Monday 21^st February 2011

Yes, it’s open. After five years of intensive Tudorisation, the Tudor House at Hastings, by Angus Willis, international food writer, stylist and grapher, is finally open.

I’m just back from the weekend there, in fact Tudorised to an amazed standstill. Also smoked. I sat in the inglenook for authenticity, although not yet in one of the ruffs that Val is threatening to create for compulsory wear within the wattle and daub confines, equivalent to the skull caps required in gogues.

So you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for a full account.

Today I maided my wardrobe, a risky undertaking when feeling frail. I’ve mentioned before that my frockage is wheeling beyond my grasp. Remember those chestnut slacks, bought in the January sales at Prada, left in the shop for alternation, then forgotten about? That’s merely the iceberg’s tip. For some weeks I’ve had a nasty, dreamy, creamy lurking slime that certain garments need cleaning. This afternoon I thought I’d drench through and bundle up a therapeutic consignment for Jeeves of Belgravia (the only possible dry cleaner unless you are eager for court action).

But miracle of miracles! I checked with glasses on, all the suits, all the coats and outdoor jackets. No grime on the collars, no stains, not smelly, just a little crumpled. I can always home press.

So, no need to spend £200 at Jeeves of Belgravia. And dry cleaning is ruinous of a frock. You should hear Val on the subject. Much better to brush and sponge and air.

So that’s what I’ll do. I couldn’t believe it. The wardrobe nailed back into place in twenty minutes.

Example of a Ruff as Might Become Compulsory Wear for Entrants to Angus Willis's Hastings Tudor House