This might well be the last ever episode of Foulkes and Sons, to appear on His Majesty’s internet unless of course, we can locate an individual of means and vision who sees the financial sense in investing in Foulkes and sons, which, it must be clear, by now is surely the future of television entertainment. In fact, I am somewhat perplexed and astonished by the fact that since we began these videos as a public service broadcast during the pandemic years, we have not been identified as what I believe is called a trophy asset and snapped up by either Mr Jeff Bezos, or Mr Elon Musk.
In the meantime, we continue to plough our lonely furrow and guide you the viewer along the tangled path of cigar esoterica and sartorial idiosyncrasy. (I hope you have enjoyed the mixture of metaphors although, in a way, a furrow could be viewed as a path of sorts).
We were hoping that this would be our breakthrough to Hollywood, as we were expecting the noted film director, Paul Feig to join us at the ancestral hovel, but less he was detained on set, as I believe they say in what I understand is known as Tinseltown.
In this episode we wear a form of American national dress, a Midnight Cowboy inspired look, and taste a super Hoyo de Monterrey Le Hoyo du Gourmet from the last century. We are particularly happy that it is such a Narrow ring gauge, and its elegant profile prompts to rhapsodise on the marvels of the Punch, Ninfas and the Rafael Gonzales Slenderella.
As benefits what may be the final episode of this quite remarkable cultural undertaking. We observe our Reithian mandate to the letter and enjoy something that is utterly unavailable, supremely unfashionable, and probably unaffordable.
We also reference our favourite dramatic monologues from that relatively unfashionable Victorian poet Robert Browning and once again express our fondness for the works of Milton
This may not be a Christmas special, but nevertheless we at Foulkes and sons take this opportunity to wish you the very best for 2024
9 сен 2024
