Two Chaps Talking

Mon Vieux,

‘Tis a Chap’s duty to attend any gathering of human beings
where electric soup is to be doled out. Ah yes, but what of gatherings
at Soho House? Or those guaranteed to be attended by readers of the Daily
Mail? Or the so-called President’s inauguration? Clearly festering
dung heaps like these should be sped past with the first-and-second fingers
of the left hand holding one’s nose and the first-and-second fingers
of the right hand offering a festive Christmas gesture.

Fair enough but what of the correct form for getting out of attending
these foetid orgies of crassness without causing offence to the innocent?
Ah well, those who paid attention to the words of wisdom that concluded
a recent Fortnightly Gazette will need no further instruction, but for
those of us who ‘read’ by skimming through looking for bold
headlines and pictures of scantily-clad fillies here’re some tips.

First, question who it is that would ask you to such a gathering (perhaps
some social pruning is in order?). Second, take a crayon and a flattened
cereal box (you may need help from an adult for this) and scrawl upon
it the words ‘Yew kno ware yew kan stik yore partie’.
Third, have your be-wigged and powdered footman deliver the message on
a silver filigreed salver, not because these miscreants deserve such quality
attention, but because you are a gentleman and it is the way things are
done.

Anyroad, moving on it is a Chap’s sworn duty as scion of the Empire
to attend any and all other gatherings where the right stuff can be got
outside of. He has after all a reputation to consider both as an Englishman
and a Gentleman. Accordingly he will need to pre-arrange a full blood
change for the first week of January, preferably drawn from a troop of
virgin Bob-a-Job boy scouts in Lucerne, Dib, Dib, Dib, as it were.

So (and here we freely misquote from the sainted PGW) with his hat, his
whangee and his yellowest gloves a Chap may sally forth unto the melee.

When attending parties a Chap should of course always be the best dressed
man in the room. Not particularly difficult in the New World though a
pre-season trip down Jermyn Street avoiding anything nouveau
or on sale is never wasted. However if oceans or suburban bargain hunters
prevent this then any old thing from his extensive wardrobe will still
stand him in excellent stead amongst the great unwashed. We find a claret
velvet smoking jacket (with frogged buttons natch), one’s grandfather’s
T&A starched front spread collar and a slightly faded fez usually
serve us well.

It least been my great pleasure to attend not one but two masquerade
balls this festive season. Imagine if you will my racing heart at the
thought of a bit of liaisons dangereux and some furtive festive
frottage with masks on and identities hidden. All under the watchful eye
of the Mem of course. Social ranks might be forgotten for the night, maids
might cavort with kings, knaves with Duchesses, stable boys with sainted
aunts. Though of course no one’ll go anywhere near Republicans because
they smell too bad.

All this is true and good. Couplings certainly did take place and there
is nothing to suggest that they didn’t concern those who under normal
circ’s wouldn’t have exchanged business cards, let alone fluids.
Furthermore in the spirit of goodwill there is a chance that a member
of Soho House may have crept into one of these gatherings: a man was seen
with his trousers round his ankles, his shirt on his head and truffled
pate de canard spread liberally across his hairless chest. Apparently
he was something called a ‘Charter Member’. We had our word
for him.

While assuming a pose of languid insouciance on the balcony at the latter
of these shindigs I was struck by some thoughts that might help steer
the less informed but still socially conscientious through the troubled
maze of festive etiquette. Allow me to share some of them with you.

Goosing:

A gentleman should hope to be goosed often if only to remind him of his
glory days in the lower fifth. That it isn’t now followed by half-an-hour
in the sixth form copse shows how far he’s come.

In addition it is incumbent upon a gentleman to goose ladies regularly
to show that though they may never know the love that dare not speak its
name they are still jolly fine, if a little odd, chaps and we’d
be sunk without ‘em.

Parties are a splendid place for the giving and receiving of gooses.
These should be administered in fully lighted places with plenty of people
around to avoid any suggestion of subsequent actions. The gooser should
ensure that the target area is far from any delicate bits. The goosee
should at most raise an eyebrow and feign ignorance of the gooser. Thus
the exchange will pass in the correct spirit.

Advances:

Let’s be frank here; mere mortals such as (believe it or not) the
Two Chaps do not get propositioned anywhere nearly as often as one would
expect. We won’t deny it has happened, but that may have been a
Russian circus tumbler after a night of absinthe slammers in Constantinople.
Anyway people do make and receive advances during the Christmas period,
not least when caught under the mistletoe, and this is to be enjoyed.

While under the mistletoe a chap may get slobbered over by a minger,
to use current parlance, which is devoutly to be avoided. Or he may get
some prime totty wrapping herself around him (fat chance) which is a delight
to all concerned. But he’d better make sure his face remains impassive
throughout in case the OB&C spies him. The key here is plausible deniability.
Otherwise there’ll be blood on the moon. Or at least on his brogues.

Travel:

A Gentleman would never ever drink the necessary life-giving nectar and
then grapple with the stick of his spitfire (this is not intended as a
double-entendre as he might well want some Dutch courage to grapple
with the stick of his Spitfire). Well actually come to think of it if
he was going to be actually piloting a Spitfire he probably would want
a bracer or two, so perhaps it was fine as a d-e after all. But I digress.
The point is that if all he was doing was heading homewards in Cov’s
Finest for nature’s sweet restorer and a change of apparel then
he certainly should eschew any business with the front end of the vehicle.
The easiest way to do this is simply to vow only to travel in the back
after the first cup. If there’s someone sober enough to drive then
all well and good. Otherwise he can sleep off the effects of the current
payload, grapple with the stick of his Spitfire, and then resume command
in the morning.

Giving Presents to One’s Boss:

Many things should be given to one’s boss and it ill becomes a
chap to wait for a national holiday to start the ball rolling.

Initially hand signals should be offered to his or her retreating back.
We find the universal two-fingered salute or indeed the undulating cupped
hand are great for starters.

Many look down on the drawing-pin-on-chair or bag-of-flour-above-door
gifts. We do not.

And if one’s boss has incurred our displeasure then we find horse’s
backsides a great supplier of ‘gift items’ for the offender’s
coat pockets. The response can be quite gratifying when one hears of one’s
boss furtively searching for their keys in a little-used pocket while
in the rain outside their house.

Giving Presents to One’s Actual Boss aka She Who Must Be
Obeyed, The Fragrant One, The Old Ball and Chain, The Memsahib, and of
course The Boss:

Without them we would be nothing but immaculately-dressed Flaneurs
with a fondness for the very best in life. With them we are immaculately-dressed
Flaneurs with a fondness for the very best in life and a variable detachable
conscience.

As small boys, when learning how to play cricket much was made of ‘walking’.
A timely lesson in deception it would, we were told, show the umpire that
you played off a straight bat and should be trusted in matters of judgement.

The same is true of one’s nearest and dearest. If, or rather when,
you fail, err, or bugger something up be the first to admit it. Loudly
call yourself all the names under the sun and don’t take no for
an answer in the matter of who’s the world’s biggest idiot.
Thus when you inevitably fail miserably to find anything that The Boss
would even want to be seen returning to the shop she will look upon you
with a benevolent eye and say something along the lines of ‘at least
you tried’. You can then offer to accompany her on a shopping expedition
to find something she actually wants. Which with any luck will see you
in the ladies’ under-things section of Saks or Selfridges for the
afternoon. Thus you are both the provider of quality gifts and the kind
of chap who’s not afraid to go shopping with the gentler sex when
required.

Carol singers: being one or dealing with them if you’re
not:

Chap knows what it’s like when he’s young, looking for love
and short of the necessaries to provide Lucky Jims with which to encourage
co-operation from the fairer sex. What to do? With card sharps, pan handlers
and costermongers already in plentiful supply there’s little else
left but Carol Singing.

In short; gather together a motley crew of heavies and comely maids,
distribute a smattering of the words to Silent Night, and bang on rich
peoples’ front doors thence to threaten their ear drums and more
if they don’t come across with the readies, and pretty sharpish,
if they get your drift.

If the right houses are chosen funds will immediately pour forth and
pubs can be adjourned to for well-deserved Christmas cheer restoratives.

On the other hand…

Upon perceiving the sound of strangled felines in one’s front garden
throw open the door, stare over the miscreants’ heads and say coldly
and sotto voce ‘Do you have any farking idea who lives
here?’ If the correct amount of menace is used then the crowd will
immediately fall silent and quite possibly sweep your lawn with doffed
caps upon their retreat.

Or else they’ll say, ‘We’ve got your number kind Sir.
Pay up. Or in the spirit of this festive season verily we will do you.’

Which means they have. So you should. Or they will.

Correct Greetings at This Time Of Year

We may offend some people here and for that we offer a hearty raspberry.
For you see some people need shaking out of the very worrying stupor into
which they have fallen.

Let’s start at the beginning. For as long as the Two Chaps can
remember Christmas Day has been on the twenty-fifth of December. Closely
followed by Boxing Day which falls on the twenty-sixth. Accordingly when
standing beneath a twinkly-lighted Christmas tree and having one’s
picture taken alongside a man dressed in a fur-trimmed red suit one should
offer the traditional greeting; Merry Christmas. Simple. One would not
dream of saying Happy Easter. Or Happy Saint Patrick’s Day. Or Happy
any-other-bloody-Day. It is Christmas.

Now we at Two Chaps Talking do not choose to burden our readers with
the type of temple to which we tip our caps (actually it would be a bar
and a particular cocktail but we digress). Furthermore we care not a tinker’s
cuss for that to which our dear readers raise theirs. Which is to say
we are equal opportunity Flaneurs and our church embraces all.

Thus at a particular time of year if we are greeted by Happy Diwali then
we show our delight by returning that same greeting. It doesn’t
make us Hindus, just polite. Similarly if such a thing were said wishing
someone a happy Ramadan would not make us Moslems.

And so when we choose to offer a hearty Merry Christmas we cordially
expect to be replied to in kind. What we do not expect is the non-religious,
non-specific, non-exclusive utterly generic piece of politically correct
b0110cks that is Happy Holidays!

You see Monday is Monday, Tuesday is Tuesday and Christmas Day is Christmas
Day. To say Happy Holidays is to wish a person a good two weeks in Majorca.

Saying Happy Christmas does not imply one dresses to the left or right,
it is simply to acknowledge the bloody calendar. Enough said.

And on that cheerful note my Dear Friend let me wish you and yours a very
Merry Christmas and a thoroughly splendid New Year during which we shall
mix freely, drink heartily and err, move to Hong Kong.

Yours in a pirate mask, expectant, under the mistletoe,

S