Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Sunday, 2 June 2013
Intimate affairs with inanimate objects
I've just put a light buff of wax onto the new Crockett and Jones', lovingly coddled them in the green beize, individual bags with gold(en) tagged draw-strings, and nestled them back into the dark green box with the 'By Appointment' logo on the lid.
While I was about it, I put some wax onto the other two pairs of brown ones as well. There is no better way of re-kindling your love-affair with a well-worn pair of shoes than to give them some gentle care and attention. The same applies to your actual feet as well, and - rather like the Prince of Wales gets his shoes polished by a servant - Jim Froggatt gets his feet polished by someone who can actually reach them - so he tells us.
Feet and shoes are possibly our most underestimated servants, being the closest thing to the ground during waking hours. All that dust and dog-shit, puddles and pavements, day in, day out, and no mouths to complain about it.
The Prince of Wales also gets his guns cleaned by a servant after a hard day's shoot as well, so he also misses out on the intimate relationship that is built up between gun and cleaner which - over time - develops into another sort of love affair with a well-built inanimate object.
There is a story that - as a young woman new to public office - the Queen Mother was once handed a fountain pen with which to sign some sort of document, but whoever handed it to her forgot to take the cap off. She looked at it in bewilderment for a few seconds, never having taken the cap off a pen before in her life. The attendant - realising his mistake - quickly removed the cap, and the Queen Mum instantly recognised the implement in her hand and knew how to use it. This may not be a true story, but I bet it's not far from the truth.
Her daughter (Gawd bless 'er) is a much more hands-on sort of person, and is often seen driving a beaten-up, short wheel-based Land Rover round the estate to inspect fence-posts, or whatever. I don't think it is possible to sit on a horse on hard tarmac and keep it under control when someone is taking pot-shots at you with a starting-pistol, without being good at what you do.
Talking of well-built inanimate objects, I see they have just brought out a sex-toy doll which is so realistic that the only thing stopping me from buying one is the price. I can just about stretch to a pair of good boots, but this thing is out of my league.
It's a pity, because - like the boots and guns - I could see myself developing a loving relationship with one during the essential, long periods of vital maintenance. Maybe HRH has got one? If so, I bet he doesn't entrust it's cleaning to a servant in a brown top-coat, out in a shed in the garden.