Only a single strand for my irritation this week, bile fans, but it will be a carefully trodden path, as it is one strewn with landmines.
For verily, I speak of: CLOTHES!
Some of the people who read these musings will, I know, be spluttering into their spoon size Shredded Wheat at the very idea that I could write anything about clothing. No Hadley Freeman, me.
However, this is a specific style of dress about which I will speak, having observed a perpetrator of such yesterday. This is not one person, remember, this is a type. Let me paint a picture.
The man (it is always a man) is in his late 50s. He has grey hair, but it is spiked and styled in a manner more befitting someone 2o years younger. Ageism is not my thing, believe me, and I'm all for this grey revolution (not really) we are apparently undergoing (hordes of wealthy pensioners can be seen jumping straight from the Northern Rock queue to a week's kayaking in the Zambezi, I hear) but, let's be appropriate, shall we? Crew cut. OK - especially where coverage is reduced. Short business style, OK. Even (if you still have sufficient active follicles) slightly long and unkempt. OK. But not spiked. 'mK? 'mK??
Next up, the shoes. Again, they're simply not appropriate. Little, almost pointy, Merrells or some such. Brown, or distressed white with stripes if not the distinctive 'M'. Not too much wrong with that of itself, but when combined with the rest of the ensemble... No.
And it's NO if only for this one very good reason: Cargo pants. There must be a time and a place for these. Perhaps when piloting an aircraft? Think All Saints. That's all I'm saying.
There are only 3 more elements. The first is the most minor, but it all contributes. It's a t shirt. Maybe Firetrap, but I won't dwell on that.
The last two combined are the piece de resistance. A. Jumper. Over. The. Shoulders. A la French tourists. I mean, really! And to cap it all off, a pair of over-ornate half-moon glasses (Chanel, or equivalent marque) perched on the end of the nose.