Fat Faced

I have been accused of finding 'Fat Face' 'just in time'. I was going to deny the accusation, but as I sat there in my cargo shorts, tee shirt and hoodie all from the aforementioned shop, I think I would have been short on evidence, even if I was, as always, long on indignation. I decided to sulk instead.

Whoever came up with the Fat Face brand is a marketing genius. The business model is simple - make young persons' clothes in middle-aged persons' sizes, and staff the shop with young people who can keep a straight face when they see their hundredth bloke of the day holding in his gut as he tries on a shirt.

Their slogan is 'it's never too late to become what you've always wanted to be' or something. I hate to argue, but judging by the way I nearly passed out the last time I had to run for my train, it is now too late for me to do anything athletic enough to bring me the sort of success and recognition necessary to get lucrative sponsorship, a video game franchise and a fizzy drink or shoe named after me, so allowing me to stop doing whatever it was that made me sweaty yet wealthy and allow me instead to recline on the sofa, watching DVD box sets and eating cheese.

Let's be clear, cargo pants should not go up to a size forty waist. If you want to dress like a surfer dude, you should be willing to exercise, do crystal meth, or both.

As for me, whether I found it just in time or not, I am just happy that they always seem to have something on the sale rack, and that their clothes are so comfy, even if it means I do look like the shitest surfer ever.

VW camper of delight

Like every normal adult male, the Lego catalogue drops through my door on a regular basis. A slim but gratifyingly glossy publication, it tends to shy away from listing the 99p minifigs and other pocket money sets widely available in the toy shops of the shires and focus more on limited edition monstrosities designed to appeal to dads who think their child could benefit from a Death Star large enough to pose a real crushing hazard to their toddler. These toys are only available in the community of Online, near I believe the settlement of Internet and connected with what I understand is termed a superhighway. Essentially the peak of mankind's technical achievements mean that you can get plastic brick kits that cost two hundred and fifty quid delivered to your door.

Sitting comfortably I flicked through the pages. It was the usual stuff designed to appeal to the adult Lego enthusiast, that is, anyone who is of an age lucky enough to count 'slave Liea' rather than Jar Jar Binks as a formative experience, and then...what's this? A VW camper van, in Lego. For only eighty quid!

http://shop.lego.com/en-GB/Volkswagen-T1-Camper-Van-10220

There is something slightly queasy about the ultimate symbol of anti-establishment freedom (most VW campers come ready spray painted with the CND symbol on the side, a Greenpeace sticker instead of a tax disc and a handy storage compartment to hide your weed) costing eighty quit in Lego form. Surely anyone with eighty quid is better of buying, as Malcolm Tucker put it 'a goat the whole village can fuck', rather than a Lego kit that, once assembled, is at best going to sit there gathering dust (and writing as the owner of a Lego X Wing, I write with authority...and yes, of course I love it, it's a Lego X Wing, when the house is empty I recreate the Death Star trench run in my hallway) and at worst is going to be a constant nagging reminder that you don't own a real one.

Men dream of owning a real VW camper van. It's the ultimate symbol of freedom and of picking up hippy girls and having uninhibited sex with them. Maybe though, the joy of the open road is best experienced as a journey of imagination. On the open road of the mind there are no speed cameras and no BMWs, there are loads of places to pull over and enjoy the view, there are still Little Chefs and there are still happy hippy hitch hikers.

Still want one though.