One of the choir members, a glorious lady from Nuneaton called Beverley, actually remembers my father from when they were both young. She describes him as a "handsome, tall, curly-haired young man." Today she brought in a newspaper clipping, from the 1940s, from the local paper that my Grandfather edited, reporting the wedding of her parents. "The bride" we're told, "wore a leaf-brown suit with nigger accessories." Wow! I sincerely hope that my grandfather himself was not responsible for that choice phrase!
I had a day off today, which was just wonderful. I slept in, pottered about the house and then took myself to Finchley and Muswell Hill to do various errands.
I went into central London to meet Nathan for a late lunch at Stock Pot, before braving Oxford Street where I went clothes shopping. Yes, you heard me. I actually spent money on clothes. A linen suit, a pair of trousers and a couple of T-shirts. There comes a time in every man's life where he can no longer live in bohemian rags, and I'm ashamed to say that I'm actually down to one pair of trousers these days which don't have holes in them.
Going shopping when you're larger than you'd like to be is disheartening. I used to be an absolute off-the-peg suit man. 34s waist, 42 chest. Everything fitted me like a glove. Now I'm bigger all over, but when I put clothes on, particularly those with the modern slim-line fit, I just resemble a giant barrel-chested caveman! Because I'm now losing weight, there's very little point in trying to buy nice things because in a month they'll all be falling off me and everyone will think I have cancer! You see, this is precisely why I don't buy clothes for myself!