Mad dogs and Englishmen
IN TROPICAL climes there are certain times of day when all the citizens retire to tear their clothes off and perspire — all, as Noel Coward observed, except for the visit- ing Englishmen, out there in the midday sun. Englishmen dress for it. Bankers and others setting off for an arduous swan round the Far East make their first stop in Piccadilly to kit themselves out with a tropi- cal wardrobe at Airey & Wheeler, the 113- year-old firm of specialist warm-weather tailors. Pinfeather suits, safari suits, stripy seersucker suits, gleaming gubernatorial white suits — I am sure that they would run a topee up to order. In the jungle town where the sun beats down to the rage of man and beast, the English garb of the English sahib merely gets a bit more creased. . . . Now I am dismayed to find a closing-down sale on. Bidders have been expressing interest in this unique business, but unless one comes through with a deal, the doors will shut next month. Then the visiting bankers will flop out of aeroplanes looking as if they have been wrapped in wet dishcloths, the natives will giggle, the City's prestige will collapse, and the mad dogs will have the midday sun to themselves.
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