Drakes Waxed Coat
Sat on chair next to me gently toasting by the Aga, Mountain States to Scottish Highlands via Italy and Savile Row is a deceptively simple piece of kit, one which makes me smile, both because of what it is and what I do with it on my back.
Cropped, boxy yet shapely with 2-way zip, heavy duty all the way up enamel snaps, Yorkshire woven cord collar and blanket lined.
Eight and a half ounces of the driest olive green Scottish waxed cotton, Italian stitched.
Through work, my work, cuffs are worn and turning fuzzy, fades across sleeves from where my arm cocks and leans out of open window of old truck, hip pockets ready to carry, their flaps slightly bent for ease of access and cosy hand warmer pockets.
A piece of workwear, finely made to be tough, no poker straight lines, just elegant curves with a purpose.
Sized up, a 42, that sits over my winter watch the sunrise kit, and protects my camera from weather when legging down sodden city streets. Into wind, shoulders tapped by heavy and fine but not soaked through rain. Snow, fog and those crisp this time of year mornings where the sun winks through clinging on leaves.
Drakes, that most British of companies, which understands that being British isn’t some narrow cosplay, but an open minded interest in the world around it, high, very high in execution, but an appreciation for the low, the small, the happy, the simple done well.
A clever group of people led by Michael Hill.
I’ve always thought that they ought to do a restaurant, I’d go. The atmosphere in the store is comforting, like a lit fire filled weekend in an art and book stuffed country house, just in the middle of Mayfair, you know the food and conversation would be great, all warmly enriching.
Because to my mind part of the genius of Drakes as well as the other clothing houses which operate on their level - if you want a clue as to names, read the rest of the site – is that they understand that the wheel is here and the wheel on the whole works, it doesn’t need wholesale reinvention, just some careful intelligent and cultured thought, a little know how and a modicum of taste injected and frippery removed.
Drakes presents a world, a fully realised vision, one into which you want to jump, a world full of things, ideas, riffs and concepts that would look oh so good in our own worlds.
The best stuff, like all the things we talk about and you should buy, show their greatness by simply wanting to be used, purpose in each stitch, that can be found in heart breaking tailoring which aches for you to slink in to and enjoy life in it’s company, through to this, a piece of perfected protective armour, don’t buy just to stand about and look fly, but to live in and live well, and by committing to that, to the bumps and scrapes, bruises, little scratch, patina here might need a repair there, you will look so much better.
So this coat, now mine, looks great, but looking great is only part of the story. It protects me when out, jobs wet and mucky, cold and early, moving sheep – alive or dead, cuddling chickens, carrying logs, gardening a lot of gardening. Hard work, good for the soul work.
For all this it earns it’s keep, but it’s true purpose is to allow me to do what I love to do, which is be out in all weather with dogs doing my thing.
As I get older, I keep thinking about the poetry that is hidden daily in life, the little joys sent to protect us.
Of these, there are few, if any, more joyful than simply going for a walk with dogs.
To do this daily, across hills, fields, through woods, on the beach and by rivers with a bunch of four legged mates makes my heart swell and washes away the funk that modern life squashes into my head.
Dogs know nothing of the news and care little about work beyond their simple joyful purpose, they are a daily, hourly, frankly constant tonic, a prompt to try and see the world through their eyes, so into this I retreat, in all weather and out here there is always weather, leads around my neck, truck keys and daily necessities nestled in hand shoved pockets and out, as the seasons slowly yet continuously change.
And then when we stop in old Land Rover for fuel, I take it off, flip it over and leave on drivers seat, knowing that when I return a friend will be sat on it waiting to set off on an adventure again.
