The Boss, The Client and The African Jacket

A phone call from a client this week made us reflect upon the topic of dress. We’re pretty relaxed here at AB when it comes to dress code. We don’t have one. Anything goes, pretty much, and we all have our foibles: R-Y, in mid-life crisis, seems to be trying to re-invent himself as a refugee from Haight Ashbury; Young Gareth drapes himself in Goth black, (the better to remain undetected when he melts in the shadows of an evening) and Vicky makes her wardrobe choices more pragmatically, on the usual female criteria of ‘does my bum look big in this?’

The Boss has a penchant for rugby shirts. He’s every right to, we suppose… After all he did turn out for Wasps, Leicester Tigers and currently doubles as a coach and Schools Liaison Officer for Sedgley Tigers…

In fact his choice of shirt, to a seasoned observer, is the litmus test of his mood on any given day. All of us AB minions have come to recognise the associations. For instance, the green, yellow and back hooped jersey of Northampton RFC is a favourite of ours. If he’s dressing like one of The Saints, he’s invariably in a good mood. It’s on days such as these that he’ll say: ‘let’s get a Croma lunch! I’m paying.’

The Harlequins shirt is more a harbinger of doom. The confusion of the design is a sure sign that he’s pre-occupied with a project he’s working on, or maybe that he’s wearing one too many of his innumerable hats. Such days are rare, but they’re not the ones you’d choose to query your expenses.

On the days he arrives dressed as either a Leicester or a Sedgley Tiger, he accessorises with a smug smirk for most of the day. It’s our belief that only Mrs. Boss can provide the clarification that we require on the ‘Tiger’ issue, but we’re all too afraid to ask her.

Then again, heaven forefend, there are those rare days when he comes in looking like a wasp… Which is about as far as it’s safe for us to go with this stream of consciousness.

All of which was a propos of that call from the client. It was the first time this very, very successful entrepreneur had called us. He has Directors that usually do that sort of thing on his behalf, but he wanted personally to discuss an article for a very important trade magazine that had been ghosted in his name by R-Y.

With a jovial nod in the direction of R-Y’s recent re-branding, (see previous blog) the great man expressed his wish to speak to ‘whatever his name is this week’, adding, for clarity, ‘you know, the chap who turns up to meetings wearing an African jacket.’

There was some consternation amongst the ranks as valuable moments were wasted in contemplation of R-Y turning up at a punter’s in ‘an African jacket’. We wondered what ‘an African jacket’ was. Maybe a safari suit? Even worse, one of those multi-coloured kente cloth jobbies favoured by Ghanaians…?

Mr. Reynolds-Young was determined to secure another retainer

(Any body think of a funny caption? Leave your best effort in the ‘comments’ box. Win, and feel our love).

Oo-Er. The Boss was wearing the foreboding black trimmed with venomous yellow that is the Wasp’s home kit when R-Y returned to his extravagant office in the South-Facing wing of Bower’s Towers. ‘What’s all this about you turning up at so and so’s wearing a grass skirt and a pair of coconuts?’ stung The Boss, (having just sent three-and-fourpence to an acquaintance who was going to a dance).

After much wringing of hands and wrinkling of brows it was discovered that the garment in question was, in fact, Mr. R-Y’s rather stylish white jacket from ‘Autograph’ at M&S. He is especially proud of it. Better still, the five-year loan he took out specifically to purchase said item is now almost repaid.

The Boss, nevertheless, was buzzing in a most alarming way while Mr. R-Y stared at his shoes, stroked his ‘under-construction’ salt-and-pepper goatee and tried to think nice thoughts.

The up-shot of this entertaining imbroglio was predictable, in that we have all been informed that AB’s dress code, which allows for anything, however outré, to be worn in the sanctuary of Bower’s Towers, continues to require the wearing of suits when visiting the premises of clients.

And as luck would have it, an opportunity presented itself, the very next day, for us to impress upon the client, who had been the catalyst for our sartorial review, that we were actually pretty professional and businesslike.

A Friday. The Boss and R-Y headed off, resplendent in well-cut dark suits, spotless shoes, dazzlingly white shirts and Windsor knotted ties… Only to discover that our clients would meet them bejeaned and in shirtsleeves, Friday being Dress Down Day. It was the hottest day of the year, to-boot.

Oh, how we laughed!

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