Explore "25" by Beverley Nichols on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
A little while ago Mr. Philip Guedalla (that squib who never stops fizzing) annoyed me very much by making rude remarks about dramatic critics. He said that they looked like waiters or conjurers. I should not in the least mind looking like some waiters I have seen, but he was not referring to face or figure. He was being sartorial. And when Guedalla is sartorial, God alone knows what will happen.
He referred to the ‘dingy uniform' of this ‘Sad Guild. ' It struck me as slightly vulgar and entirely inaccurate. I would match my own exquisite waistcoats (you know the sort -- nothing at the back and a broad pique in front) with Mr. Guedalla's any day. It would be rather an entertaining match. I can imagine our respective laundresses panting for days beforehand, and I can see us strutting round and round, examining each other for the faintest sign of a wrinkle.