Isn’t it time for a tidy-up? Sir Paul Smith, the designer and fashion retailer, has probably the most cluttered office of any well-known British businessman. The contents of the long, narrow room include:
● a model scooter
● a bicycle
● some female nudes in oils
● men’s wear designs
● several thousand books, including Enid Blytons and a volume on Russian mafia tattoos
● a statue of Godzilla.
But slinging Sir Paul’s detritus into black bin liners would be philistinism in the order of whacking Michelangelo’s Pietà with a hammer. This is not junk. It is an autobiography. It tells how a Nottingham youth with a taste for mod fashion dreamt of becoming a racing cyclist but had to change his plans after an accident.
