fur-trimmed winter wear, you can even get an adaptation of the wolf suit worn by the hero Max in case, presumably, you got a spare $610 kicking around for a fancy dress costume.

Still, dressing up as children's book hero fantasies aside, the blokes' side of the collection has got some half decent gear, such as the Ira military jacket. Don't even think about the white fur hoodie with ears. You will be arrested.

As for the girls' dresses, you're going to need to be a little more than a wild thing to wear one. But you won't get cold.

Hats off to headgear

Hats. I must have about 10,000 of them, baseball caps, woolly hats, hats for snowboarding, cycling, for pretending I'm a member of the special forces. I even bought one of those full face balaclavas once, for a fancy dress party. Went down like a bearskin at a Peta conference.

Headwear is the affordable accessory when there's nothing else to find. As well as ties, but I have a thing about ties, you could call it a fear. I am most unconfident in selecting a tie. So hats it is.

Thing is these days the time never seems right to be wearing a hat. Maybe on a Saturday morning when going to the end of the road for a paper. Or at a fancy dress party. Or a hat party. I've always thought it might be fun to get a pith helmet for a party. That and a blunderbuster and tropical fatigues. Any other time during everyday life, they just seem too, well, young.

Which is why I was relieved when I discovered Rapha and its selection of caps for cycling. Here was an excuse to wear a hat. Rapha produces racing caps, which are short-peaked cotton numbers; winter caps, which are warm and have fold-downable ear warmers; and last year the cycling brand released a line of tweed caps intended for nothing more than swanning down the road on one's cycle in a dandy manner.

Before I got the chance to really get any wear out of my tweed cap, I crashed the bike and under intense pressure from loved ones, invested in a helmet. So that's the excuse for wearing caps while cycling out the window. Granted, they do fit under a helmet, but at the expense of dignity.

But yet again I am tempted by Rapha's new range of Gentleman's caps. These are truly dandy. More dandy even than last year's tweed affairs. There's one in Barbour-style waxed cotton, a grey felt piece with an embroidered feather on one side, and even one in black with white polka dots, although that to me looks like something one might wear to compete in the 3pm at Aintree.

It's really only a matter of time before one of these is sitting on my swede, such is the lure of a new hat.

It will make me look younger, after all.

OK, that's enough of the summer

We're now coming to the end of September and I'm still walking around in shirt sleeves. Not good in the jacket department - my Visvim Ketchikan got an outing last week but more because it was new than due to any real temperature or climatic requirement, the exception being our Kew Gardens trip when it got such a drenching that I think it leaked. And it's Gore-Tex.

Thing is, at this time of year I want to be wearing a jacket, as my thoughts turn to wrapping up against the elements. The mags are full of autumn winter campaigns and models peeking over chunky scarves, head to toe in the latest duffel, while outside it's like the tropics. At least it is during the day. If you're out without a coat after dark you've a good chance of contracting pneumonia, unless you live in Newcastle when it has to be -10 before coats come out.

That's why this time of year becomes a minefield in deciding an outfit. Too hot for a sweater, too cold for a t-shirt. I've already failed miserably in predicting the temperature and ended up lugging a coat around or shivering in a short sleeved shirt.
In that respect I have one thing to say to the weather: Get on with it. We've had a good summer, got a bit of sun. July was crap but you redeemed youself in August. You know you're going to get cold so just get it over with. I've had enough of all these inaccurate outfit predictions.

The rate things are going I could start a new career as a weatherman.

Tour of Britain / Essex 100 bike ride 19-20/09

It's one thing to stand there and watch a bunch of cyclists bomb around the streets of London in the final stage of the Tour of Britain, camera at the ready, in a vain attempt to capture them before they dash past in a blur of multi-coloured spandex. It's another thing entirely to understand how they feel.

Having witnessed that final stage in London on Saturday, plotted up outside Embankment station on a balmy September afternoon, I had a good idea of the kind of effort required to complete the eight stages of the Tour across some of the more difficult terrain the UK has to offer. At least I thought I did until I completed my own equivalent of a Tour of Britain stage the following day.

The Essex 100, a 103.4 mile jaunt through the rolling hills of the Essex countryside, does not in itself match in length an average 130 mile tour stage, but in the absence of a direct train route to the Chelmsford start I decided to bike there. The 18 mile trip, along with a two mile search for the Essex County Cricket Ground took my total ride up to 121.4 miles in one day, which would qualify.

It nearly killed me. No exageration. The journey to the start by cycle had been a foolish move, with more hefty hills than I have ever remembered travelling by car, and a nasty headwind to sap my strength. The headwind seemed to blast in to me on every turn of the first 70 miles or so of the ride proper; I felt the pain of every mile and on the last, cruel climb before I stopped for lunch I'm sure I felt muscles popping in my thighs.

If the lunch stop hadn't arrived when it did, my ride could have been brought to an abrupt and premature end. That little village hall was like an oasis in the desert, with its foldaway tables straining under the weight of cheese sarnies, peanuts and fairy cakes. In the kitchen they were ladling out tomato soup.

This worked wonders for the remainder of the ride. Well, that and having the wind in my favour, tagging on to the back of a team, an energy gel I'd been saving and a glut of descents. I was a rocket. Mark Cavendish would have had a job catching me.

All the same, with 10-miles to go my arse cheeks had gone numb and my neck felt like it had a red hot poker stuck in it. Turning that corner into the cricket ground and catching sight of Lizzie waiting for me at the finish line almost had me in tears.

How those Tour of Britain riders keep it together after eight days of it is beyond me, not to mention the Tour de France riders after three weeks on the bike. I'd be blubbing like a baby.

One year of Dunhill at Bourdon House

The first rule of dressing for an event - if an invitation suggests a dress code of smart / casual, a gentleman will invariably err towards the smarter end of the scale, particularly if that event happens to be Alfred Dunhill's celebration of its first year at Bourdon House.

This is a fact I should have taken into account when deciding upon a simple shirt / jeans / shoes combo to go with my trench coat for the party. Naturally, the ensembled gents resplendent in sharply tailored suits were far too polite to make me feel in the least uncomfortable, but it was all I could do to stop myself from requesting a nifty little number from Dunhill's ample suit department: "Just add it to the tab, squire. Stick a tie in there while you're at it."

It only seems like yesterday that Britain's premium menswear brand moved from among its peers on Jermyn Street to take up residence in its new home just off Berkeley Square in Mayfair, but it has evidently been a year already.

Occassion enough for a party, billed as a debate between Toby Young and Andrew Roberts and focusing on two subjects, each proposed by Toby Young: 'History is bunk', and 'Snobbery is a vice.' The former topic, taken from an apparent quote from Henry Ford, no less, was on the face of it nothing more than an inflammatory statement, the touch paper to which was lit by Mr Young, with his argument that historians had quite regularly made a complete hash of recording past events, and quite competently snuffed out by Mr Roberts, who did not omit the fact that the actual reason we were sitting in that very room was to celebrate an episode in the history of Dunhill.

The second subject offered a more balanced argument, this time Mr Young got the upper hand, helped in no small part by the fact that his elevation to the status of Society Buffoon of London was not helped by his start in life at a lowly comprehensive school. Mr Roberts pointed out that we are all in some way or another, snobs, be it in terms of the school we attend or even the type of music we listen to. But his argument failed to swing the audience, even if his overwhelming drubbing of Mr Young in round one sent him home with a £10,000 cheque for the charity of his choice.

But the real debate took place prior to the debate. The question on everybody's lips was "won't those langostines make an awful mess of the displays as they are being pulled apart?" Not many dared to discover the answer by trying to eat one, tasty as I'm sure they must have been.

The whole event was a joint effort between Dunhill and GQ and the debate was presided over by editor Dylan Jones. This is the second such collaboration, following Dunhill's sponsorship of the Man of the Year awards.

For a far more comprehensive report on the evening's event's you can read GQ's here.

Porsche 911 Sport Classic

Porsche is one of those brands that has become a victim of its own success. Possibly the only supercar marque that can be regarded as truly reliable (the rest being mostly Italian), it has become the transport of choice of any bounder in possession of a credit card. The result of this is a car maker with enough money to buy Volkswagen and more Porsches on the road in Essex than there are Ford Fiestas.

So what is a prospective Porsche owner to do? The answer has been provided by the introduction of the best looking 911 to roll out of Porsche's Stuttgart factory since Steve McQueen got behind the wheel of a Spyder.

With a tailfin and wheels reminiscent of the RS Carreras of the 1970s, the 2010 911 Sport Classic is all you could wish for in a new Porsche. It has the best bits of the bygone days with the sort of spec and performance you would expect from a new car.

It packs a punch to match its looks, powered by a 3.8L flat-six lump with DFI producing 408 hp, a top speed of 302kmh, and a specially tuned exhaust system which amplifies that trademark engine note.

Truly gorgeous in a light primer grey with subtle dark grey stripes from front to back, only 250 to be made and €200k.

I'll have one for Christmas please.

Heritage brands raise their game

It seems that something good is coming out of the recession for the luxury heritage brands of Britain. Whereas for decades the likes of Burberry, Aquascutum and Barbour were quite happy to pedal out the same tired old macs and wax jackets, with no discernable reason for anyone other than the elderly or farmers to buy them, the recession has sharpened their claws, made them hungry for a new generation of customer.

We've had a succession of frankly groundbreaking announcements from the higher echelon of this fair country's clothing brands over the past couple of years. Who would have imagined that Barbour would collaborate with a Japanese designer, or that Dunhill, once a stuffy old label better known for its cigarretes, would employ Jude Law as its masthead and Kim Jones as creative director?

The momentum is gathering pace too, and has even moved up to the corporate side of things. Earlier this week, Burberry made it into the FTSE 100, thanks in no small part to an insatiable Japanese appetite for its trademark house check and the need of every tourist who visits London to go home with a Burberry trenchcoat. The arrival of creative director Christopher Bailey has also helped bring the brand back up to date.

Then yesterday it was announced that Burberry rival Aquascutum has been saved from impending doom by fashion entrepreneur Harold Tillman, who has bought the company from its Japanese owners. To complete the hat-trick Cheaney, a Northamptonshire shoemaker which had been under the Church's umbrella, has been bought from Prada by Church's founders William and Jonathan Church.

But the real progress is being made with the products.

Over at Dunhill, Mr Jones wasted no time in digging out the brand's archives and resurrecting some of the key pieces with added tweaks for the autumn/winter collection, his first at the brand.

The Barbour Beacon heritage line is a welcome departure from the traditional line. The label, whose jackets are the required uniform of the country set and anyone with a horse, has launched a capsule line of driving, cycling and motorcycle jackets with Japanese designer Tokihito Yoshida. On top of that the brand has opened a Heritage shop just off Carnaby Street.

Belstaff is leaps and bounds ahead. It was taken into Italian ownership a few years ago and the brand has since dragged itself out of the greasy biker pits into which it had fallen, to become the darling of the euro-set, although it didn't do itslf many favours by sponsoring Ewan MacGregor's jolly round the world on a bike. No collaborations in sight for Belstaff yet though.

This whole collaboration and guest designer business is something the luxury street brands of Japan have been doing for years. It didn't take long for Nike and Adidas to get in on the act and now it seems to be the done thing to refresh a tired brand. A bit like getting a makeover.

It certainly seems to have done the trick.

Is that a mammoth tusk or are you just pleased to see me?

Nobody can tell you why woolly mammoths really became extinct. They managed to live through the ice age so they were a fairly hardy bunch. Maybe the world got a bit too hot for them.

Those enormous beasts with their massive teeth and tusks the size of scaffold poles are consigned to history lessons and bit parts in Ice Age the movie. Which is kind of good, because at least we don't have to sidestep rampant woolly mammoths on the commute to work.

But they didn't die in vain, as Dunhill has discovered. The luxury menswear brand has sourced some nomadic herders from Russia who do a neat little sideline in digging up mammoth tusks. Most of the northern hemisphere is evidently littered with them. Being 30,000 year old ivory, they haven't rotted, are officially fossils, and make rather nice toggles.

They make up a small part of Dunhill's new creative director, Kim Jones's forage through the brand's considerable archives to resurrect and refresh some of the more classic forgotten pieces. The autumn winter collection is lined with exotic skins and uber-lux options.

All good for getting the conversation going around the fireplace, and as far as talking points go, having a bit of mammoth dangling off your duffle coat is as good a starter as any, you'll surely agree.

Junya Watanabe EYE x Baracuta G4

Not for want of trying have I endured an entire summer searching for a new jacket, not even a particularly unusual one. Just a harrington which wasn't really a harrington but looked like the best harrington you could ever find. In black. Navy at a push.

Closest I got was a Resonate swingtop jacket which the Japanese people it was designed for would have had a job putting on. In the end I settled on a Dunhill blouson. Looked great, offered no protection from the elements, so it hasn't been worn.

Aaand we're up to date. The summer's as good as over and what do you know? Along comes the Baracuta X Junya Watanabe Limited Edition Vintage Fit G4, which as far as my requirements go, fits the bill in every way. Except it's too late. Way too late.

Rapha autumn winter collection

As someone quite rightly pointed out on the Rapha blog, no sooner do you have all you think you're going to require to look slick on the bike, than Rapha comes along with a whole new range of stuff you never realised you needed.

The autumn winter preview is another case in point. This year Rapha is introducing neoprene overshoes (pictured above), which are an absolute essential in the winter, as well as a rain jacket and leg warmers (a longer version of knee warmers).

Into the unecessary but totally desirable camp comes a pair of trousers for the city commute, a new knitted winter cap and a 'Gentleman's cap', which expands upon the tweed cap releases of the summer.

Visit the Rapha blog for a more detailed explanation.

Here it comes

It will be interesting to look back on this post in a couple of months, when we are truly in the grip of autumn, the leaves are desperately clinging onto the trees and that early morning chill penetrates to the marrow.

Because on my ride today I got a real sense that autumn is just around the corner. The weather turned last night after weeks of balmy tropical temperatures to bring us gale force winds from the north. So setting off this morning in no more than a jersey and Grand Tour fingerless gloves and bib shorts it felt a bit nippy.

More than that, the sun was noticeably lower in the sky, the colours more vivid. It felt like the season was on the turn and I wished I had my arm warmers on, and the new Italian knee warmers.

The slight chill made for a refreshing ride, topped off by the sight of a tall ship making its way up the estuary. Summer riding is good, but the real challenges lie in the months ahead, when riding is as much about beating the weather as beating your best time. Bring it on.

PS: There is a tall ship in the above photo. It is the bright white blob on the horizon slightly to the right of the picture. My Blackberry really is that rubbish as a camera.

Too well dressed to riot

It was another bad night for football on Tuesday. The evening clash between West Ham and Millwall was always going to be a flashpoint, seeing as the two clubs top the league in bitter rivalry.

But it was a worse evening for terrace style. Whatever happened to the well-dressed hooligan?

Back in the eighties, the heyday of hooliganism, when running battles outside football grounds were part and parcel of a Saturday afernoon, how you dressed mattered as much as who you supported. You had to look the part, and in the initial days of what has become known as the Terrace Casual, that meant Fila And Sergio Tacchini tracksuit tops, jumbo cords and Dia Dora Seb Coe trainers.

As the years progressed so did the one-upmanship, and by the late eighties it was all about Stone Island (it was cool then), Armani, and Paul Smith.

Certain clubs commanded more respect than others. Funnily enough West Ham's Inter City Firm (ICF) was among the better dressed of hooligan mobs. Them and Chelsea. Millwall, on the other hand, never had much style.

Mackenzie t-shirts? Adidas hoodies? On camera? In the paper? It would never have happened. Back then, if you were going to invade a pitch you would make sure you were at your most pristine. You were going to be in the public eye, after all. And you would never, ever, lumber onto that grass in nothing but a pair of shorts and a beer belly. The shame.

My memories of football in the eighties don't really stretch to the games themselves. All I can remember is hundreds of us marching down the street, in our just-out-of the bag Stone Island parkas and Armani roll-necks, looking sharp.

I haven't been to the football in years, unless you count Southend v Chelsea last year, which I don't. Perhaps there is still a casual hooligan element. If there is, they've got more style and verve than to be caught on the pitch with their bellies out.

So either West Ham have let their standards slip since the sharp days of hooliganism, or all the troublemakers were Millwall. Whatever, those fans should be locked up for crimes against menswear, if nothing else.

Future VW Camper

I've always wondered why VW haven't done to the Camper what they did to the Beetle with considerable success and launch a new one. Well perhaps they might. See below.

More proof that Bape is dead

Judging by the miserable prices my Bathing Ape collection has been fetching over the past few months I've been listing it on eBay, I would say the brand has gone the way of the dodo.

Latest case in point is my woodland camo cap. Something I was quite fond of back in the day and if I remember correctly parted with upwards of £60 for. Well it just got me £11.50 at auction.

It's a bit of a shame, but nothing lasts forever and this is a prime example of what can happen when your brand is adopted by the seedier side of urban street life. One minute Bathing Ape had cult status among the media luvvies of Soho, who picked it up on the back of James Lavelle of UNKLE and Ian Brown's product placement, and the next, via N.E.R.D's Pharrell Williams, you had R'n'B singers like Chris Brown wearing it and every wannabe gangsta on either side of the Atlantic wearing the playgroup themed hoodies in XL sizes. Anybody could see Bape was doomed.

Pharrell got a taste of his own medicine when his Billionnaire Boys' Club label was hijacked by the gangsta element - in fact it would be safe to say it never got off the ground.

Still, Nigo, Bathing Ape and BBC's creator, is making a valiant last stand by reopening his Bape store in Upper James Street after closing it in favour of a capsule collection within a shipping container in Dover Street Market.

But Nigo would be wise to check eBay. If nothing else, the auction site is the ultimate barometer of market tastes, and when prices of Bape tank on eBay, it's time for Nigo to think up a new strategy.

Hopefully one that doesn't end up with the label being bombed by a bunch of gangstas and the death sentence they put on any clothing brand they adopt.

B&O Beotime

No it isn't a musical instrument, or a handy weapon with which to tackle intruders. This is the latest offering from Bang & Olufsen, designed to wake you up gently in the morning.

The Beotime is an alarm clock with a difference. It has a built-in motion sensor, automatic backlighting, and a sleep timer which lets you doze off to music or late night programming in the knowledge it won't still be blaring into the smal hours.

For waking up, there's a discreet, and no doubt acoustically perfect chime, or the option to set a TV programme, radio station, or piece of music.

All in all the Beotime offers a somewhat soothing start to the day, which is no doubt why the pre-orders ahead of the launch in time for Christmas are already building up.

Price is £300 from your local Bang & Olufsen retailer.

Monocle Beams watch

As other publications go to the wall by the dozen, Monocle magazine has been setting a shining example of the benefits of knowing your market and brand building by releasing a series of collaborative items of clothing and accessories.

You can wear the Monocle x Aspesi jacket, ride the Monocle x Skeppshult folding bike, whilst carrying a Monocle x Porter bag over your shoulder, which would contain, among other things, a Monocle x Valextra leather-bound notebook. And all the time you'll be honking like a forest at sunrise, courtesy of the Monocle x Comme des Garcons Scent One.

So far so good. The Monocle brand quality is reinforced by the high-end collaborations, which all goes to cultivate the international jet-set image.

The latest release is the Monocle x Beams watch, a collaboration with Japanese department store Beams. This is a tough call, because any international traveller worth their salt is going to need a reliable, and therefore serious, watch on their wrist, which means Swiss, like Rolex, Breitling or Zenith. They might stretch to Panerai (Italian with a Swiss movement).

The only timepiece that springs to mind in terms of Japan is Casio.

At £95 the Monocle x Beams watch isn't going to break any travel budget, and it looks quite good with its classic Submariner styling. But that's really the point - it looks like a Submariner, but clearly isn't. Which puts in the realms of the Toywatch brigade, or worse still, a cheap copy. And frankly, no self respecting traveller is going to be seen dead with one of them on their arm.

New Rapha sponsors

Well I wouldn't have chosen them for my dream cycle team, but as far as sponsors go, Rapha has now got some very respectable names lined up on its shirt.

The new team shirt will be emblazoned with the Condor logo across the front, naturally, and will also feature new sponsors Sharp Electronics, Paul Smith Jeans and the Malmaison hotel group, which is a pretty decent collection of brands in my opinion.

Add that to the new design of black shirt with union jacks on the shoulders and the pink and white stripes around the body, or an alternative red, white and blue colourway and you have a team shirt that's destined to go down as an absolute classic.

Rapha brings it home again.

Scotch quail eggs in Mayfair

Next time you're around Berkeley Square in Mayfair, pop into Dunhill's London store at Bourdon House on Davies Street, take a seat at one of the tables in the courtyard and ask the waiter if he would be kind enough to bring you a plate of scotch quail eggs. Quite simply the tastiest side dish you would ever have the good fortune to put in your mouth.

If you're feeling a little more adventurous you might wish to sample the chicken, bacon and avocado salad or even hamburger and chips, all cooked under the watchful eye of Mark Hix, former executive head chef at The Ivy and served in a little oasis of calm amid the tension of the West End. You will not be disappointed.

They serve a wicked virgin Mary, too.

Dream cycling jersey

As the Tour De France enters its final phase, the conversation on the couch between Lizzie and myself turned towards the race jerseys.

For those new to the tour, riders compete to win different coloured race jerseys.

Four jerseys are up for grabs at any given stage:

Green jersey - the race leader on points
Yellow jersey - the winner of the last stage
White jersey - the best young rider
Polka dot - King of the Mountain, or the rider with the most points in the mountain stages

These days riders who have won a jersey are kitted out from head to toe in the relevant colour, and that includes the sunglasses. His team sponsors are also on his winner's jersey. So each rider must have his own outfit relevant to each coloured stage win, just in case.

The polka dot King of the Mountains jersey was voted best. Our judgement was based purley on aesthetic appeal.

On to our dream team jersey - that which I would design if entering my own team, and could choose the sponsors I used.

It would have to, naturally, be a Rapha classic team jersey. Black would be the first choice but seeing as this is already the Rapha Condor team colour, I'm thinking olive green with Rapha pink flashes at the neck and on the sleeves, trademark Rapha white band on left sleeve.

Sponsors:

Visvim, the Japanese clothing brand, would be a main sponsor - the V logo appearing on the right chest.

Dunhill, another sartorial fave, would occupy the space below Visvim

The logo of Acronym, the German brand know for jackets made from technical fabrics, would sit below the collar at the back of the neck

Monocle magazine would take the right sleeve

Thomas Pink would have a place around the hem of the left sleeve, below the white Rapha band

Miracle-Gro fertiliser would have a space on the back somewhere near my arse

And slapped right across my chest in 50 point bold would be the gourmet love of my life, Higgidy pies.

Now that's what you call a TDF race jersey.

The name of the team? Pie-Vis-ibility

Elite Pase bottle cage

It's funny how little things like bottle cages can lead to feelings of wonder at the precision of their engineering. I was ready to royally hoof the Elite Pase cage straight back to from whence it came until it arrived. I still wince at the price, although it is mid-priced for a bottle cage, and fairly reasonable for one made of carbon fibre.

Then it arrived, in a little clear box which took me straight back to the model spaceships I used to get for Christmas, and all I could think about was attaching it to the bike. And you know what? It actually makes the bike look better! Incredible!

It's like a decoration, the cycling equivalent of adding an oversized spoiler to an old banger, except with a bottle cage, you can put a bottle in it! And you don't need to be drving an old banger!

Highly recommended for anyone with more money than sense, or for previous owners of model spaceships.

The Lost Gardens of Heligan 08/07

Just when I thought it impossible to get more into plants, we paid a visit to the Lost Gardens of Heligan near St Austell in Cornwall. This is the inspiration for the better-known Eden project and as such is evidence in plant form that the original is always best.

Unlike the Eden Project, which began as a very intriguing experiment in growing plants under giant grenhouse domes and has become akin to a walk through a particularly busy garden centre, the Lost Gardens of Heligan are an example of the types of highly exotic flora and fauna that can thrive in this country given the right conditions.

But it is the extraordinary story of Heligan House that really captures the imagination. For hundreds of years the Tremayne family stocked and maintained the gardens, travelling across the globe to find the rarest and most exotic species available. They planted whole swathes of tree ferns and established a jungle in a valley in the grounds where they grew bananas, palms and even giant California Redwood trees.

Then the First World War arrived and half of the 22 estate gardeners were sent to the trenches. Heligan House was commandeered as a convalescent home for officers and then let out to tenants.

After a period of neglect, the gardens were forgotten about and became overgrown. They were rediscovered in the early 1990s and restored to their former glory on a shoestring budget.

Tim Smitt, one of the three men to lead the restoration of the gardens, then went on to create the Eden Project. I can't help feeling this would also benefit from a few decades of neglect, if only to rid itself of the school parties that swarm over it. Perhaps some pesticide would do the trick.

http://www.heligan.com/

Orlebar Brown beach shorts

It had to take a surf loving nation like Bermuda to put its name to the now synonymous uniform of the beach-bum male, but if there is one thing that Bermuda shorts, in all their baggy multi-coloured finery are not, it's stylish.

Orlebar Brown (OB) beach shorts however, are. And that has taken the efforts of a UK company.

I can't go on enough about how well fitting and stylish these shorts are. Thanks to the sort of workmanship and attention to detail that you might expect on luxury designer garments, such as branded zip-pulls, and a tailored cut, these shorts look equally as good while lunching along the riviera as they do taking a dip in the med.

Nice muted colours too, and a few lengths to choose from. Even the baggier Dane beach short is well cut.

At last a reason to bury those Bermudas.

What's more, enter 99183533 in the promotional code box when you place your order and you could be in for a discount.

Ulysse Nardin Chairman phone

It's nice to see a bit of optimism in these days of economic desperation, and what could be more optimistic than the launch of an 18k gold mobile phone?

The Ulysse Nardin Chairman is the kind of flamboyant creation that restores your faith in capitalism. If there's a market for a mobile phone which has been produced to the exacting specifications of a luxury time piece, with all its intricacies and attention to detail, in some of the finest materials on the planet, then things really can't be all that bad.

In addition to all the usual features you would expect from a mobile phone such as internet access and a camera, the Chairman has a built-in rotor to help keep the battery charged, incorporates a 2.8" touch screen and has to be the first ever mobile phone to employ fingerprint recognition security.

The price of this piece of mobile craftsmanship? €12,500. Recession? What recession?

This post is also featured on The Times business blog, Business Central.

Kim Jones at Dunhill

It's no secret in the world of gentlemen's style that the latest coup for the UK's classiest luxury menswear brand Dunhill is that Kim Jones (he who saved Umbro) is now creative director.

What you might not know is that as part of the build-up to the Spring-summer 2010 presentation in Paris, Mr Jones will undertake something of a Twitter-fest.

The Twitter is called Alfred Dunhill and the page is dunhill_inParis. Enjoy

Murakami and Pharrell Williams

What do you get when you put hip-hop genius Pharrell Williams and twisted manga-art type Takashi Murakami together for a few hours?

If this latest exhibition is anything to go by, you get a load of diamond-encrusted consumer goods containers in the mouth of a giant pebble (yes, another pebble) with eyes and multi-coloured teeth.

Surely you didn't expect anything sensible?

This isn't the only thing the pair have in common - they have both collaborated with Louis Vuitton on projects in the past.

Check out the interview below.

Fiat 500

Is this the coolest Fiat 500 you've ever seen? I think it's the grey, makes it look like a shiny little pebble on wheels. You can see it if you happen to be in Hollywood any time soon, at the All Things Generic pop-up store in Space 1520.

Never heard of the label, Generic Man, suppose it hasn't made it out of the states. But if they can make a Fiat 500 look this good, they're all right in my book.

www.coolhunting.com

Catlike Whisper Plus helmet

I'm back on the bike after a few days off to do that patio and I've got this on my bonce. Saw a bloke wearing one in the supermarket and it looked sufficiently different to persuade me to track one down.

Whereas the Bells and Giros basically make you look like Gundamn this looks like some sort of giant seed pod. That and the fact it's the only one I could find in black was enough to make me buy it.

Of course I checked out the tech specs too. According to the gumf, it absorbes an impact by spreading it across your head. I guess that must be a good thing.

Nice and comfy too, although I didn't, as with one reviewer, forget I had it on. Perhaps this was because I'm still conscious I look like a giant mushroom on wheels. I'll get over it.

www.catlike.es

More patio

The patio's been finished for a few days now - the front was completed on Sunday and after a marathon final push which involved, among other things, finshing the front path and spreading a ton of gravel, all that remains is to fill the gaps between the bricks with sand. Easier than it sounds. You think you've done it and then go back the next day and it's all disappeared.

Still we're enjoying our newly renovated outside space. Still can't believe it's now finished, after years of putting it off.

Here's a picture looking at the house from the end of the garden.

Le patio

I apologise for the ack of updates over the past few days. I have been laying a patio, or to be precise, I have paved the outside of the back of the house. Had I not run out of sand I would also have paved the front. No. Had Jewson's been able to deliver after I had run out of sand then I would have paved the front.

It looks amazing. I know that's blowing my own trumpet, but you should see it. Ground Force couldn't have done a better job. Have some of this Dimmock!

Of course as with all matters involving hard graft building type stuff, I couldn't have done it if it wasn't for my Dad. He helped me get the levels and started me off on the bricks. That was after we spent about three hours trying to remove a tree root that seemed to grow vertically down.

The picture I'm attaching is as it looked this morning, before I added the finishing touches, like the shingle. This is the side of the house. There's a massive area round the corner. Still got to decide where to put the palm trees. More pics to follow.

Rapha three-piece suit

I can see what Rapha is getting at collaborating with suitmaker Timothy Everest on a three-piece suit - harking back to the golden age of gentleman cycling.

The difference is that in those days, around the turn of the last century, there weren't many cars around and therefore cycling was borne more out of necessity than choice.

Today cycling has become a lifestyle choice, a leisure pursuit, and I can't help thinking that, much like Rapha's splendid but ultimately useless tweed racing jacket, this is high-end cycle wear gone mad.

If I cycled to work I wouldn't do so in a three piece suit with pink flashes, because I'd have to change into something that wasn't drenched in sweat when I got there. Nice suit, granted, with some nice weatherproofing for the English weather.

I will shake the hand of anyone who dares to adopt it as everyday cycle-wear.

Bad look Broderick

Here is Matthew Broderick on his bike in somewhere like Hollywood presumably, teaming the Rapha lightweight jersey with denim jeans.

Rapha is one of those brands that lends itself very well to the part-sportswear, part casual look. Jerseys go very well with jeans, and Rapha has capitalised on this with its Fixed line.

But Broderick is just a mess. It's sloppy, basically. If you can't wear a Rapha top and look good then you're beyond saving. And what is it with that helmet? It's like he stole it from his daughter or something. While we're at it, what exactly is that bike? Is it one of those abandoned things that people just pick up and ride off on?

And to think, this is the man responsible for style icon Sarah Jessica Parker's babies. She must be beside herself with embarrassment.

It's enough to make me want to find another cycling brand.

Victorinox 125th Anniversary Airstream trailer

I never thought I would get excited over a caravan - I'd rather spend the astronomical cost of one on about a dozen luxury holidays in a hot climate instead.

But if I were forced to buy a caravan, say for instance if I decided to move to a field for the rest of my life, my choice would have to be an Airstream. These things actually make caravanning seem marginally cool with their aluminium aircraft fuselage-esque appearance and retro styling.

To celebrate its 125th anniversary, Victorinox, the Swiss Army knife maker and manufacturer of practical-if-lacking style-wise accessories has been let loose on an Airstream trailer.

Expect every edge to be a can opener and miniature saws to be built into the wheel hubs.

Cycle log 17/05

Got an absolute hammering from the weather this morning. The rain was torrential, the gales must have been at least force 20, and still I carried on, This was mainly because it let up a bit just as I was about to turn back, and then after a few minutes of dryness, enough to lull me into a false sense of security, along came the next lot.

Hardcore riding in that weather - gives you an idea of the sort of hardships the pro racers endure biking up mountains. Except the seafront is flat as a pancake.

Time:
Distance:
Average:
Max speed:

Rapha clobber
Lightweight jersey
Arm warmers
Lightweight gillet
Grand tour gloves
Racing cap
Merino socks
Fixed shorts

Art on show

You can now see a couple of my pieces at the Bang & Olufsen showroom in Leigh-on-Sea, where they will remain on permanent loan until they are sold.

Actually they will be there for the next two weeks, before they are replaced by an exhibition by a photographer as part of the Leigh Art Trail, and then they go back up afterwards. Next time you're passing, check them out.

For more information about Bang & Olufsen of Leigh, click here

Cycle log 16/05

See that? The little black broken line on the horizon? No it isn't something on the camera lens. It's what I will be running out to on May 30. Me and a few thousand others.

It's called the Mulberry harbour and it is basically a floating concrete pier, built during the war. It should be in France, along with all the other Mulberry harbours floated over to Normandy for the D-Day landings. Trouble is, this one broke and it's been sitting a mile and a quarter out in the estuary ever since.

You can walk out to it at low tide, when all the blue sea you can see is brown mud. It would appear that one day someone who walked out there decided it would be a splendid idea to organise a run out to it and back. And so we shall.

It's been a bit windy to say the least over the past few days, and this being only the second or third time back on the bike made it seem all the more difficult. At least it wasn't in my face, but it gave me a good broadside on more than one occasion.

Still loving being back on the machine again though.

Time:
Distance:
Average:
Max:

Rapha clobber:

Lightweight jersey
Fixed shorts
Merino gloves
Grand tour gloves
Racing cap