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.

Norfolk notes - Cromer

Cromer ticks all the boxes as a proper Victorian seaside town. It's got a grand hotel perched on the cliff top, it's got a pier, it's even got a slightly unpleasant literary association (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was staying here when a friend told him about the spectral black dogs that are supposed to frequent the region and he got the idea for 'The Hound of the Baskervilles') and, of course, it's got that faded grander look that is a charming inevitability of juxtaposing impressive architecture and strong onshore winds.


Cromer is not, however, in the paint peeling, decaying, B&Bs being used to house the homeless rather than holidaymakers, DNR category of seaside towns. The paint and the pier are colourful, there's proper shows, tourists and locals shop here and of course, it's famous for it's crabs, meaning that the fishermen are out daily pulling up their pots while children line the end of the pier. With a crab line, a bucket and the enormous sense of expectation that is the base state of any fisherman.



There are also new pastimes to enjoy as well as the traditional ones. Cromer is the home of the Glide surf school and if you thought that the crab fishermen were optimistic, that's as nothing to the sort of person who fancies surfing at Cromer.

To be fair, you do get surf on the North Norfolk coast, except it usually happens within a couple of feet of the dry bit of the beach. Anyway, is it really a good idea to take surf students out on the water near the pier? I don't know much about surfing, but I do know that weaving in and out of the sort of solid piles that hold up an enormous structure in the North Sea might prove something of a challenge, especially as it's exactly the sort of challenge that anyone attracted to surfing would relish. That, however, is how you end up as a wet-suit full of hurt.


The Glide surf school though, has a secret weapon - the paddle. Looking out to sea I could see a half a dozen teens all standing on their surf boards, paddling. Bloody hell it looked like fun, like being a really cool gondolier or one if punters on the Cam, but looking less of a twat. It looked like the sort of sport where you spend some time paddling your board, fall in a few times, get ruthlessly mocked by your mates, have a race or two then back to the beach, towel off, bonnie, brews and a barbie. This is surfing without all that tedious sitting around waiting for a wave, having to then catch said wave, being tipped off your board, smeared along a reef and being stung to buggery by the spiky spindly fish that live there resulting in your leg blowing up to the size of a monster truck tyre.

Also, it means that you can leave any surf bore dumfounded. While conventional surfers try and out-do one another with tales of wild white water, where they caught the biggest waves and how the rollers break on some obscure beach on some Hawaiian island with a name you suspect is made up for the tourists and which would score very highly at Scrabble, you can join in with tales of where the water was calmest.

Obviously didn't get time to actually do any paddling, but it did look like tremendous fun. At some point in the future, possibly when my ego can stand being next to teens in wet suits, I may well give it a go.

A good look?

Fat face is a store that sells, essentially, surfing inspired apparel for middle aged people who are more likely to surf the internet or the teevee channels than any body of water.

In Ely recently. Appropriate attire in Ely is a farmer’s smock, or the skin of the incomer you’ve killed. This is a resolutely landlocked city in the heart of East Anglia so, the ideal place to locate a shop flogging loud shirts and cargo pants in case you decide to drive for an hour to the coast.

What gives the game away, though, are the sizes. I've seen surfers. Mainly they sit together on their boards, in little clumps, looking out to sea and talking no doubt about waves, cider or pot.

They also have flat stomachs and not a whole lot of fat. While you would think that a low centre of gravity would be an advantage on a surf board, it is obviously incompatible with looking good in a wet suit.

Fat Face sells cargo pants in a size 38 waist. The shop was full of middle aged people mistakenly thinking that they could pull off the shorts and loud shirt look for one more summer.

There comes a time when one has to realise that the correct summer attire is, essentially, a hammock and a pitcher of Pimms - and cargo pants if you must but at least have the good grace to call them 'pirate trousers'.