Sartorially Yours

I got to work far too early today by mistake - well it was actually by design, but it felt like a design mistake if you ask me.

I managed to dodge the rain, which was lucky, as today was the first day I hadn’t unnecessarily carried my brolly and my Mackintosh into work - too warm to wear the coat, too much rain forecast to leave it at home. I saw a couple of homosexuals on the way, so that was nice, and a lady who I thought was topless jogging. She wasn’t actually - just flesh coloured camisole/tankini styled outerwear, but she was dappled in sunlight and came from behind a tree, so it was a bit like being in a Ken Russell movie or a Sunsilk advert.

I walked behind a short man with a big bottom for quite a while. It is strange how some men continue just to dress in cheap school uniform syle garb. Nasty cheap shoes and poorly fitting polyester trousers. I know work clothes are only a uniform of sorts, but I think as we get older we should aim to become a bit more stylish and adhere to a few basic principles of classic dress, and not simply ape our George at Asda roots (not that my roots are George as Asda, but this is a generalisation I’m trying to make here). The reason this chap’s mother might have bought his school uniform at Asda was because it was cheap, she had kids, and they can be expensive - if you feed them. But he’s grown up now with a job at the hospital, so he could always choose to wear something nice.

Slacks and disproportionately big bottom aside, from the back he looked like he could have been quite good looking. But you do have to be soooo careful when judging looks from behind. I think we’ve all fallen in love from the rear, and then filed for divorce the second the visage of terror was presented in all its heinous glory. The worse thing is if they smell great, have nice clothes, a shapely neck and well groomed hair. Then, it is too easy to convince yourself that there is no reason in hell why they won’t be A+ on a heel turn. But alas, there is many a gargoyle with a good barber and a sharp tailor.

Turning the corner I was momentarily panicked by an old lady actually saying good morning to me as she walked by. I rallied just in time to return her pleasant but alien salutation. But really, doesn’t she know this is London. Then the basketball court was empty - usually filled with very tall youngsters on roller-skates slam dunkin’, but I suppose it was too early for them what with all the staying up late watching videos; probably at home having some skunk, or a pop tart.

So when I finally got to work, and Olympic™ themed pleasantries with the security staff were out of the way, I mounted my floor only to find people already there! Not from my team, I hasten to add, otherwise I would have still been in bed. I thought about smiling, but please remember it was still very early, so I simply jollied along with a ‘do you two sleep here?’ I suppose if you’ve got kiddies and a partner it must be blessed relief to be able to come to the office at dawn and return home just after dusk.

I wondered what the policy on wearing face packs in the office might be. I could have done with something cucumbery on my lids by the time I got to my desk, as I must look my best you see, for a social event I have tomorrow evening. I can’t tell you much about it due to the numerous security clauses I’ve signed, but let’s just say it’s not in Kent as my co-partier had alleged - but rather practically in Rye. I shall wear that poor KA out! But it’s an outing, and I don’t often get invited to parties, so I thought why not. I’m told they will have a full-size fun fair in their grounds - yes grounds. I wonder whether my patch of grass and small sun terrace (bush and bench) could pass as grounds. Well I think I’m going to run with it until the Trades Description people catch up with me.

Chase me!