As I mentioned in an earlier post, I recently brought my Barbour jacket in for reconditioning. Today I got it back from servicing. You wouldn't think that merely picking up your coat at the cleaners, which is effectively what I did, would be such a big deal, but in a way it was. The salesman was polite and called me 'Sir'. When he brought my coat out from the backroom, he asked whether I wouldn't like to wear it out, as it was bit chilly today. When I said yes, he held it open and helped me into it. I almost burst into tears. No-one ever treats me like a gentleman. the Barbour in action
So I found this picture of myself being a gentleman in my Barbour coat, that is sitting outside in the countryside drinking British beer in front of a table festooned with freshly made sausages and the head of a pig. (yes, that's really a pigs head. It's a long story best saved for another post.) I wish I could remember what prompted the aloof scowl on my face. I'd like to think of something romantic, but it was probably just the smell coming off of that table.