We know it’s not cool to dress like a master of the universe right now, and the lunchtime crowd at the Ivy on Tuesday were less Madoff than Man at C&A. Regulars have always been more fashionable than Fashion, considering themselves too serious and important to appear to pay attention to clothes, but the abundance of pastel jumpers suggests a trend reminiscent of Nineties black-nylon stealth wealth. Perhaps dressing like a contestant in a celebrity golf challenge indicates a cannily egalitarian sympathy with the miseries of middle management. Sartorial stress is creeping into other outposts of the Caring empire. At Annabels, that little corner of London society that is forever Fulham, chubby Sloanes still tumble like Labrador puppies across the bar, but a Heepish notice pinned prominently near the powder room pleads with members not to spoil “our lovely club’ by disporting in suede trousers and exposed undergarments. Yet how exactly ought one to dress for the end of the world?
No such anxiety pertains here in the Tarn-et-Garonne where, like most things, the credit crunch has come late. Perhaps France’s poorest departement might come out of this rather well, as people here have always preferred to keep their money under the bed. Much commiserating in ‘le cluboose” about wheat falling to 100 euro a tonne, but otherwise it’s all go in Cazes-Mondenard. Monsieur Hiche has set up his still by the graveyard as he has done for fifty years and the moonshined hunters roar about the lanes blasting cheerfully at the boar, a new boulangerie has opened and Pierrette the grocer has ordered eight kilos of coquilles St Jacques for St Sylvestre. The firemen have been round with their calendar, featuring a festive full-colour photo snapped by the mayor when the Ghisberts’ house burned to the ground last year. After the self-indulgent shrillness of London, there’s something oddly reassuring about being in a place where life is still properly hard and no-one has ever had much to lose, where controversy surrounds whoever ploughed up the mushroom wood and a lost cow makes the news. Come the revolution, Montcuq will be a lot safer than Mayfair. Overalls and hand –knitted sweaters are much worn, and magenta remains the hair tint of choice for ladies. Accessorizing for Armageddon, one might do worse than a shotgun and a pint of eau de vie.
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