As has been remarked upon elsewhere, the window display is not the most enticing - unless you want to look like a fainting groom on You've Been Framed. (Yes he got a black eye for the honeymoon - bride Sheila was livid - but on the bright side, they made £200 out of it).
The sheer accessibility of the location, however, meant that it was my brother's first choice to at least begin exploring garb for himself, best man (me) and ushers. Once through the door, he never looked back, and this is where we were kitted out - and very smart we were too; not like Gary, from 1987, preserved on bundled-off-to-Beadle VHS, all emotional during his speech at a Trusthouse Forte.
The clothes arrived on the agreed collection day as promised, with all items present and thankfully correct - we had heard horror stories from friends about other stockists who had supplied trousers with a waistband like a hula-hoop.
While the staff were pleasant enough, there was very little interaction as we became mere clothes horses during prospective fittings. Almost inevitably, I felt vaguely spoken-down to. But that's because they thought I was Gary from 1987. I wasn't though, I was a real boy. read more