Warmth is trapped air, not mass. A tightly spun, densely woven wool can weigh twice what one of our blankets weighs and keep you less warm, because there is nowhere for air to sit. This is why we spin soft and full carefully: we are building a structure full of holes that happens to look solid.
Five bands: two narrow, one wide, two narrow. It went into the pattern book in the 1890s as a way of marking blanket sizes for trade, and stayed because it is the rare stripe that reads correctly folded, draped and flat. We have redrawn the colourways eleven times and the proportions never once.
Every piece passes over a light table before it is folded. Roughly one in fourteen comes off with something an inspector will not sign: a slub in the warp, a pick out of sequence, a colour drift across a dye-lot boundary. Those become Mill Seconds. They are structurally identical to first quality and they cost a third less, and telling you exactly what is wrong with them is cheaper for everyone than pretending.
Wet wool, neutral soap, and hot iron. It is the oldest smell in the building and the one former employees mention first when they come back for a tour.
We would rather sell you one blanket that outlasts us than four that do not. If you are choosing between two of ours, buy the heavier one in the colour you actually like, and put it on the bed you actually sleep in.