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storyunrelated · 6 years

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Downward Trend - William Bosworth Has An Idea

Actually, let's do this.

I'm going to put the whole first bit of Downward Trend here.

I mean, why not? This is my blog, after all. I can do what I like. And this way all can marvel and laugh at what I consider an opening.

Beginnings are my weak point. Followed closely my middles. And endings. And writing in general, really. But that's life!

And I'm putting a break here but I bet you - I fucking bet you! - Tumblr breaks it and the whole text just dumps across your dash and makes you hate my filthy filthy guts. For which I am sorry.

Though not so sorry I won't risk it.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

One: William Bosworth Has An Idea

William ‘Billy’ Bosworth - the billionaire tyrant and horrifyingly influential media mogul - was looking up. Figuratively and literally.

You wouldn’t have thought ‘billionaire’ from looking at Billy. Your first impressions would likely be of a man who would have a very intense conversation with you about his new petrol lawnmower. Or maybe about which route he’d taken down the motorway to get to you and what the traffic had been like. He just had that look about him. Hard to put your finger on.

But no. Instead he was one of the most powerful men in the world. A pioneer of technology, a shrewd businessman and also an eccentric.

He was an eccentric because while he had unusual habits that some might have scoffed at had he not had money he did, in fact, have money. Lots and lots and lots of money. So he wasn’t weird. He was eccentric.

If anyone else eschewed beds at night because ‘lying down was for corpses and I’m not a corpse’ then you’d laugh at them and point and call them names to their face. But since Billy was very successful and slept upright tied to a post in his office then clearly it must have been a good thing to do. Because he was rich.

So he wasn’t weird. He was eccentric.

“Sally. Sally come in here,” he said, waving a hand in the vague direction of his secretary. He’d had no reason to raise his voice given that every inch of his office had been hooked up with top-of-the-range microphones to record his every murmur on the off-chance it was groundbreaking and brilliant. Like that time he’d come up with the idea of the having customers pay to not have to view incredibly offensive adverts.

Really, deeply offensive. They’d employed only the vilest of bigots to ensure that no-one could tolerate the adverts. It had been inspired.

But he raised his voice to get Sally’s attention anyway, because that was just how he operated. Sally came rushing in moments later looked haggard. As she worked for Billy Bosworth, Sally always looked haggard. It was unavoidable.

“Yes, sir?” She asked, only mildly breathless. Her response time was still the best of any secretary he’d ever had. Even better than that former Olympic sprinter he’d hired a few years back. That lad had had a very poor work ethic. Couldn’t stick it out for the distance, it seemed. Should have seen it coming.

That, and he’d just kept talking about his bloody medal. ‘We get it’ Billy had said ‘You ran very fast in a straight line. Get over it’. There followed a rather heated argument and from that point their professional relationship had taken something of a dip.

Hence, out with the athlete and in with Sally, who actually had secretarial experience and actually knew how to do her job. In retrospect the better approach.

“Do you know why I took off the roof of this building, Sally?” Billy asked, gesturing upwards to where the ceiling was missing and, more generally, to the sky beyond. Sally looked up and blinked. There was nothing there that gave her even anything approaching a clue.

“No, sir,” she said. An honest answer. She really had no idea why anyone would willingly do that to a building they owned.

It hadn’t even been a proper job, he had literally just paid a group of men to come and cut the top off the building. The structural damage had been significant and none of the air conditioning worked any more. Or the satellite links. Or the insulation.

And the building also now leaked when it rained. There was also that.

“Well I can’t tell you. You’re not important enough, I’m afraid, Sally. Send in Vlad.”

Sally - who wasn’t especially fussed about not being told, in all honesty - left the room as quickly as she’d arrived and lunged to her desk to ring down for Vlad, who could have been anywhere. Thankfully Vlad had chosen this time in the morning to sit and have a biscuit and so was at least within easy reach.

Minutes later a man who looked rather like someone had poured eighteen stone’s worth of beef into a suit before balancing a potato on top emerged from the lift on Billy’s floor and came striding on into Billy’s office without even pausing to knock.

Vlad was possibly the only person in the world who had standing permission to do this. This was because Vlad was the sort of person who urinates without lifting the seat up first, doesn’t flush and then dumps the paper handtowels into the toilet even though it’s made very clear you’re not supposed to, specifically to block it for whoever followed.

A monster, basically. But Billy’s personal go-to monster, so a monster with considerable latitude.

“Vlad. Do you know why I took the roof off this building?” Billy asked, not looking. Vlad was the sort of man you could hear coming. Feel coming, too. The air got out of his way in a very particular, noticeable fashion that you could tune into.

“Uh, no. Sir,” Vlad said. He, like Sally, also had no idea. He had worked with Billy long enough to not only learn that questioning his decisions was a bad career move but that even thinking about them too much wasn’t such a great move either.

Billy turned his head slightly, peering out of the corner of his eye.

“Sally shut the door. This is still too important for you,” he said. Sally obliged, leaving the two men alone in Billy’s roofless office. Whether Sally would be able to hear them talking anyway because of, you know, the lack of roof was not something that had apparently crossed Billy’s mind.

“Look up there, Vlad. What do you see?” Billy asked. Vlad looked. He saw pretty much exactly the same thing as Sally had seen. Sky.

“Sky?” He asked, hopefully, tentatively.

“I meant beyond that, Vlad. Look deeper. Expand your vision!”

Vlad had no idea what this meant. He just squinted harder. The sky remained sky. A distant plane crawled across it, glinting. A single cloud meandered. Vlad saw nothing of any particular significance.

“Uh…” he said, hesitating. Billy rolled his eyes. Vlad was a wonderful henchman in many ways but he was rubbish when you needed someone to bounce ideas and notions off of.

“Possibilities, Vlad!” Billy said with exasperation, raising an arm and pointing to one specific patch of sky. “You see there?”

“Yes,” Vlad lied.

“Up there - in that very patch of sky! - lurks a group of stars. Very far away of course and you can’t see them right now because it’s daytime and we’re in London anyway, but I assure you they are there. A glittering cluster of stars! Around which spin and twirl scores of worlds!”

At this point Billy finally stopped craning his neck upwards and turned to face Vlad properly. As he had been standing looking at the sky for some hours now this produced the most horrendous cracking sound. Not that Billy seemed the least bit concerned.

“I posit that these worlds contain life. Life, Vlad! And what does life mean?”

Billy did not wait for Vlad to take a stab at an answer to this one, for which Vlad was profoundly grateful.

“Customers, Vlad! Potential customers! People I have yet to reach! Did you know that my services, my products and my presence reaches out in one shape or form to about ninety-nine percent of all available humans on this planet?”

This was true. Ludicrous sounding, but true.

If people weren’t watching a programme that had received some level of investment from one of the many, many (many) companies that Billy had a finger in then they were watching it on a television or device made by one of his companies or containing one of the revolutionary components he himself had designed.

Or they were watching a film backed by one of his production companies (or one of his production company’s subsidiaries companies).

Or they were booking tickets to see one of these films on their phone made by a company he owned or designed by him.

Or both. At the same time.

But what of those people way out in remote regions? Tribes deep in the jungle that had no real awareness of the world beyond? Those who deliberately sought to avoid any and all human contact? Billy had those poor souls covered, too.

Personally owning a good chunk of the planet’s satellite infrastructure (and having designed some proprietary parts that showed up in all the places he didn’t own) Billy ensured that - floating around up there - were several specialised satellites which lovingly beamed down carefully modulated signals on all the more isolated parts of the globe.

These signals didn’t translate to anything a normal receiver would have been able to pick up. After all what would have been the point? These poor souls had - either by choice or by unfortunate twist of circumstance - no access to such devices.

Rather, these signals were of the cutting-edge, experimental type that only the human brain could pick up. A biological antenna, as Billy had so gleefully said at the time. Those in the affected areas could enjoy quality, Bosworth-created content every night when they went to sleep.

Unavoidably. Constantly. Every night. With adverts. For products they’d never heard of and had no way of purchasing. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to reach those formerly thought unreachable. And this had been achieved.

Billy’s influence was everywhere.

And did he expect thanks for his kindness? Plaudits? Awards? Of course not! People gave him those things anyway. What Billy did was for the betterment and benefit of mankind!

And now the betterment and benefit of whatever beings lurked out there among the stars, too. His magnaminty knew no bounds, least of all earthly ones.

Assuming these alien beings were there, of course. Which Billy was fairly certain they were.

Mostly certain, edging towards totally certain. Adamant, really. On most days. Some days he experienced flickers of what normal people might call doubt, but the rest of the time he was the bastion of certainty. Those extra-terrestrial customers were out there waiting for him. He’d put money on it.

“Customers?” Vlad asked, slowly, still peering at the sky. It just looked blue to him.

“Yes Vlad. Very far away though, like I say. Getting to them is going to be a bit tricky. But I have a plan!”

Billy turned on his heel and marched to another part of his sprawling office, Vlad following close behind. Both men stopped when they reached something wide draped with a white cloth. Billy whipped this cloth aside with theatrical flair, an act he had spent some previous weeks practising. Vlad gasped appreciatively as a meticulously hand-made model was revealed. It had little people and everything.

“This is the phase-array transmitter that will broadcast my new extraterrestrial channel to my new customers! Isn’t it cool?” Billy asked. Vlad was circling the model, bending down to get an eye-level look and taking in the detail.

“Very cool,” he said, nodding. He liked the miniature chain-link fences and outbuildings and pylons and substations. And the array itself, of course - a deeply impressive and monolithic building of truly intimidating size. Even built to scale it was a bit daunting. Probably the fact that it was flat-black and studded with glowering red lights had something to do with it. And the group of tiny people modeled to have collapsed on their knees in awe and terror clustered around the base.

Really the attention to detail on the model was astounding.

“This whole thing has been something of a pet project of mine but it is finally nearing completion. I have the spot picked out for this. It’s a very precise spot. It can only be this spot. It’s this spot or nowhere. This is where the problems start, Vlad. Do I like problems?”

This was an easy question, Vlad’s favourite type.

“No you don’t,” he said.

“That’s right, I don’t. The problem here is that the spot where I need to put my fantastic and cool array is presently occupied. I’ve been patiently working on strangling the life out of the area for months now - buying land out from under people, raising rents and that sort of thing - and I’m all poised to start! But there’s a holdout.”

With the flick of a button the whole model inverted. This seemed like a feature that would have required a lot of work, but the effect was certainly something to see. Where before there had been the clean, wonderful phased-array complex there was now several streets, some wasteland, some shops and general urban blight.

“This is the area as it is now. Ugly, isn’t it? Look at these shops. What does this one sell? Kebabs? Poor souls. Anyway. I own this land here,” Billy said, indicating in turn each stretch of blank wasteland. “These buildings are all unoccupied. They were set to be developed but not now. These shops are all set to close in a month or so because I’ve bribed them. So far so good.”

This left one quite obvious exceptions. A single house, sat on its own. Vlad looked at it. Billy glared at it and, slowly, unfurled a finger to pointing accusingly down at the model house.

“This,” he hissed. “This thing right here. Holdout. Nail house. The lady who owns it really owns it. Owns the building, owns the land under it. Refused my bribes, my generous bribes and even my staggeringly generous bribes. Money is apparently not something she’s interested in! I can respect that, but it’s annoying.”

“What’s her deal?” Vlad asked. Businesslike now, he could start to see the shape of the issue forming up in front of him. Billy wouldn’t have called him in here just to show the model off, after all. Vlad was there to solve problems. That was why Billy kept him around.

“Oh, landlady or something. Has lodgers. Likes talking to people. I don’t know, I haven’t looked into it - that’ll be your job.”

Billy waved aside such concerns. As far as he saw it he’d already done more than enough himself by personally organising his gaggle of assistants to go and pay out those bribes and telling Sally to tell his real estate division to buy up all that land. It had been exhausting. Having to deal with a principled lady keen to cling onto her house was something he simply didn’t have the energy for.

Besides, that was why he had Vlad.

“Want me to get rid of her?” Vlad asked, eyebrows waggling euphemistically. It took Billy a second or so to decode this gesture. Vlad was heavily implying murder. This was what Vlad tended to go to first whenever Billy came to him with anything but Billy still hadn’t picked up on this. For all his faults, Billy was still at least vaguely innocent and well-meaning.

Careless and myopic, but not actively malicious. He’d reverse over your foot in his car, but not try to hit you with it. If you follow.

“Heavens no! No no,” he said, flipping the model the right way round again and moving back towards his desk, which was the size of a normal person’s kitchen (in width and depth if not in height - it did also have a sink). “Nothing so crude or, ahem, obviously legally dubious as that.”

As powerful as Billy was, even he knew better than to have a known employee actively murder someone. That sort of thing was just unnecessary work. That and, you know, murder was wrong. Billy remembered that. Someone had told him once.

“What am I doing then?” Vlad asked, settling into the chair on the opposite side of the desk as Billy sat in his. Billy’s chair was a luxurious high-backed leather number that cost an amount to make most people wince. Vlad’s was from Ikea and could not properly support his weight.

“You are going to go to the site and help them oversee the demolition of what’s presently there. And at the same time - you know, if you find occasion - you might possibly see that life for this lady and her lodgers becomes more…”

Billy fished his hands through the air, searching for the right word.

“Unpleasant.”

Vlad grinned. He understood this. He had experience with unpleasant.

“If I find occasion,” he said.

“If you find occasion,” Billy said. Billy was grinning too.

He was thinking about what he was going to have for dinner later. There was a microwave curry in his fridge with his name on it. Literally. He’d written it on there. Not because he was afraid anyone else would take it. It was just so his dinner had his name on it.

He was going to see if he could have a drone feed it to him. Just for kicks. It sounded like a lark. Just tape a spoon onto one of its runners and see how things went.

What an age to be alive.

#Downward Trend #Amwriting #Writblr #Writeblr #Writing

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welldresseddadblog · 6 years

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Welcome to the 13th instalment of the “Garmsman Dozen” question and answer session. The response so far has been tremendous. Did you miss earlier ones? There are links at the end of the page.

This week we welcome to the Garmsman Dozen Christopher Laverty from Great Britain!

Who are you, where do you live and what interests you?

Christopher Laverty. York, UK. 40 years old.

Author of book Fashion in Film, broadcaster, creator of website Clothes on Film and costume consultant.

Twitter: @clothesonfilm, Instagram: @lordlaverty, @christopherlaverty, Facebook: @clothesonfilm.

I enjoy movies, decent TV, clothes, clothes in movies, clothes in decent TV, bourbon, pipe smoking, cigars (preferably Cuban), cocktail making, cycling, running and twirling my moustache.

Thinking back to your childhood, what were your most memorable or favourite clothes?

Honestly, I don’t remember much of my childhood. Controversially I don’t many of us really do, we just piece together memories from what we’re told and photographs. With that in mind, I’ll go to my late teenage years when I first remember becoming interested in clothes. It was the mid-late 1990s so a lot of pale, shapeless denim jeans worn way too long with thick, oversized shirts and suede Kickers. This is probably why I gravitated toward the vintage scene which at this time was big on 1970s retro revival. My favourite buy was a tan leather trench coat, probably from the late 1970s, made in Egypt with a Selfridges label. It was immaculate. I purchased for £25 from Covent Garden market and still have it today. I don’t wear the coat much as it’s a little on the nose these days and verging on dress up, but at least it still fits! I do come from a family interested in clothes, particularly my dad. I was born to older parents (they are in their late eighties now) and with an older brother (now 60) and sister (53). I was spoilt rotten. Apparently, I even had a tailored coat, which to a working-class family is quite a fancy thing. My appreciation of clothes comes from understanding how they are made, their design, influences and appropriateness to the era. This is all born in me I think.

How would you describe your style today, and what are your influences?

It’s one of two things depending on my mood, time of year, facial hair and hairstyle: 1) denim and workwear, Edwardian influenced to 1930s OR 2) 1970s lounge with flared three-piece suits. I like to change things up because I get bored easily. It does have to be a specific look though – I have to feel that it ticks certain boxes, although saying that I do loathe the idea of sticking rigidly to eras or historical accuracy. My main influence for the 70’s is television programmes such as The Persuaders! and The Professionals and films such as Fear is the Key and Carlito’s Way. For workwear, it’s more print-based influences, like old photographs of miners and ranchers, but also films like The First Great Train Robbery and There Will Be Blood. I pull from wherever I like, really. Again, it’s not rigid; I’m not a re-enactor, I’m just someone who enjoys a period-specific feel to their dress.

How do you think others would describe your style and garments, do you get any reaction from friends and random strangers?

Totally, though a lot of that comes from random moustache admirers/hecklers. I don’t mind, so long as it’s polite. People will always point out what is different and, if I’m honest, I get a kick out of it. I think my friends just list random people they consider could be associated with my look – I’ve had everything from Shaft to a Spitfire pilot. It’s all good fun unless you choose to be offended (which I don’t because life is far too short to be cross and moaning all the time).

When looking for clothes, what factors play into your selections?

Need, mainly. I don’t really seek out any clothing unless I’m specifically short on something, like a henley t-shirt or new pair of boots. Most clothes come to me, in that I might stumble across a charity shop find or somebody acquires a shirt or whatever they think I’d like. I don’t really pay full price for anything. For example, I bought some suede chukka boots by Alfred Sargent last year, but only because they were offered to me by a friend who’d found them (in immaculate condition I might add) in a charity shop. I certainly didn’t need the boots but I’ll not turn my nose up at a bargain. I love clothes, though my wardrobe is actually quite capsule. I think there’s nothing worse than just buying willy-nilly and ending up with so much gear you can hardly store it all. This actually diminishes sartorial creativity in my view.

When putting together an outfit combination, do you spend a lot of time considering it?

Not really. I think I know what works and just go with that. I’ll plan more if it’s an occasion outfit but for every day I just grab what I like depending on the weather. Putting together an ensemble can be fun, but I do think if you take too long it becomes fussy and convoluted. If in doubt, take it out.

Most garmsmen will have a few “grail items” in their collection. Not to out you, but if your house is burning, which garments do you grab?

Probably my RM Williams boots. They are Craftsman Yearling, the finest boot RM Williams make in my opinion and they work with almost any outfit. I purchased on eBay nearly a decade ago for about £100. The leather is cracking a tad now but I couldn’t be without them. That said, I wouldn’t burn alive for them either so this better be a fairly mild fire we’re talking about here.

Photo by Ben Bentley

Are you budget-conscious or spendthrift? Are you a single-shot shopper, or go large and buy bulk? Where are you on slow-fashion and buying less?

I’m not spendthrift, even less so if I’m buying for others. If something fits and looks great and I can afford it and need it, I’ll buy it. I do like things that are in a sale or reduced though – it just feels more fun to make that purchase. In this respect, I wish I could support more artisan brands but they are just too rich for my blood. The sad thing is I know that the guys running these places and making these clothes and footwear are just getting by as is. If I was rich I’d probably shop with an eye toward supporting homegrown brands, but as things stand whoever can give me what I want for the best possible price is going to get my money.

Having a large collection of clothes can lead to changing outfit on a daily basis, but if you were going to wear a single outfit the next two weeks, what would it be?

My go to is probably a green ribbed cotton henley (from H&M), Marlboro leather and canvas braces (charity shop), Levi LVC 1878 jeans (eBay) and my RM Williams boots. This outfit suits just about every occasion, unless you want me attending your wedding or something. It’s comfortable to travel, work, socialise and chill in. Simple but effective in my opinion.

What would you never wear?

That’s a tough one. Basically, anything that looks awful on me, so very baggy trousers or jeans (I’m a short-ass), super-tight muscle tees (they are hilarious even if you have the body) and chunky hi-top trainers (love them on other people but I look like a failed hip-hop artist). Oh and baseball caps. Every time I put one on I look like I’m dying of some disease.

Photo by David Wade

What are your best tips for buying?

If you’re talking specifically about buying for my look, either workwear or 70’s inspired, then I’d say eBay, charity shops and vintage fairs. Got to be patient though and realise that, in the main, if you’ve found a bargain, someone else has too. People know their stuff a lot more these days so everyone has their eye out. For basics, I find H&M hard to beat. It’s not the highest quality and sometimes their stores are saturated with desperately on-trend crap, but in general, for easy tees and shirts, they are a goldmine (plus have lots of year-round sales).

Do you have a dream garment you’d love to own?

A few years ago I would have said a Savile Row suit but I think I desired one for the wrong reasons. It was a case of wanting to say I’ve had a suit cut on Savile Row rather than wanting the garment itself. I must admit I have always hankered after a beautifully tailored flared leg suit from the 1970s. I have a couple of off-the-peg examples but I’d love one bespoke. Suits of this era with that distinctive cut, the high waist, flared leg, high double vents and pagoda shoulder are not impossibly hard to find, though ones made from high-quality wool suiting are. Also, I’m a sucker for LVC Levi. I’d buy most of it just to hang on my wall and salivate over.

Anyone that buys clothes will have made mistakes, what is your most memorable bad buy?

Loads! When I used to buy more and think later I grabbed many a mistake. Possibly my worst was a pair of loose Abercrombie & Fitch jeans, from eBay if I remember correctly. Not sure what look I was going for. LA surfer, possibly? Or maybe just asshole. Either way, unsurprisingly, they didn’t work.

Do you have any style icons, historic or current?

Most of the looks I covet are from films so were put together by costume designers rather than the stars in question. Then again, stars and icons had stylists back in the day and they have stylists now. Cary Grant always nailed it. James Coburn could rock the Ivy. Nowadays Sebastian Stan constantly looks interesting without going too bananas (he has a brilliant stylist and an easy to dress bod too, mind). My elderly dad has a wonderfully open love of bright colour, which I admire and is daring for a former market trader from the East End of London. ‘Be more like him’ I often think.

Who are your favourite Instagram profiles?

What you mean apart from @Welldresseddad??? 😉 I like all the sartorial based accounts I follow. Two, in particular, indulge my passion for high-end workwear denim that I can’t afford: @kingchung501 and @vorstenbos. Anyone who doesn’t take it all too seriously, basically.

How do you think trends such as denim and heritage style will evolve and survive? What will be the next big thing?

I think more and more people will get into making their own clothes. We are not there yet, and I certainly don’t presently have the skills, but big picture I feel this will get easier and easier to do in our own home. Sustainability is a big trend and not going anywhere – and really it can’t afford to. Denim especially will go down this route. Like I said we are a way off, but with current textile innovations and online communities, it is coming.

Thank you!

Thank you for your Garmsman Chris!

Photo by David Wade

Did you miss the first Garmsman Dozens?

Jon from Great Britain

Shaun from Scotland

Klaus from Germany

Roland from Italy

Daniel from Sweden

Enoch from the USA

Even from Norway

Kris from Belgium

Michael from Great Britain

Liam from Great Britain

Lee from Great Britain

Iain from Great Britain

Michael from Italy

PS: If you have suggestions for participants, let me know. Or have your mother suggest you, if you’re a bit keen to suggest yourself. My email is WellDressedDad (@) gmail.com

The Garmsman Dozen #14: Chris from Great Britain Welcome to the 13th instalment of the "Garmsman Dozen" question and answer session. The response so far has been tremendous.

#christopher laverty #Denim #film costumes #garmsman dozen #men&039;s style #mens fashion #menswear #workwear

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