Wrist deep in the ribcage of the John Doe, the phone behind you rang. Who the hell was calling your laboratory at 3am!? As state pathologist you accepted the less than social working hours, but this call was strange any which way. It rang and rang - they weren't giving up. With a shlurrrrrp you extracted your hands, peeling off the gloves to answer the phone.
"Yes?" "Hello, I'm calling from the BBC as an executive producer for Strictly Come Dancing and we'd love for you to take part in next year's competition." A prank call surely, but they persisted and proved their credentials. What the hot-hell! Had this show run so long and this country got so small that they now considered the State Pathologist a celebrity!? Depressing really, and just as you were about to decline, a thought caught flame in your head.
This would be the perfect opportunity for the country (or some of it) to experience the beauty that was your suit: lightweight, crisp and very breathable with a glorious rust pin stripe. It's the least the hoi polloi deserved. A glimmer of hope for the masses. With that you accepted, hung up and turned back to the cadaver.
- Cloth by John Foster
- High Twist Wool
- Horn buttons
- Viscose/acetate lining
- Dry clean only
