I'm sure the band-thing is of British background. Possibly a modesty thing, more likely a clubland thing.
You can just imagine the situation... Think of yourself in the Carlton Club (or some such establishment)...
Old Farquharson, club President (and owner of half of Bedfordshire) is relaxing in his wing-back chair. He's quite pleased that he's just wandered up from JJ Fox, where he bought a splendid Monte 2.
Shortly after Farq's lit up his wonderfully expensive smoke, a young upstart ambles in. The young upstart goes by the name of Richardson (his farther's a mechanic made good - sent his son to Winchester with the money made from selling carburetors). Clearly not of the same class, I mean, heavens above, he's wearing brown in town!? No culture these upper-middle-class twits...
Anyway, Richards sits down opposite Farq. Pulls out a cigar and, whilst positioning his feet on the coffee table () lights up. The wonderful aroma of a Por Larranaga Magnificos floats around the room.
"The cheek of the blighter," Thinks old Farq, "to come in here and upstage me in such a manner - all that flashy gold, the extra band, everyone will know his cost more than mine. And I own half of Bedfordshire! Or is it Staffordshire? I can never remember... Bastard didn't even go to Harrow..."
And so it was... in order that old Farq (and his real tennis partner, Ponsonby-Smythe) were no longer concerned with being upstaged in their own back-yard, convention was that one would take in the airs without a band... Richardson could enjoy splashing daddy's ill-gotten cash, and Farq could enjoy his favoured Monte 2, with no-one any the wiser as to his (relative) thriftyness.
Here endeth today's lesson.
You can just imagine the situation... Think of yourself in the Carlton Club (or some such establishment)...
Old Farquharson, club President (and owner of half of Bedfordshire) is relaxing in his wing-back chair. He's quite pleased that he's just wandered up from JJ Fox, where he bought a splendid Monte 2.
Shortly after Farq's lit up his wonderfully expensive smoke, a young upstart ambles in. The young upstart goes by the name of Richardson (his farther's a mechanic made good - sent his son to Winchester with the money made from selling carburetors). Clearly not of the same class, I mean, heavens above, he's wearing brown in town!? No culture these upper-middle-class twits...
Anyway, Richards sits down opposite Farq. Pulls out a cigar and, whilst positioning his feet on the coffee table () lights up. The wonderful aroma of a Por Larranaga Magnificos floats around the room.
"The cheek of the blighter," Thinks old Farq, "to come in here and upstage me in such a manner - all that flashy gold, the extra band, everyone will know his cost more than mine. And I own half of Bedfordshire! Or is it Staffordshire? I can never remember... Bastard didn't even go to Harrow..."
And so it was... in order that old Farq (and his real tennis partner, Ponsonby-Smythe) were no longer concerned with being upstaged in their own back-yard, convention was that one would take in the airs without a band... Richardson could enjoy splashing daddy's ill-gotten cash, and Farq could enjoy his favoured Monte 2, with no-one any the wiser as to his (relative) thriftyness.
Here endeth today's lesson.
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