I hear that there is a $100 reward for reading this blog all the way through…
The Fop, A Sympathetic Dandy excerpt.
I was forced to accompany father on the fox hunt today. I have resisted doing so for many months now, for I find it to be a cruel and humiliating custom — the scarlet hunting coats are not at all in the day’s fashion, and the hounds give off a horrid and pungent odour. But with this day being the last of the season, father was insistent that I attend, and sought to persuade me by indicating that many captains of industry would be present, and that my acquaintance with them would well serve my future in the railways business. What a bunch of rot! I couldn’t give a sod about the wretched captains of industry, and am only engaged in the railways as a means of securing my monthly stipend!
Father’s adamance won the day, however, which started on a dreadful note as a result of my attire. I recently acquired a lovely tweed overcoat, and I envisioned that it would present itself splendidly against the background of the moors of the hunting grounds — particularly so when matched with my frilly stockings. Father disagreed and, all red in the face at my ensemble, he ordered me back to the wardrobe, where I was fitted with a scarlet hunting jacket at least two measures too large. This first incident set the note for the remainder of the day, which was an absolute anguish.