My love of deep fried Spam fritters washed down with a glass of Coke, apart from the obvious health concerns, is considered by me to represent my “Outstandingly Good Taste.” Sir Winstantley-Smythe-Johnson however turns his nose up at my meal of reconstituted Pork and sugary beverage, and declares that the very epitome of Good Taste is Steak Tartare, enjoyed in conjunction with a 1966 Krug.
Oddly Sir Johnson prefers the songs of Conrad Twitty to the Prokofiev Ballet score I am currently enchanted with. Again he declares himself to be in possession of Excellent Taste, dismissing Prokofiev as inaccessible nonsense punctuated by prancing men in tights.
A fan of the original BSA Rocket Motorcycle, that he rides in a full waxed cotton suit, Sir Johnson has decided that the modern Triumph Rocket 3 is “A machine fit only for a Sissy. !”
I’d like my 1956 Triumph to be two tone Silver and Grey with a chrome plated parcel rack. When I’m riding it I’d like to wear shiny black spandex jeans and black leather over the knee boots with a small heel. I will also wear a raw silk blouse in cream with a nicely tied Pussy Bow at the neck. This would be worn under a closely fitted leather jacket, nipped in at the waist, assuming of course I can actually find my waist at some point. The whole outfit would be topped off with a slick of bold glossy lipstick.
Sir Johnson just fainted…..
Whether or not there is room for dispute in matters of taste, and the validity of the belief that beauty really does only exist just in the eye of the beholder is worthy of far closer study, because I’m not convinced by either maxim.
But for now, I will state that my appearance, and the appearance of my 1956 Triumph Thunderbird are most definitely not subject to a democratic process.
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