Watch: For everyday wear and tear, either of the Breitlings. For dress, the Patek Philippe my father-in-law gave me for my 25th birthday.
Suits: Made for me. I want it designed
for me, not for the designer or its shareholders. There is no greater luxury than one's own suit. Accordingly, if spending, it's either Henry Poole or Kilgour, French and Stanbury. If not spending, there's a retired chap who works from his home in North Oxford and I'm not giving you the name because I'm selfish like that. Really, truly, there is nothing finer than having one's clothes made for one. Cheaper than many "brands", too. Psychologically, one cannot afford to go mass-market with a suit. Horrifically vulgar.
Shirts: Hilditch & Key and Thomas Pink.
Cufflinks: Longmires, obviously.
Ties: As suggested by the tailor, usually Italian silk. My only stipulation is that they bear no pattern. Ugh. Patterned ties are the work of Satan.
Night attire: Derek Rose.
Shoes: Slight problem with only having one foot (too long a story for those who don't know), so this should really be "shoe" - John Lobb, or Church's. I do sometimes wear the prosthetic foot so I do buy pairs, just in case anyone was wondering why I would only buy one shoe.
Trainers: No, never. I would feel cheapened inside.
Casual "shoe": JP Tods.
Jeans: Good grief
no. I see no reason to lower myself. The children wear them, but they'll grow out of them, both literally and metaphorically. Indian linen trousers that I can only seem to find in a few shops in Rome and Naples are about the limit.
Shaving: Trumper's soap, Trumper's razor. l'Occitane en Provence is an acceptable alternative.
Smell: Acqua di Parma, Trumper's Extract of Limes or Penhaligon's Endymion.
Coffee: As with Bryce, JBM - Langford Brothers Original JBM if it
must come ready ground (everything else tastes like firelighters) but there's a deli close by that sells the beans, very reasonable price too. The Mother tends to smuggle in a kilo or two when she visits from Jamaica; almost worth the hassle of her visiting. (Note "almost"). If there has to be anything else, Illy at a push (I write that to keep the wife happy). Always triple espresso. If you have children, you'll understand why.
Beer: Guinness. For my slight iron deficiency. Honest. Otherwise, no lager, just bitter and not particularly fussy about that except I tend to stay away from the mass brewery effluent.
Wine: France for red; France, South Africa and Australia for white.
Drink: Cointreau. Yes, I know that's very camp. But me
like. Sweet tooth. Can't drink whisky - through choice, not medical reasons.
Champagne: Never pink, always vintage and preferably Krug or vintage Widow. Non-vintage Widow is an obscenity. Cristal is like bleach.
Breakfast: Coffee. Orange juice - preferably feshly squeezed but Tropicana or its equivalent will do if there's
really no option. If in season, figs from the tree in the garden (if it ever fruits again). More coffee. Once I've made the children's breakfasts, somehow I can't face anything to eat but usually need more coffee to try to summon up any enthusiasm for how they've managed to destroy the house
again.
Water: San Pelligrino.
Steak: Thick, rare, bloody.
Flesh.
Food: We eat as a family, so we tend to eat what and when the children eat. There are limits - mashed up baby food isn't that appealing. But it also means we can wean the children away from rubbish. Perhaps I should have phrased that as "the children eat what we eat". Bread I tend to avoid - bulk carbohydrates aren't the easiest things to burn off in a wheelchair. Pasta is unavoidable.
Women: Dr Isabella Stewart, now and forever. Everyone else can bugger off right now. (
As if there's a queue)
Children: All of them.
Favourite Cities: Oxford, London, Paris, Munich, Naples, Rome and Venice. Having travelled and seen, there's little purpose in going anywhere else.
Hotel: Villa Cimbrone nr Amalfi. This is the most extraordinary place I've ever seen, ever stayed; you must go.
Holiday destination: North shore, Jamaica; although as my mother lives there, not so much a holiday as a necessity.
Partner in Crime: Whichever of the children needs to hide from their mother when she's on the warpath.
Car: I don't drive any more, but largely encouraged by me, the Mrs has just acquired a Mazda RX-8 which looks particularly fine; at least it's a bit more inspiring than the Ford Galaxy thing we tend to bomb around in. The wife approves of Maseratis.
Firearm: I see no reason to possess a handgun for non-military use, other than some sort of mental retardation. Which, intrinsically, isn't "reason".
Sport/recreation: Swimming. Winding up the children something rotten. Changing nappies. Used to do wheelchair basketball but that can be very violent, especially when the ball crashes into one's nads.
Gadget: Espresso machine. Never lets me down. As for other gadgets, we've been married for thirteen years so draw your own conclusions.
Fussy old twit, aren't I?