Pockets
The hot weather has led to a change in the way that people are dressing themselves. A week or so ago, it was essentially wellingtons and sou'westers, now, with the sun out, there is a rush to display as much pillar-box red flesh as possible.
The change in the weather has resulted in a staggering display of age-inappropriate clothing. Not quite grown men in romper suits, although I understand that this is a regular fixture in the swankier dungeons of the better class of knocking shop, but rather blokes dressed like toddlers, and toddlers dissed like grown-ups.
Children are being dressed like grown-ups to protect them from the harmful effects of the sun, possibly by parents who have seen one to many 'Twilight' films. That is; a 'Twilight' film. The reality is that it is easier to force a reluctant toddler into long trousers, a long sleeved shirt and a hat with a kopi than it is to force a toddler into a thin film of sun cream. Children generally, but toddlers in particular, have an aversion to sun cream which defies logic. Usually the little sods are all about getting themselves covered in all sorts of noxious goo that has to be bleached or, in extreme circumstances, burned out of their clothes, scrubbed from their bodies or cut from their hair. But one whiff of the Factor 15 and they take off like cats who have heard that Terry the Brutal Cat Fucker is back in town.
If you catch them, then actually applying the stuff is even more of a chore, as you are basically attempting to grease up a twisting, turning little ball of annoyed limbs. Essentially, one has to employ the same sort of holds that those Turkish wrestlers who cover themselves with oil and use sport as an excuse for slight of hand covert public buggery use when securing an opponent, with the handicap that you can't apply a choke hold. For long.
And when you do manage to slap some protection on, the child usually instantly conquers their fear of the sea and charges for the surf, leaping into the water and leaving nothing but a small slick of sunscreen and a sense of resentment as hot as the weather.
The infantilisation of men's wardrobes is down to one garment - the cargo short. The cargo short is now the single most popular item of clothing worn by men, because it means that they finally have a pair of trousers with enough pockets to carry all the crap that men consider so essential.
In the 1950s books about schoolboys made much of the TARDIS like ability for a boy's shorts to hold many items, such as a grubby handkerchief, a shilling to make a phone call, or to bribe the maid to administer a relaxing tit-wank, a catapult, and a frog, alive or dead depending upon the requirements of the plot. This of course, was in the days when it was wholesome to take an interest in the contents of a boy's shorts, before catholic priests gave that sort of thing a bad name.
Now, when an average chap leaves the house without enduring a panic attack, he will require at least his mobile, iPod, wallet, keys, hip flask, hankerchief, plastic bag to avoid being ripped off if he does any grocery shopping and probably at least three other items that I am far too uncool to know about, Kindle? Some form of bus pass? Whatever, the point is that cargo shorts give a bloke the opportunity to store all of that crap and have it within easy reach, even if it does require a bit of thought to ensure that the right item goes in the right pocket and one does not sit down to a sickening crunch and a bad case of 'Nokia-arse'.
The alternative to looking like a schoolboy is to look like a schoolgirl. I am referring, of course, to the 'man-bag'. Worn over the shoulder on a long strap one may as well complete the outfit with a tee shirt that reads 'look everyone, I have an iPad I must carry bloody everywhere'.
The change in the weather has resulted in a staggering display of age-inappropriate clothing. Not quite grown men in romper suits, although I understand that this is a regular fixture in the swankier dungeons of the better class of knocking shop, but rather blokes dressed like toddlers, and toddlers dissed like grown-ups.
Children are being dressed like grown-ups to protect them from the harmful effects of the sun, possibly by parents who have seen one to many 'Twilight' films. That is; a 'Twilight' film. The reality is that it is easier to force a reluctant toddler into long trousers, a long sleeved shirt and a hat with a kopi than it is to force a toddler into a thin film of sun cream. Children generally, but toddlers in particular, have an aversion to sun cream which defies logic. Usually the little sods are all about getting themselves covered in all sorts of noxious goo that has to be bleached or, in extreme circumstances, burned out of their clothes, scrubbed from their bodies or cut from their hair. But one whiff of the Factor 15 and they take off like cats who have heard that Terry the Brutal Cat Fucker is back in town.
If you catch them, then actually applying the stuff is even more of a chore, as you are basically attempting to grease up a twisting, turning little ball of annoyed limbs. Essentially, one has to employ the same sort of holds that those Turkish wrestlers who cover themselves with oil and use sport as an excuse for slight of hand covert public buggery use when securing an opponent, with the handicap that you can't apply a choke hold. For long.
And when you do manage to slap some protection on, the child usually instantly conquers their fear of the sea and charges for the surf, leaping into the water and leaving nothing but a small slick of sunscreen and a sense of resentment as hot as the weather.
The infantilisation of men's wardrobes is down to one garment - the cargo short. The cargo short is now the single most popular item of clothing worn by men, because it means that they finally have a pair of trousers with enough pockets to carry all the crap that men consider so essential.
In the 1950s books about schoolboys made much of the TARDIS like ability for a boy's shorts to hold many items, such as a grubby handkerchief, a shilling to make a phone call, or to bribe the maid to administer a relaxing tit-wank, a catapult, and a frog, alive or dead depending upon the requirements of the plot. This of course, was in the days when it was wholesome to take an interest in the contents of a boy's shorts, before catholic priests gave that sort of thing a bad name.
Now, when an average chap leaves the house without enduring a panic attack, he will require at least his mobile, iPod, wallet, keys, hip flask, hankerchief, plastic bag to avoid being ripped off if he does any grocery shopping and probably at least three other items that I am far too uncool to know about, Kindle? Some form of bus pass? Whatever, the point is that cargo shorts give a bloke the opportunity to store all of that crap and have it within easy reach, even if it does require a bit of thought to ensure that the right item goes in the right pocket and one does not sit down to a sickening crunch and a bad case of 'Nokia-arse'.
The alternative to looking like a schoolboy is to look like a schoolgirl. I am referring, of course, to the 'man-bag'. Worn over the shoulder on a long strap one may as well complete the outfit with a tee shirt that reads 'look everyone, I have an iPad I must carry bloody everywhere'.
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