Dress

Morning good people, fans of tales from Sir Guestling.
Today I am going to write one of my periodic rants, my old Gramps, as I called him used to say that sometimes you have to get things off your chest, it cleanses the mind!
I'm a proud Englishman, okay if your delved back far enough, it may not be 100% but the Thorn family has been here a long time. So I feel I am eminently qualified to comment on my fellow English. Lady Guestling would disagree, she maintains I be hard pressed to describe two flies on a window but she has never had much time for opinions other than her own of course.
I pride myself that I have a certain sartorial style and the very lest know that you don't wear sandals with socks or mix check shirts with check shorts or trousers. In a world where there are a veritable plethora of fashion advice in magazines, newspapers and something called the internet, why is it that the so many Brits have no clue how to dress? The English have for years had a certain style of dress which while it may not carry the panache of the Italians or the chic of the French, ours is the cut of the gentleman and the couture of the lady.
Lady Guestling would never think of leaving Thorn Towers without being turned out smartly for whichever of her myriad of events that she constantly seems to be attending.
Guesty I am off she will call to me.
Have fun dearest, is my reply, I have no clue where or what she is doing but I'm certain she is dressed appropriately. 
If you look like a four hundred pound hippo why would you inflict all of that bulbous flesh on the rest of us in your shorts and vest? When they leave their houses it is obvious that they do not posses a mirror or in some cases perhaps it is not wide enough to show them the full view!
It seems that there is a vast army of Brits who have eschewed any attempt to wear anything but baggy ensembles that would be best kept in the back of the wardrobe for when they are lazing around the home, instead it would seem they are content to inflict their lack of dress sense on the rest of us.
Now, I hear you saying, Sir Guestling how do you know anything about it, your clothes are laid out for you by your faithful Pomfrey and you are always turned out like the true English gent and you positively avoid any contact with the great unwashed wherever possible. I grant you being a snob is not easy and there are certain rules and standards one needs to adhere too but I am not blind and even from the window of the Bentley I regrettably observe the horrifying array of fashion walking through our towns and cities. 
One last thing, now whilst at my advanced middle age I am no longer the svelte lad I used to be and perhaps there is a touch of the old green eye, who is perpetuating this current fashion for men, of skinny clothing so tight you can see how excited they maybe getting. 
It is not attractive and makes them all look like they have no conception of size, their's or the clothes!
Well I'll finish my rant there, I can hear Pomfrey's plodding steps coming down the hall to my chamber. He'll be assisting me to ready myself for a visit to my tailor, I am not buying or getting measured for anything but they have sent me a rather insistent letter claiming that my account is long overdue for payment and I feel obliged to pay them a call!
It' all go!