THE VIEW FROM HEREI DON'T know whether it includes brass buttons but Martin Schauder’s policeman’s outfit has proved a costly affair for the German authorities.Police officer Schauder says it takes him 15 minutes a day to don his uniform and equipment, including his pistol, handcuffs and gas canister. Demanding payment for his time, he took the case to court and was awarded an extra week’s wages for every year of his service.
I like Herr Schauder’s style. Clothes are all part of the job.
Who can forget Prince Charles’s special gardening outfit, an extraordinary brown dressing-gown with embroidered symbols and vast pockets? Just the sort of loopy thing in which to potter among one’s herbs, with plenty of space for the royal trowel or drafts of petulant letters to be fired off after luncheon.
I spend at least 20 minutes getting dressed before I can write so much as a word.
First there’s the special T-shirt, bearing the slogan "Deadline? What deadline?" and my crinoline skirt, modelled on a design originally worn by the Bronte sisters.
On my head, a Great Gatsby hat, created in finest linen by bespoke milliners in homage to Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, and beneath that, a green eye-shade.
Finally, I have to lace up my kicking boots and pack my canvas haversack with enough supplies of hob-nobs, cigarettes and bourbon whiskey (ah, dear Ernest Hemingway, what an inspiration) to get me through the day.
I am sure the County Press will understand the pressure this puts me under and will be delighted to make the necessary adjustments to my remuneration.
I'm claiming for the extra dressing time
Here comes Cowes Week, with its annual mix of sturdy sailing, street merriment, ruddy-faced yachties swaggering four-abreast along the pavements, and partying all around the town.
Etiquette plays a big part if you want to be seen in the right places and writer Christopher Matthew had a tip for his friend Des Lynam when they recently co-presented a radio programme.
Christopher Matthew recalled the time he went to the regatta, suitably attired, as he thought, in his nice blazer with brass buttons. Strolling through Cowes, he met a friend who was "high up in one of those posh clubs." Unfortunately, he was then told by this friend it would be impossible to invite him into the club for a drink.
"It’s the blazer, I’m afraid," said this swanky chap. "If you wear brass buttons, it signifies you’re a member of a crew and we can’t have crew members coming in."
Christopher Matthew told Des Lynam not to take any chances. "If you’re thinking of going to Cowes and you want to get a drink anywhere, don’t wear brass buttons."
Can this be true? It sounds fantastic, even though brass buttons tend to be the province of the caddish or the bourgeois. They are often favoured by Latin lovers with wolfish leers, or dreadful old bores in roll-neck sweaters who prop up the bar in the pub on Sunday mornings and bang on about left-wing layabouts.
Still, if you were banned from posh clubs for being wolfish or boring, there’d be nobody left at all.
I tried to get the definitive answer on brass buttons but largely in vain. The Royal Yacht Squadron was disinclined to discuss the matter. Actually, this seems to be its default position with me whenever I ask a question. It usually comes up with a brush-off which bears absolutely no relevance to my inquiry.
"The secretary has been in the States," it said this time.
Gieves & Hawkes, those illustrious tailors, said: "We have decided not to comment on this."
One former army officer told me brass buttons were non-U, while another insisted the Brigade of Guards wore them on their boating jackets.
If you’ve got the answer, let us know. There are men out there with brass buttons and they need to ascertain if they’ll pass muster at Cowes, or whether they should just hand over their blazers to the nearest Italian gigolo.