Things sartorial

I bought a tracksuit today. I think that this is the first time in my life that I have been moved to do this, and there is a certain irony that it has happened at a time when I can’t walk, let alone lead a life of sporty athleticism. However, it was a necessary move, as the last time I pitched up to my physiotherapy session, it was in a rather smart charcoal grey two piece suit and tie. I think my physio was pleased to see that I was managing to start a working life again, but did register some disquiet about my sartorial choice being appropriate for any exercise that involved breaking into a sweat. And he wanted to see my muscles. Which certainly will put him in a lifetime minority of one. So I took myself to Primark this afternoon, as that way at least the shock of the purchase wouldn’t deliver the killer blow to my terminally sick bank balance. I also have to confess that, uniquely for me, I had to ask Sarah about what sort of tracksuit to buy, as I had absolutely no frame of reference whatsoever. I suspect that the last time I wore a tracksuit was at school, and I’ve spent some quality time ensuring that memories of school PE sessions have been effectively wiped.

Still, the suit and tie combo has done me some good, as I believe I was effectively propositioned at Redhill station yesterday. A very slinky lady had been glancing at me for some time before coming to sit next to me, and finding a pretext for chat. It was when she took off her gloves and made sure that I saw her naked ring finger that the penny started to drop, and it clattered quite audibly to the ground when she started talking about a friend of hers who had used a broken leg as a pulling tool. This had never struck me before as a possibility. Strutting my funky stuff on the dance floor hardly came naturally when I had the use of all of my limbs, but I certainly couldn’t imagine the crutches helping my moves at all. If, of course, I had chosen to follow the conversation to its seemingly natural conclusion, I could well imagine loosing the use of another limb as well. Somehow, I’m not sure I could sell a dose of infidelity to Sarah as a valid clinical choice. Neither, for the record, would I want to! However, there was no doubt that it was good for the ego. Even when I noticed just how thick the glasses were that she was wearing. After all, she was, she told me, an optician.

There has been no photo in this blog entry yet. Apologies for missing the opportunity to show a photo of me sporting my new athletic attire. That was an editorial decision. And apologies for not having taken a photo of the slinky optician. That was a legal decision. But there is a photo worth showing. William met the Crystal Palace football team today. It’s one of the few benefits of him being such a medical emergency. I’m not sure what he felt he got out of the experience, other than some signatures for his scrapbook, and the addition of the word ‘Footboryer’ to his ever expanding vocabulary. However, the last time he met a football team was at Chelsea, and at least he is now casting his loyalty on the right side of the Thames. So here he is meeting Crystal Palace. He put his football shirt on especially. He my be a Croydon boy, but this is not his usual wardrobe choice. I’m going to have to work on him meeting some cricketers soon. Then at least I’ll know who they are. After waking up to the closing stages of the second Ashes test this morning, my guess is that there will be plenty of cricketers looking for good publicity by February.