Forgive me, dear reader, if I pause here for a moment to comment upon this word ‘bespoke’. Its origin is simple – deriving from the action of the customer in choosing a piece of cloth, which was thereby ‘bespoken for’ – but it has recently been the cause of some controversy. There are nowadays, largely for commercial reasons, those who use ‘bespoke’ as a synonym for ‘made to measure’. This is a pity. Traditionally, ‘bespoke’ has meant far more than that. In particular, it has required certain techniques in the making of the garment which have been (and are) inevitably time-consuming and expensive. In particular, these have involved the making of paper patterns for the individual customer and the canvassing of the garment by hand, with a floating canvass and not the cheap substitute of a fused interlining (used widely in garments by lesser tailors). To lose this meaning of ‘bespoke’ would be a serious loss. Be assured that at Henry Poole only bespoke tailoring in the traditional sense is countenanced.

So let me proceed to the choice of my material. I must admit at once that I am not one of Mother Nature’s country people. Still, there are occasions when I visit the countryside and I thought that I really did need a suit for such circumstances. The hosts and my fellow guests are off jumping hedges in pursuit of wild animals and I am left to sit about with a few back issues of Country Life and a snifter of single malt. I need to be wearing a good suit, if I am not to look out of place in the Morning Room. Such a suit need not be heavy – indeed, I determined that it definitely must not be heavy, for hunting boxes even in the remotest of locations are heated like greenhouses these days. But it should look as if it could protect me against a force ten gale. Mr Alexander came up with the perfect cloth – green, with a subtle over-check in lines of black, yellow and red and with a weight of only eleven ounces. It was appropriately named, ‘The Glorious Twelfth’, and was made by Porter & Harding in an appropriate place, the capital of North Britain, Edinburgh. Looking at it, I knew that it would also fit in jolly well with all those country suits which surround me each year in Whitehall on January 30th – outside the Banqueting House, at the annual Commemoration of the Martyrdom of King Charles I.

A three-piece suit seemed appropriate. (This meant that the price would be £3,229.43, including V.A.T. A two-piece suit would have been £3,004.87.) I decided upon a single-breasted jacket, with peaked lapels. An extra outside ticket pocket would be on the right side, a single vent would be in the rear and the lining would be red, of the brighter sort. The waistcoat would be single-breasted, with 6 buttons (5 to fasten), a strap and buckle to the rear and an extra (vertical) buttonhole for the chain of my pocket watch. The trousers would have turn-ups, a button fly, straight side pockets, no back hip pocket, a front inside lining, double pleats of the English sort (i.e. facing inwards), a ‘braces back’ and buttons for braces – as always, the front ones outside and the back ones inside (to protect the seat leather of the Royce when I drive jacket-less).

Mr Alexander asked whether I would like the distinctive features of a country suit. I rejected the three cuff buttons, going instead for the usual ‘city’ arrangement of four, all to be working. But I accepted the ‘swelled’ edges to the jacket and waistcoat and the raised side seams to the trousers. If you look carefully at the pictures, you might be able to discern the effect of these country features.

In due course the first, second and third fittings came and went. The length of the sleeves was adjusted, the waist of the trousers and the waistcoat was taken out and the fit around one shoulder was improved. Then, when the perfectionist demands of Mr Alexander were satisfied, it was finished.