BUNKING DOWN in Eastbourne thank fully didn’t last too long with Le Colonel stepping, well flying in to rescue his old chum Skylon.
After several hours mixing cocktails on the roof of the town’s little pier, a Globemaster broke the night time horizon and collected my good self utilising a former CIA escape route known as ‘Sky hook’.
After all my efforts to depart the Grand with as much of my wardrobe as humanly possible, I had to leave all but the ‘shirt’ on my back as I made Le Grand Depart.
I say shirt on my back, but it was the delightful pique army green polo shirt from the Italian master Paul & Shark Yachting.
The two (wooden) button placket shirt, comes in ‘shark fit’ well slim fit, and is also in navy, sporting the P&S badge on the chest.
I was told once that wearing cords meant you would have a good day and mindful of needing the best of days as I hung form the bottom of the gargantuan Globemaster I went for the Levi harvest cords.
The lightweight, low cut jeans are, well, superb, I wore these with a smooth pair of Burlington Argyle socks, I went for the Preston navy orange, but I could have chosen any really, they are all superb.
In my haste to hold on to my cocktail mix, I sadly saw my Persol foldable Havana sunglasses fall into the sea. I always love the Persol range, which fold up like Origami, and are an icon of the shades world.
Footwear wise I preferred to arrive with a definite dash of Old Albion, so I sported the Beeswax desert boot from Clarks. The metal eyelet, handmade, metal eyelet boot, with a leather upper and crepe sole is a treat to the feet and the eye, and works superbly, even if I say so myself, with my escape uniform.
Only one form of complaint about my old pals escape plan was that loss of several glasses of superbly mixed drinks, to which I had added a large quantity of gunpowder.
This wasteful spillage caused severe damage to old pavilions roof and several drunken well-wishers, who supported my departure with a volley of beer bottles and some comic mooning.
I like the working classes, they do make great servants, but they also run quickly when high explosive cocktails reign down on them.
That’s the real term of Upper Class, if you ask me.
So, I have now decamped in Spain, on the Costa del Crime, as it is known amongst the law breaking cognoscenti.
I have pitched up, thanks to the Colonel with an unlikely group of ner do well gangsters. Hatchet Norris, a cannonball headed man and one time safecracker, who favours English threads, and anything Albion based.
Dave ‘The Bed’ Treadmill, famous for illegal pharmaceutical sales across the globe, ingeniously hid in gym equipment for the elderly, hence the name.
Dave has a wide love of all sportswear and champagne. Then there is Pete ‘The Claw’, don’t even ask, but he does have impeccable taste in clothes.
So I find myself sat sipping cocktails listening to tales of wild law breaking and gun ho lifestyles, I have no idea why this appeals to a mild mannered man like yours truly, but I have continued to evade arrest.
And I will definitely drink to that.