<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8325767232613604750</id><updated>2011-11-27T16:51:56.203-08:00</updated><category term='Kilgour'/><category term='Scooter'/><category term='Savile Row'/><category term='GS'/><category term='Fox Hound'/><category term='Tailors'/><category term='Drapers.'/><category term='Mods'/><category term='Beagle'/><title type='text'>Mod Meets Mayfair</title><subtitle type='html'>Savile Row; The Mod Scene, and the Ivy League. I see true fashion and style as an organic process. Writing is an organic process too. I dedicate my writing to Cheryl and Bernie.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Peter Bailey: AKA Frank the Mod</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15633948863279715132</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/STz1oNG1hOI/AAAAAAAAAAc/yYx70S198w4/S220/Peter40.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>6</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8325767232613604750.post-8610285027793010216</id><published>2009-07-19T00:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T12:47:30.945-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Scooter'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='GS'/><title type='text'>Labels don't matter.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/SmPQc6VkZgI/AAAAAAAAABo/WMLPJbIwAew/s1600-h/GS+Racer.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360357176615659010" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/SmPQc6VkZgI/AAAAAAAAABo/WMLPJbIwAew/s320/GS+Racer.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Flutter flutter, screech Alfie pulled in the clutch aimed the GS at the hard shoulder and felt the heat from the lorry he'd just overtaken. Closer now as the lorry's headlights glowed bright and the deafening sound of the air horns made his heart sink. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;He reached the hard shoulder just in time as the Artic thundered past: shaking the scooter in its slipstream. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Roar bub bub bub bu bub, as the BSA slowed to a stop Alfie was there, fists clenched ready for...... "'Ello Alfie, " "Blimey Brun 'ow longs it bin?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;As the two old school friends talked, and Alfie realised how close he's been to death, he finally realised that it's people that are most important in life. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8325767232613604750-8610285027793010216?l=modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/feeds/8610285027793010216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/2009/07/labels-dont-matter.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default/8610285027793010216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default/8610285027793010216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/2009/07/labels-dont-matter.html' title='Labels don&apos;t matter.'/><author><name>Peter Bailey: AKA Frank the Mod</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15633948863279715132</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/STz1oNG1hOI/AAAAAAAAAAc/yYx70S198w4/S220/Peter40.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/SmPQc6VkZgI/AAAAAAAAABo/WMLPJbIwAew/s72-c/GS+Racer.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8325767232613604750.post-2242103723355559701</id><published>2009-05-17T17:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T04:21:24.372-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fox Hound'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Beagle'/><title type='text'>Tracie's story</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/ShC3kOQTEJI/AAAAAAAAABY/-1brT-uCYsw/s1600-h/Bodge.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336967391363666066" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 227px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/ShC3kOQTEJI/AAAAAAAAABY/-1brT-uCYsw/s320/Bodge.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dog meets Mod&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Yap yap yap, yap yap." "If that bugger next door don't shut that bloody dog's trap I'll rip the head off the pair of um!!" "Take yer head out your arse Alfie, and stop trying &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ter&lt;/span&gt; find the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;answers&lt;/span&gt; to yer problems in a bottle." Alfie put down his Scotch and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;announced&lt;/span&gt; he was going out. Ever &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;since&lt;/span&gt; he'd learnt of his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;paternity,&lt;/span&gt; going out meant the pub, just the way St John had done, whenever Polly and him had words.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Tracie tried to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;reconcile&lt;/span&gt; this drunken disheveled &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;oaf&lt;/span&gt; with the man she'd fallen in love with, and burst into tears as he left the house. Tap tap tap, tap tap tap. Tracie's heart sank, she feared the worst and expected the police to be knocking the door. "He's got potential. I've named him Bodging Tackle, Bodge for short." Alfie still looked a mess but he had that glint back in his eye, as he handed me next doors dog. "PS. he's seen fit to bugger off back to Essex where he belongs, and by Christ if he touches that dog again, I'll kill him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It's hard to imagine now looking at Bodge all grown up and handsome, and Alfie back to being the face that he always was, that 3 years ago the pair of them stood on the doorstep looking like they'd slept in a ditch. There's a moral in there somewhere.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8325767232613604750-2242103723355559701?l=modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/feeds/2242103723355559701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/2009/05/tacies-story.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default/2242103723355559701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default/2242103723355559701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/2009/05/tacies-story.html' title='Tracie&apos;s story'/><author><name>Peter Bailey: AKA Frank the Mod</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15633948863279715132</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/STz1oNG1hOI/AAAAAAAAAAc/yYx70S198w4/S220/Peter40.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/ShC3kOQTEJI/AAAAAAAAABY/-1brT-uCYsw/s72-c/Bodge.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8325767232613604750.post-8841029584528831422</id><published>2009-03-31T12:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T22:23:14.448-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mods'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kilgour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tailors'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Savile Row'/><title type='text'>Alfie's story</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/SdKCx6CxbqI/AAAAAAAAABI/yylcxNLYsIE/s1600-h/Tobias+suit.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319457903784062626" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 254px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/SdKCx6CxbqI/AAAAAAAAABI/yylcxNLYsIE/s320/Tobias+suit.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Reality Check 1964&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;As we were walking through the airport Tracie noticed her. I can't believe I could have not recognised my own Mother, but she was clearly distraught and I'd only ever seen her happy. As we approached she put her hands out towards us, it amazed me how a virtually blind woman could know we were there from 20 yards away, but she always had that sixth sense. It reminded me of the day we were outside Ede &amp;amp; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ravenscoft&lt;/span&gt;, the day I'd been accepted for my apprenticeship at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Kilgour&lt;/span&gt;. 'Some one's giving us evils Alfie' I told her not to talk daft but she knew he was looking at us. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Heather drove us back to the cottage and she too was not herself, both women, usually the joy of spring were button lipped and making yes and no noises the whole way back to N20. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Once inside the cottage Mum turned and said 'You know that St John Geezer!! always blamed you for him getting ditched from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Andersons&lt;/span&gt;?' I nodded and looked at the fire place, I felt knotted up inside. 'He was your Father.' I looked around the room, taking in the scene. Tracie gave me a playful dig in the arm and grabbed her suede; Heather took her cue and they left us to it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Soon as the door shut Mum broke down. 'I'm sorry son but I never loved him, he was just a bit of posh, thought I was a bit of rough for him.' As she paused I poured us a Scotch each and knelt at her feet. I handed her the glass and told her to carry on. We both took a slug. Tears started to run down her face, she sighed then carried on. We were gonna bunk off to Gretna and start again but I bottled it.' When I realised I was expecting I moved from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Lewisham&lt;/span&gt; to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Barkin&lt;/span&gt;' and made up a story about being a widow, never thought I'd see him again but he clocked us in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Savile&lt;/span&gt; Row, back in 62. Ironic that he got into that game, and then you went and joined the firm.' I swallowed and asked if he'd seen us that day!! thought I knew who he was all along didn't he. She nodded, before bursting into more tears. I downed the Scotch and flung my arms around her shoulders as she sank into to chair. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;He came here the day you went to Paris, he wanted to start again but I couldn't, next thing I knew he's stormed out like a mad thing. The old Bill came round an hour later, he'd chucked himself under a tube!! dead. In his pocket was this, I unfolded several sheets of A3 and a note. It was the deeds to the post office, open a tailors shop son. I love you. Dad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I changed my surname to St John, and named the business St John and Son but it became known as Mod Meets Mayfair.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Heather and her Husband now manage it and I make the jackets in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;attic&lt;/span&gt;, the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;trousers&lt;/span&gt; are made by a bloke called Sid Walton.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8325767232613604750-8841029584528831422?l=modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/feeds/8841029584528831422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/2009/03/alfies-story.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default/8841029584528831422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default/8841029584528831422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/2009/03/alfies-story.html' title='Alfie&apos;s story'/><author><name>Peter Bailey: AKA Frank the Mod</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15633948863279715132</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/STz1oNG1hOI/AAAAAAAAAAc/yYx70S198w4/S220/Peter40.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/SdKCx6CxbqI/AAAAAAAAABI/yylcxNLYsIE/s72-c/Tobias+suit.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8325767232613604750.post-1004166408961878636</id><published>2009-03-04T21:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-08T15:03:43.849-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mods'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kilgour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Savile Row'/><title type='text'>Tracie's story Page Three</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;The Funeral&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I was in slow motion again, as some faceless Priest banged on about Dad for an eternity. Mum seemed to be hanging on his every word, typical of her, I thought. "I'm now going to invite a dear friend of Louis to speak." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Christ I thought, he was always Lou to his friends, even Mum went along with that. I'd almost switched off from what was happening in the pulpit, my mind wandering back to Alfie's Dad. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"It's Uncle Murray" me and Dan smiled big smiles at each other, as Dad's Rabbi took the pulpit. His body language was open and inviting, his smile genuine and without reservation. "Lou was one of my oldest friends, and one of the most respected members of The, many,communities he belonged to. &lt;em&gt;pause&lt;/em&gt; "He wasn't a religious man, he married a Catholic." Half the room laughed, Mum frowned and Uncle Murray carried on. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"To sum Lou up I'll, give you an anecdote. Most people here today are aware of Tonik cloth, some may know that Lou invented the stuff, but he was too modest to sing his own praises. &lt;em&gt;pause.&lt;/em&gt; He gestured at Darren and asked him his middle name. 'Tomas'. he did the same to me, another big smile .'Nikola' . &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;'T o N i k ' " as he spelt the letters out I burst into tears.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Don't worry love, at least you know what that lot are really like now." I ignored Mum, as me and Alfie hugged. I knew he was thinking of the Tonik Mod suit he wore on our first date. That suit was part of the evolution that made &lt;a href="http://www.kilgour.eu/bespoke/savilerow/"&gt;Kilgour&lt;/a&gt; the ultimate tailor of the 60's, it was where Alfie trained, and to him he would always be a Kilgour boy. I thought too about the &lt;a href="http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,901920-1,00.html"&gt;Stanbury Brothers&lt;/a&gt;, and all the great Savile Row &lt;a href="http://encarta.msn.com/encyclopedia_762506578/tommy_nutter.html"&gt;characters&lt;/a&gt; that are sadly no longer with us. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8325767232613604750-1004166408961878636?l=modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/feeds/1004166408961878636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/2009/03/tracies-story-page-3.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default/1004166408961878636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default/1004166408961878636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/2009/03/tracies-story-page-3.html' title='Tracie&apos;s story Page Three'/><author><name>Peter Bailey: AKA Frank the Mod</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15633948863279715132</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/STz1oNG1hOI/AAAAAAAAAAc/yYx70S198w4/S220/Peter40.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8325767232613604750.post-1119501577777418602</id><published>2009-01-28T22:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T23:20:35.395-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mods'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Drapers.'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tailors'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Savile Row'/><title type='text'>Tracie's story Page Two</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Mod handshake&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Hi babe, how did it go with the old woman?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Better than expected, she's still bitter and twisted but she seems to want to put things to rest." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Sensing my mood Alfie put his hand on my knee . &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"There is an advantage to driving an automatic he joked."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;My mood lifted as I continued to talk with my best friend. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Ask Alfie if he's heard of a bloke called &lt;a href="http://threadneedlemantailors.co.uk/"&gt;George Dyer&lt;/a&gt;? he was in the shop earlier with Sid Walton; reckons he's a Mod tailor." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Mods!! I thought Alfie and Marco were the only two left." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Alfie gave me a knowing grin and a nod, it was a mannerism he shared with Heather's husband, an in joke. Marco gave Heather the same nod and we all laughed, we're that close that we have a telepathy between us. Me and Heath, knew Marco and Alfie were giving each other the Mod handshake. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;When we arrived at Darren's the two fellas went out and left me, &lt;span style="color:#ffff00;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Kitty&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;and Emma at the house. Later that night I noticed Alfie and Darren giving each other the Mod handshake as the name of George Dyer was mentioned again. That's when I realised Mod wasn't a brief lifestyle for these guys. It was a way of life, I also realised me and Heath were still Mods too. So the joke was on us, we all laughed and I bet Heather and Marco laughed too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8325767232613604750-1119501577777418602?l=modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/feeds/1119501577777418602/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/2009/01/tracies-story_28.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default/1119501577777418602'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default/1119501577777418602'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/2009/01/tracies-story_28.html' title='Tracie&apos;s story Page Two'/><author><name>Peter Bailey: AKA Frank the Mod</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15633948863279715132</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/STz1oNG1hOI/AAAAAAAAAAc/yYx70S198w4/S220/Peter40.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8325767232613604750.post-7271772582281388350</id><published>2009-01-28T01:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-08T14:58:53.498-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mods'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Drapers.'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tailors'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Savile Row'/><title type='text'>Tracie's story Page One</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Huddersfield 2006&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The journey North felt like it was a happening in slow motion, I was once again the shy young lass who’d ran away to London to start a new life over 40 years ago. To say I’d run away was perhaps not the best way to describe the situation. My Father had gone to great lengths to help me settle into my new life, he’d found me a nice place to live and helped me land a job.&lt;br /&gt;“I know I have to face Mum now because to just arrive at the funeral unannounced would be extremely rude.”&lt;br /&gt;“You have to do what you thinks’ best babe, I’m only a phone call away or I could wait outside the house if you prefer.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;It was times like this Tracie loved Alfie the most; he gave her the support she needed, without interfering.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something seemed to have alerted the street of my arrival the neighbours were all staring out from behind their drawn curtains and a group of youth’s eyed up the car. It’s not often one see’s a Bristol, especially not around here. Alfie opened the door for me, and I give him a reassuring smile as I got out of the car, (he’d been worried the whole journey bless him).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I walked up the path I notice Dads old Hillman Minx. For a moment I was lost in my thoughts, looking at the car and remembering back, as I turned towards the house Mum came marching out, she smiled briefly before bursting into tears. “Tracie darling” she sobbed, we met half way and embraced, before going indoors to lay a few ghosts to rest.&lt;br /&gt;I took a seat near the fire as Mum went into one. I knew how Alfie must have felt when my Mother in Law broke the news to him that David St John was his Father. He must know how I felt that day, and the reason I left the two of them together in our Cottage in London, and went up West for some retail therapy with Heather.&lt;br /&gt;“So was your precious career worth losing your family for Tracie?” “I never lost touch with Dad or Darren!” I’ll never forget the look Mum gave me, a mixture of sadness and hatred “You broke my heart when you went away, how do you think it felt losing a Daughter on her eighteenth birthday?”&lt;br /&gt;“I was given the opportunity to study in New York when I was sixteen, you stood in my way by refusing to sign the consent forms to let me go.” I could feel my stomach churning and my hands becoming clammy.&lt;br /&gt;“I was worried about you, this is where you belong, Huddersfield, you might think you’re better than us now, but you’re still just a working class Yorkshire Lass” I fixed her with a stare and let her know what I thought of her petty prejudices.&lt;br /&gt;“I didn’t want to have to live hand to mouth all my life, nobody deserves that.”&lt;br /&gt;She looked straight at me at this point, and the anger drained from her.&lt;br /&gt;“Let’s not argue anymore, your Dad would hate it if he could see us now, he insisted on keeping your room just as it was when you left, and as for that old car out there, he kept that in tip top condition until he got ill. I was always on at him to let it go but he saw it as a part of you, a reminder of that day you started your new life. I do care Tracie, that’s why I didn’t want the reminder that you’d left us.”&lt;br /&gt;There was an uneasy pause at this point, before the conversation became more civil. Now we talked about everything from the weather to Darren’s girlfriend and their new baby.&lt;br /&gt;She became quite subdued when talking about the baby.&lt;br /&gt;“He thinks I accept it but I just can’t it’s not right, but neither’s driving your child away, believe me I learnt that lesson the hard way. “Dad must have told you I can’t have kids, Emma is your only hope of a Grandchild.” Mums face melted into a smile and she gave me a big hug. “You turned out lovely Lass, maybe the big city in’t that bad after all.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember Dad telling me he’d bought a new car straight after dropping me at the station that day, and put the Hillman in my name. I never collected it because I too wanted a part of me to remain in Huddersfield. It’s ironic really, having married a &lt;a href="http://www.savilerow-style.com/"&gt;Savile Row tailor&lt;/a&gt; most of our tailored clothing is woven from Huddersfield cloth; it’s the best there is. “I’ve things to do now Trace, we can start again tomorrow.”&lt;br /&gt;I felt reassured as I left the house, Alfie was leaning against the car deep in conversation with the local youths, still looking the dapper young Mod I fell for on the night of my eighteenth birthday. We never did tell Heather we’d realised she’d set us up. I’ll have to phone her at the shop, she’ll be worried about me too. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8325767232613604750-7271772582281388350?l=modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/feeds/7271772582281388350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/2009/01/tracies-story.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default/7271772582281388350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8325767232613604750/posts/default/7271772582281388350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://modmeetsmayfair.blogspot.com/2009/01/tracies-story.html' title='Tracie&apos;s story Page One'/><author><name>Peter Bailey: AKA Frank the Mod</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15633948863279715132</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_2j9HynvFRes/STz1oNG1hOI/AAAAAAAAAAc/yYx70S198w4/S220/Peter40.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
