Marching On Together

Walking proudly along Briggate last Friday, my newly purchased Leeds United Scarf tucked beneath my double-breasted suit, I was beaming with happiness.

Never before has polyester felt so good.

After 53 years on this planet, I have become a football fan, the catalyst of which was making suits for members of their team who have been such a pleasure to deal with.

‘The beautiful game’ is a slippery slope to addiction.

I’ve found myself sneaking off to the “Cross Pipes” pub on a Sunday to watch the match, smiling to myself that Otley is probably one of the few places where you can enjoy morris dancing at half-time in the beer garden.

Driving down Scott Hall Road after a morning swim, I’ll often survey the increasingly impressive skyline and blast out “Marching on Together” on Spotify, to get the juices flowing before my first tailoring appointment.

My nephew Harrison, based in Melbourne, is a massive fan; he’ll get up at 3am to watch the match, and there’s no doubt our WhatsApp sessions during the game, continue to bring us closer together.

This weekend I got the footballing equivalent of a Willy Wonka golden ticket when I was invited to Elland Road for the Manchester United game, hence the need for my new scarf.

In business and life I’ve always been a (very happy) lone wolf.

A surfer, skier, swimmer, runner, sole trader, I’ve never played, or, worked in a team.

But that scarf, like a flag, is a very powerful thing in terms of what it represents and how it makes you feel.

To me, it speaks of solidarity, belonging, unity, a sense of family.

The streets around the stadium were filled with burger vans and lads guzzling beer in The Old Peacock Pub. The smell of vapes, fags and sizzling onions wafted in the air, as mounted police on horses produced an atmosphere something between a fairground and the Miner’s Strike.

Walking towards the North stand, shoulder to shoulder with fellow supporters, it felt rather wonderful to be a part of the tribe.

And make no mistake, tribal it is.

Forsaking a fringed buckskin war shirt for Michelsberg bespoke trench coat in a Loro Piana “Rain System” fabric, I was frisked and then entered through a revolving metal gate like something you’d find in a Supermax Federal Prison.

To the bar was our first point of call and never has a pint of Amstel in a plastic glass tasted so good.

And then, after a quick pee in some urinals that had never seen a scented candle, or, sniff of Molton Brown handwash, it was up the stone steps and into our pew at The Church of The Mighty Whites.

Our first hymn, “Marching on Together,” sent shivers down my spine, the hairs on my arms, standing on end.

Psalms of “W*nker” and “”Bruno’s a c u next Tuesday, olé, olé, olé” brought tears to my eyes.

I’ve never been one for festivals, concerts, stadium gigs, so this was my first experience of thirty six thousand people singing together, and that will live with me for the rest of my life.

Incredible.

In a world divided by religion, politics, class, here was a melting pot of people with a simple shared love for “Dirty Leeds” and that cauldron was ready for boiling over.

And then, Manchester scored.

Never have I heard silence like it, a shockwave of pain and anguish reverberating against the beating, broken hearts of the Leeds faithful.

And then all you have left is hope, belief and the words of Aragorn at the black gate of Mordor in The Lord of The Rings:

“A day may come when the courage of men fails…an hour of wolves and crashing shields, when the age of men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight!” 

And fight we did with Mr. Dominic Calvert-Lewin smashing it into the back of the net to equalise and that was the second moment that will live with me forever.

Madness. Utter chaos. Hugging. Screaming. From the depths of despondency and despair to enraptured jubilation, I can now see why football is so utterly and completely addictive.

Never have I felt a rush like it – magnificent.

It ended in a draw, and for my first Leeds match, I’ll settle for that.

There is no doubt, I’m now hooked, craving for my next fix, eying up the corporate packages before Willy Wonka bestows another invitation my way.

As Michelsberg customers, you too are a tribe, men with shared values who come to appreciate service, style and my most excellent company. ;-D

May we all, including LUFC, go from strength to strength over the coming years, marching on together in the finest of threads.

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Traditionally featured on dinner jackets, I’ve had one made up for the showroom in a navy corduroy, which creates a more relaxed vibe with a rakish feel.

Perfect for those aspiring lounge lizards looking to catch the eye of a spirited young gal over cocktails at The Renaissance Bar in St Moritz.

On a personal note, my DuaLingo Italian streak goes from strength to strength (600 days) and am delighted to report that “tutto va bene e la vita e bella!”

I continue to run joyously through the Otley Chevin with house music blaring in my ears, have had some outstanding surfing sessions on the East Coast and Devon over Summer and continue to come to work with a spring in my step and a hole in my wallet, courtesy of my teenaged daughters.

I’ve just renewed my lease for another 5 years and as part of a forthcoming revamp programme have just installed air conditioning into the Michelsberg emporium, ensuring you will now remain as cool as your threads.

I sincerely hope that 2026 has been a tale of positivity and good times at your end and always appreciate a ray of sunshine from yourselves in my inbox.

As many of you know, I’ve never been afraid of brandishing the “C” word with impunity, so here’s to fun and frolicks for us all as we count down to the most magical time of the year, Christmas!

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Firstly, I got tickets to see my favourite comedian, Kevin Bridges, and secondly I received a hand-written letter.

In a world increasingly dehumanised by technology, how wonderful to receive two ‘antidotes’ that celebrate the spirit of being human.

To me, one of the greatest gifts is shared laughter – it’s super-food for the soul, an infectious explosion of positive energy, the emotive glue that brings us together.

People like Big Kev, are doing God’s work, and the prospect of being in a room with thousands of people, crying for dear joy is honestly the best Christmas present I could have hoped for.

The festive season is a natural time for us to feel more human as we actively make time to physically be with each other.

Away from the noise and distractions of the daily digital grind, our overloaded brains can pause for thought, and that decompression can be a very powerful and often healing thing.

Time for ourselves is just as important as time spent with family, friends and work colleagues, and once those boxes have been ticked, we might then consider others further outside our radar.

A ninety year old friend of my grandparents, Janet, did just that when she put pen to paper to send me a Christmas message of good cheer.

A hand-written letter is a thing of rare beauty – thoughtful, highly personal – and those spidery, touching words, from that kind, frail hand, were utterly uplifting and rather moving.

Expressing our feelings through words is at the very heart of our humanity and is something to be cherished, not outsourced to ChatGPT and a Microsoft Azure data centre in San Antonio.

And now it’s my turn to pen some words to you, my customers and friends, and thank you for your business this year and the laughter we’ve shared over the ‘Michelsberg Dancefloor.’

Many of you have been kind enough to say what a wonderful experience you’ve enjoyed at my hands, but remember, it takes two to tango.

A showman needs his audience and to quote Bruce Forsythe, it’s been “Nice to see you, to see you nice!”

To see you in person, not through a screen, to shake your hand, find shared interests and even celebrate the delivery of your finery with a scotch and a man-hug.

To connect with someone emotionally is a very precious thing, indeed it’s the starting point of that most valuable thing we have on this planet, friendship.

So, here’s to friends, old and new, and a most wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Cheers!

James

x

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There is no other event I find more nostalgic.

As a young boy in the 1980s I’d be tucked up in bed, lights off, then sneak on my little white plastic Panasonic telly and let the hushed tones of commentator Ted Lowe wash over me.

The glow of the green baize of the Crucible Theatre was a beacon of the utmost tension and drama, as legends like Ray Reardon, Alex Higgins, Jimmy White, Steve Davis and Stephen Hendry crossed wooden swords, and went into battle.

Eyes glued to the screen, often holding my breath, I’d devour every pot, screw, stun, cannon, plant and kiss – utterly captivated by “The Gentleman’s Game.”

Born during The British Raj and played by army officers in their private members clubs, the dress code of ‘black tie’ continues to add real gravitas to the proceedings.

Casting my tailor’s eye over the latest finalists in this iconic snooker event, the best dressed man was left holding the trophy.

Shaun Murphy strikes me as a charming, decent, self-deprecating chap, but ‘ripped’ he is not, and probably no stranger to a fish butty.

Whoever tailored his trousers and ‘horse-shoe’ vest deserves a nod of my fedora as they fitted him beautifully, and his Louboutin patent dress shoes and self-tied bow tie were the perfect finishing touches.

Not all the players are as sartorially astute.

Judd Trump once declared in an interview, “I don’t know who comes up with the idea to wear a tie in this day and age, but it’s a stupid idea.”

This, from a guy who thinks a good idea is to “allow players to wear customised t-shirts.”

Yes, Judd.

And perhaps the next Bond should trade in his tuxedo for a logo festooned dart’s vest and joggers.

In fact, sod it.

Let’s host the next Masters in a trailer park in Western Virginia and the chaps can wear string-vests, cargo shorts and flip flops.

I’m sure The World Snooker Tour could find a local moonshine producer to sponsor proceedings and J.D. “Boss” Hogg and Sheriff Roscoe P Coltrane can provide the security.

Forgive my playful protestations but formality is as important to me as the rainforest is to David Attenborough, and both need saving

For too long, the rise of the Anoraks has continued unabated, but there is light at the end of this dark, nylon clad tunnel of degeneracy.

Managing Partners and CEO’S of large businesses have told me that “standards have slipped,” they want their people back in the office, and are leading by example, quite literally smartening up their appearance.

I passionately believe if you look good, you feel good.

And if you feel good, great things will come your way.

That’s the Universal Law of Attraction.

The first thing Kyren Wilson did once he’d lost the final was remove his light grey polyester clip-on bow tie.

Whilst a step in the right direction, sadly for him it was too little, too late, and the less said about his charva-tastic double ‘G’ Gucci loafers the better.

Like Shaun Murphy, my year has got off to a wonderful start.

I’ve had a record January and have managed (shaking away) to stay on the wagon as forgiveness for my considerable sins over the festive season.

Whilst I feel I deserve a crystal trophy for my Herculean effort at sobriety, I’ll make do with a cut glass tumbler of Negroni at The Flying Pizza to celebrate my wife’s birthday on the 31st.

Here’s wishing you all the very best as we move towards Spring and hope to see you soon for some more performance enhancing finery!

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When asked, How’s life? He roars back, “Bloody Marvellous!”

An hour in his presence and the world seems a better place.

Surrounding ourselves with people who are positive, kind and generous of spirit, is in my opinion, the key to happiness.

The festive season is the perfect time to spread good vibrations and this week I have certainly felt the love at Michelsberg Tailoring.

Customers have bestowed me with gifts, hugs and one of the most personal and utterly charming of items – a hand-written letter, thanking me for my service.

Good deeds are infectious – like Jack Nicholson’s line in ‘As Good as it Gets’ they make you “want to be a better man.”

So Christmas is the time to shine, to rise above those Bah Humbug!, mood hoovering half-cups and follow The Golden Rule of the birthday boy himself:

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

Too saccharine? A tad schmalzy??

I think not.

This is the perfect time for a little sentimentality, to move out of our emotional comfort zones and (Greg Wallace aside) connect with people on a more intimate level.

They say you should listen to your wife, your priest and your tailor.

So here’s my top tip for spreading a little goodwill to your fellow man.

Say “Good Morning!” to a total stranger.

Give then a big smile and if you’re lucky, they’ll smile back.

And that moment is worth more than a million ‘likes’ on Instagram, or Facebook.

It’s two people connecting as God intended.

Not Mark Zuckerberg.

So go forth my friends.

Wear your silly Christmas hats, drink, be merry and hug people with impunity – the world needs more hugs!

Here’s wishing you all a Bloody Marvellous Christmas and a Bloody Belting New Year!

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Highlights for me were post-surfing pints of cider in Cornwall and bezzing around the coves of Corfu in a speedboat, with only lunch and lashings of assyrtiko white wine on the agenda.

On the work front, I’ve made hay whilst the sun has shined and it’s now the countdown to Christmas.

As the North wind doth blow, the Michelsberg mankini must now be put in mothballs but there is still much to look forward to.

A veal wellington and glass of claret at Sous Le Nez, always tasting so much the better when the rain is lashing against the windows.

That first log fire at home on a Sunday, feet up, book in hand, the tinkle of ice against a crystal tumbler of Angel’s Envy bourbon.

In the film “The Gentleman” is the line, “For every look there is a season, and for every season a strategy.”

When the mercury drops in Naples, our espresso sipping counterparts won’t be scootering off to Mountain Warehouse to buy discounted fleeces and puffa jackets.

Their look might appear thrown together but in practice is given as much thought as the naming of their children.

The strategy is buying fewer things but of a higher quality, and layering these complimentary garments alongside beautiful accessories.

This is the time for soft woollen cloths and noble fibres like cashmere to shine, made up into enormous scarves, stylish knitwear, tailored jackets and overcoats that swish with all the splendour of a peacock’s tail.

They’ll have sunglasses, pocket squares, fur-lined gloves spilling out of their ‘barchetta’ out breast pockets; a travel bag crafted using the most beautifully distressed leather, aloofly slung over an unstructured shoulder.

Clothing to an Italian man is more than a means to keep dry and warm.

It is a religion, a passion, an art, something to take delight in and savour.

If you want some inspiration, check out photos of the January menswear show Pitti Uomo in Florence, where the best dressed men in the world congregate to flaunt their wears.

It’s a masterclass of confidence, creativity and sartorial flair.

Back in my home town of Otley, as the Chevin is enveloped by brooding skies and drizzle, the high street is less Rubinacci and more Millets chic.

Try and give a stranger a kiss on both cheeks in The Otley Tavern and you’ll get blood down your Brunello Cucinelli gilet, but the hot pork pies at Weegmanns beat any bowl of spaghetti alla puttanesca.

My Autumn / Winter bunches from my Neapolitan cloth merchant Ariston have just landed, and as I’ve delivered the majority of wedding suit orders for 2024, I’ve now time to channel my inner Giacomo, and treat myself to some new Winter clobber.

When the first frost hits the ground, that soft caress of a new pair of flannel trousers against my diminutive calf muscles will be a beautiful thing.

I feel the cold more and more each year so will take particular delight in further double-breasted numbers; perhaps one in wool-cashmere, another in a baby alpaca blend and finally, for that Boogie Nights vibe, one in Corduroy.

Even dressing down now holds serious pleasure for me, as I can get high on my own supply of Michelsberg made-to-measure knitwear, produced in Umbria.

I’m a delicate little flower with sensitive skin and can even find virgin merino wool a bit itchy, so I’ll be tucking into my cashmere & silk collection.

There are some new styles on offer, including a roll neck with “ribbed collar, hem an cuffs ” (presumably designed for increased pleasure?) and a new chunky knit cardigan with shawl collar, to go alongside my staple V-necks and long sleeve polo shirts.

On the chino front, it’s soft moleskin and ultra-fine corduroys; for casual trousers, a new ‘Jersey blend’ of wool, lyocell and cashmere, made softer by a semi brushed finish, and for a vintage feel, some new Japanese densely woven gaberdine cloths with a resilient, stiff, dry handle.

Hands up, there is serious damage potential to any man’s credit card at Michelsberg Tailoring.

Tweeds, tux’s, velvet dinner jackets, P-coats, Car Coats, Overcoats, (did I mention coats?) are all for the taking and your tailor’s warm embrace and a glass of Scotch is never far away.

Retail therapy always has it’s place and there is so much joy ahead – comfort food, warm ale, ski trips, Winter swells, black tie events, runs along frosty trails, long soaks in the bath, Bonfire Night with cigars and a fire pit.

Clambering into my Fiat 500 electric this morning, I slid the roof back with a smile on my face.

Chilly but with bright blue skies, I raised the collar of my Michelsberg trench coat, fired up Antonello Venditti’s ‘Grazie Roma’ on Spotify and slipped on my sunglasses.

James Michelsberg might live in Yorkshire but his heart is never far from the Tyrrhenian sea.

Ciao amici miei!

x

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Striding down Leeds’s principal shopping street on my way to work, the air crackled with that feeling of pre-Christmas excitement.
Swinging my brolly and doffing my trilby to the smiley faced security guard in Louis Vuitton, there was a veritable spring in the Michelsberg step.
December for me, is one of my favourite months of the year.
Running through the Otley Chevin that morning, the ground a glistening carpet of frosty leaves, the sky an ethereal glow of the palest pinks and powder blues, I felt privileged to be alive.
I know I’m waxing lyrical – horrifically close to dropping a #blessed – but oh! how I love the onset of winter and the countdown to Christmas.
After trimming the tree this weekend, I settled down with my daughters in front of the log fire to watch “The Grinch,” snug as a bug in my Ugg slippers, Michelsberg English half-rib cashmere roll neck and (naturally) a glass of Hine Rare VSOP Cognac.

This is the time of the year when I take my foot off the gas, misbehave and make time for drinks after work and of course, the long lunch.
My wife often says I have the mental age of a fourteen year old school boy, and to be fair she’s not far wrong!
A customer once told me it was important to grow old disgracefully and I couldn’t agree more.
I’d still love to be skiing, surfing and ‘havin’ it large,’ right up to St Peter’s Pearly Gates, and life without the odd cigar and bourbon and ice, would, for me, be certainly less well lived.
Acting your age is a dangerous business – the mantra of the beige anorak brigade – and a refusal to ‘behave,’ and ‘be sensible,’ speaks to me of youthful rebellion and a buccaneering spirit.

Two of my friends and longest suffering customers, David “Lord” Knaggs and Richard “Imelda” Larking, are doing just that, all set to row the Atlantic together in December 2025.
They will be sixty and fifty nine years old respectively when they set sail, their chosen Charities “Maggies” & “Friends of Alfie Martin.”
Naturally, a Michelsberg bespoke suit will be one of the auction prizes at their fundraising dinner, and I am genuinely thrilled to support such kind, decent, fun-loving individuals.
I only hope they will be drinking champagne and sporting their Michelsberg dinner jackets, as they cross the finish line in Antigua.
Gentlemen, Godspeed!

Whilst this is the time naturally for indulgence, it is also a time for reflection.
I am delighted to report it’s been another solid year in terms of business, and HMRC will no doubt be putting up the bunting as my Corporation tax, VAT quarter and Self Assessment statement swell their coffers.
This year I hit the snipers window and turned fifty, and so perhaps more than ever, have taken stock of my life to date.
I consider myself very lucky.
A loving childhood, wonderful job, happy family, treats in the diary and good friends to laugh with and make merry.
(I could have mentioned handsome, debonair, an inspiration, but as you know, I’m tremendously self-effacing.)
As for new challenges and goals, well that’s more difficult, because, honestly, I’m pretty chuffed with what I’ve got.
I’d like to try sailing, think I want a Labrador retriever in my life, and would one day love to spend Christmas day watching “Where Eagles Dare” in a Ski Chalet in the Swiss Alps.
As for now, it’s about protecting what I’ve got.
Doing my upmost to look after my customers like you, who continue to put food on the Michelsberg table.
So here’s thanking you all for your business and the fun times we’ve shared together in 2023.
Have a truly magnificent Christmas and all the very best for the New Year.
Cheers!

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Inhaling steamy notes of Bergamot and Eucalyptus, I closed my eyes, the gentle crackle of hot coals a nurturing beat in this oasis of tranquility.

And then the beat became… a ringtone?

To my complete and utter disbelief, the person next to me was hunched over his phone, making a call.

With my jaw clenched and heart thumping in my chest, I prepared to deliver this ignoramus a crash course in common decency.

Luckily for my blood pressure, his callee didn’t pick up, and staring at him with all the disgust I could muster, watched him scuttle off back to the dark corner from whence he came.

Now irritated, with shoulder muscles like guitar wire, I stomped past the Jacuzzi, to see TWO girls bobbing amongst the whirling jets, phones held to their faces.

Tutting away to myself like Victor Meldrew, I headed to the locker room, where a man in Prada pool slides and Gucci tracksuit was loudly discussing (on speakerphone) the installation of an air-conditioning unit.

Finally in the clubroom on the way out, a little boy shoved crisps in his face as his frowning father sat opposite, head down, consumed by his phone.

Is there no escaping the pervasive reach of technology in our lives?

Like a bottle of icy cold Chablis on a hot Summer’s day, we just can’t leave it alone, slaves to the screen, powerless to resist.

Remember the human batteries scene in The Matrix?

Well to me, the world now feels like that – all of us ‘plugged in’, our brains devoured by the apps we inhabit, our eyeballs sold to the highest bidder.

How many hours are spent, aimlessly scrolling through, or spewing into the ether, absolute boring as bat-shit drivel?

The problem is, our devices are always with us, there in our pocket, on our wrist, mewing away like a spoilt little child, demanding our attention, offering a gateway to a billion terabytes of absolute bollocks.

And I’m certainly in no position to take the moral high ground.

Whilst I have no personal interest in social media, from a business perspective I’m all over it like a rash, flaunting my threads on Instagram and Facebook.

Right now as you read this blog, there are probably entire server farms, overheating and on the brink of collapse, such is the magnitude of the Michelsberg following online.

Whilst one of my motives for spreading the word is profit, ultimately I’m trying to inspire a chap to take pride in his appearance.

If I can convince just one business professional to trade in his anorak or gilet for a tailored jacket, then my work is done.

But please don’t get me wrong – mobile devices can be a wonderful thing.

Whilst on holiday this Summer in Portugal, I could check the surf webcams, facetime my brother in Melbourne and respond to enquiries from customers promptly.

But I used it on my own terms.

A quick 30 minutes in the morning and then that addictive, time hoovering little git, was switched off and chucked in the safe.

On my last morning at Amado beach, enjoying a post surf Sagres beer and tosta mista, I overlooked the crashing waves and sat in splendid silence.

Soaking up the sun, I allowed my mind to wander, to drift, to think, to do what most of us so rarely get the chance to do.

Chill.

No texting, no whatsapping, no emailing, no scrolling.

It does concern me that so many of us, myself included, have become so seduced and reliant on technology.

With two young daughters, my wife and I do what we can to try and explain the need to use devices sensibly and safely.

I applaud Dove’s recent emotional and hard-hitting advert, highlighting children with anxiety, depression and eating disorders, with the tag line “Social Media is harming the mental health of 1 in 2 kids.”

How refreshing to see something negative about technology.

As far as Michelsberg Tailoring goes, I will always find time for the ‘old ways.’

A Montblanc pen and leather bound tome to take orders, a telephone call to book you into the diary and say ‘thank you’ for a referral.

To wallow with you in the absolute joy of being together face to face, not on a Teams call, sharing laughs, talking life and fine threads.

Our life on this planet is short, and I want to live it as much as possible with real people, not machines.

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Like Michael Douglas in ‘Falling Down,’ a recent article in The Telegraph brought me perilously close to darkening the doors of McDonald’s

“Kiwi shoe polish to disappear as UK no longer cares about shiny shoes.”

I’ve blogged long and hard about the horrific demise in standards of dress in this country.

But it is in the workplace where most damage has been done, many of our business professionals (to quote ‘Withnail & I’) “reduced to the state of a bum.”

Big Tech are now the Rock Stars of Wall Street and ‘The Geeks have inherited the earth.’

They lounge on bean bags in grey hooded tops and sneakers, their sweatpants bulging with bitcoin, as we queue to buy their shiny devices, serving up a soul destroying soup of apps with the moreish qualities of crystal meth.

But hear this my friends.

We may have to communicate through them (Teams), we may have to shop with them (Amazon), we may even have to find love with them (Match.com) but we sure as hell don’t have to dress like them.

The article in The Telegraph explained that the armed forces, “accounts for more than half the polish sold globally.”

I brought this up with Joseph McNamara, a recent customer about to leave Sandhurst and start his career as an Army officer.

As he stood there in my showroom, resplendent in his new double-breasted chalk striped suit, I asked him why standards of dress are so important in the Armed Forces.

He said this:

“It’s about attention to detail. Doing the little things right and setting an example to those who look up to you. You might have been on exercise for eighteen hours with no sleep, but when you get back to barracks, you clean your rifle, powder your feet and polish your boots.”

“First impressions count. What would my unit think, if I turned up on parade in muddy boots?”

And that’s exactly what I’m talking about.

Would you trust a surgeon to operate on you, if you spotted during the consultation she had a dirty nail? How clean is that scalpel going to be??

Would you retain a lawyer with a button missing from his un-ironed shirt? Has he been bothered to read the small print of that contract??

Taking pride in one’s appearance extols the values of order and discipline, and the very act of dressing for work, gets your mind ready for work.

And the beauty is it works both ways.

Taking off that immaculate Michelsberg bespoke suit at the end of a long hard day and slipping into a Michelsberg smoking jacket and embroidered slippers, helps you wind down and relax.

“Are you listening to me, son? I’m givin’ you pearls here.” (Scent of a Woman)

Whilst The Pandemic and Working From Home have been blamed for sloppy dress, it is in truth our business generals and lieutenants who are responsible for allowing standards to slip so shockingly.

I suppose it’s understandable to some degree.

We’ve all to some extent been seduced by the highly influential, inspirational, talked-about scuffers of Palo Alto.

But enough is enough.

Business leaders of Yorkshire and beyond, I beseech you.

A puffa jacket worn with zippered v-neck sweater and trainers is fine for a Sunday stroll, but NOT the armour in which to lead your troops into commercial battle.

Start with baby steps at first – possibly introduce ‘dress-up Fridays.’

Lose the athleisure wear and go out for drinks after work dressed like ‘Reservoir Dogs.’

Trust me – it’ll bring you closer together and you’ll all feel an inch taller.

Dump the high tech walking shoes and invest in a pair of beautiful Wholecuts, Oxfords, or, Brogues.

Your Country needs You.

Kiwi Shoe polish needs you.

Do your Duty.

Dismissed!

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