Much more Terry Venables than dear old Laura Ashley: Goggles, helmets, brown fur-collared jackets . . . what would Nick Ashley's late mother make of it? Jessica Berens joins the scrum in a busy new shop

A RED Ducati 600cc 'Monster' motor-cycle draws up outside 57 Ledbury Road.

Its rider walks with a High Noon gait towards the awning marked Nick Ashley.

'Where's Nick?' he says. 'I thought I might buy the crash helmet I cadged off him.'

Ari Ashley is standing behind the counter, an old-fashioned haberdashery affair carrying a Boy's Own range of goods - R M Williams saddle soap, aviator goggles, and Thorlo 'uniform crew' socks. On the floor, in legless parades, are Alpine Stars motor-cycle boots and 'Brecon' wellingtons bought from a farmer supply shop in Builth Wells. Above her there is a row of Davida Classic crash helmets and amongst all this, her husband's first collection.

She eyes the Ducati that she used to own and only sold when it was found to be unsuitable for conveying her daughter, Lily, 2.

Nick Ashley appears and enters into fierce negotiation over the price of the borrowed crash helmet. He knows the customer's girlfriend cannot legally ride away from the shop without it. The customer offers pounds 120 for the helmet and 'the goggles of my choice'. ' pounds 150 and I'm not making anything out of that.'

'Come on, Nick. I don't believe you. You've taken thousands off me.'

Mr Ashley simply twinkles and cackles and somehow eases the man, a property developer ('I just got a contract at one of the embassies') into his 'wool out' reversible jerkins.

'How much do you do these for?'

' pounds 275 straight. You see the buttons? They cost a quid each.'

'Take the buttons off then.'

The jerkin, inspired by those worn by rag and bone men in Scunthorpe and still worn by dustmen in Scarborough, is one of Ashley's best sellers.

'I'm not being funny, but it's made for you,' he says. Mr Ashley's salesmanship is natural, charming and unashamed. He will bow to the Japanese, speak French to the French, and tell two hip Notting Hill women that his clothes are not just for men, no, not at all, and that he went to the Ministry of Sound last night.

He is a fourth generation retailer. His great grandfather ran a grocery store in Brixton. 'One of my first memories was the day that my father, having opened the first Laura Ashley family shop in Wales, made his first pounds 100 and threw it in the air.'

Mr Ashley, 37, worked for the family business for 15 years but left two years ago to research and develop his collection, a range of hard-wearing multi-purpose clothes inspired by his own requirements. He has spent his life riding motorbikes, walking in Welsh mountains, and travelling to business meetings. He understands that sleeves must be articulated for the sportsman and that everybody will appreciate a suede jacket that can go in the washing machine.

He is busy. His shop is becoming a 'scene'. Bikers, hoorays, artists - on Saturday there was almost a scrum. 'Blimey,' said James Studholme, an advertising executive, fingering a brown jacket with fur lapels. 'This is a bit Terry Venables on an away-match to Poland.'

He listens to his clients' comments - it's all part of the research for his winter 1995 collection. 'This was just an experiment really to see if it would work.'

He appears confident and was optimistic enough to install a door buzzer 'should there be a Studio 54 situation'.

He opened on 17 September. 'I was so busy it wasn't until the end of the day that I realised it was the ninth anniversary of my mother's death. I cried all the way home.'

(Photograph omitted)