|Matches the half-acre-plus garden|
All are elderly to old to moribund. The men wear long-sleeve pullovers (very much yesterday's garment) with light-plaid shirts open at the neck. The shirts are not casual since the collars are comparatively stiff; in an emergency - say, if the Queen showed up - a tie could be accommodated. Trousers are often corduroy, indicating that the wearer lives in a detached house in the country with at least half an acre of garden.
The trend away from laced shoes is almost complete. The elderly/old/moribund are usually overweight and slip-on footwear reduces the need to bend. Addressed by an official speaker they clap in a way that precludes applause; confirmation that, despite faulty hearing, they have heard what has been said, nothing more.
With the women the news is both good and bad. Hair-dying (even henna) is eschewed and grey is worn proudly and honestly. But, in the presence of cake (an excellent carrot cake was on offer) their eyes gleam and they are seconds away from having to wipe their lips with a table napkin (never a serviette). Cake becomes virtually sacerdotal in old age.
Only a small proportion (both genders) wears spectacles - proof that cataracts have been attended to, probably privately. Once the middle-classes brayed when speaking; nowadays their conversation is more akin to the soughing of oak branches in a high wind.
Mortgages are all paid off, thus faces are not pinched with financial worries. Children are in their fifties and are either comfortably off or (Whoops! Stigma machine blew a gasket here.). Almost no one reads The Guardian.