Cardigans must be worn.
I’m going back to cardigans. I don’t think I’ve worn one regularly since I was six or seven years old; a time when I had little say in the choice of clothes I wore, and even then – or soon after – I think I saw them as a ‘girlie thing’. Later, I remember my Dad wearing them which sealed their image as old men’s clothing. And there they stayed even ‘though, if I’d thought about it (which I didn’t), I should have known that for the last four years I’ve been older than my father was when he died.
Then, at last year’s “work’s” Christmas party G, youngest of the firm’s carpenters, was wearing one. Now G is what is commonly described as “fit”. He’s the sort of bloke my nephews used to describe as a “babe magnet”. I remember, not long ago, dealing with an irate customer (a woman) who was upset because we were late getting her order ready and had consequently missed the original fitting date. The customer was threatening to cancel and I phoned to offer her a new date, which would probably be one or two weeks later than she had wanted.
“Okay,” she said, “I’ll accept that on condition that you send me a really fit carpenter on the day.” She said ‘fit’ with the degree of emphasis that didn’t just mean ‘athletic’. I sent her G.
So there we are; G is outside the restaurant at Christmas, shivering in the cold, determinedly having a fag with the lads. And he’s wearing a ruddy cardigan! It’s quite a chunky knit and has big buttons. It suits him in that it’s the right size, isn’t at all baggy, looks good and has sufficient of the buttons undone to tell the world that he’s not wearing a vest or shirt underneath it. In my sour way I compliment G on his appearance, adding the jealous observation that he can get away with wearing a cardy whilst, if I’d worn one, it would have served only to confirm my ‘boring old git’ status. And the pipe and slippers wouldn’t have been far behind…
Cardigans? Thanks to G I’ve dwelt on the prospect of wearing one since Christmas. Last week I saw my eldest son had one too and I borrowed it for an evening out. Cardigan technology has moved on since the 1950s; this one felt all right and – dare I say it? – didn’t look too bad on me. So, next day I’m on my way to Marks & Spark’s which I assumed (wrongly) to be the natural home of the cardigan. Distress – in recent years the b*ggers have had a make-over in the clothing department, presumably in a desperate attempt not to be so boring. It’s not for me to rule on whether or how far they’ve succeeded; I only know they didn’t have any cardigans at the branch I visited. Not a single one. I ended up going along the street to Debenhams (I think it was). They had a few but not many; not a great selection but definitely ‘fashion-conscious’ and clearly not the old men’s garb I had imagined. Evolution applies even in the world of cardigans. That’s what it’s all about – survival of the fittest – which must be why I mentioned G.
It wasn’t easy, buying a cardigan. The most attractive on offer was a Jasper Conran design. I say ‘most attractive’ only in a relative sense. It wasn’t great, just a bit better than the rest. The problem was the price; over £40 and ‘fat-wallet’ didn’t feel up to risking that amount on a gamble. I wear my favourite clothes to destruction and thereby convince myself I’m getting real value from them. Something told me that Jasper’s cardy might not become a favourite and therefore….
In the end, I did buy a cardigan; predictably a nice ‘safe’ boring/ traditional-looking grey woolly one. But it’s nicely shaped and doesn’t look too bad. It’s never going to make me look like G – that would require liposuction, plastic surgery and time-travel – but it might become a favourite and that way I’ll wear it till it’s well and truly ‘worn’. When you’re my age, “cardigans must be worn.” Until, that is, either they – or you – are worn out.
Next week: St Vitus versus St Valentine?
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