Tag Archives: suits


I remember, as a child, saying I never wanted a job where I had to wear a suit. I mean, I also said I wanted to be a dinosaur, that one day I would make my millions and I would never work in an office – so you can see I was full of a lot of shit.

But I never did want to wear a suit. So it comes to me being however old I am and owning Just One Suit. I own this suit as a result of the dole – I was offered an interview, I had nothing to wear for the interview, the benefits service offered me vouchers to buy suitable clothing from Burton in order to not look like as much of a scummer at my interview.

Yeah, benefits are clearly shit and serve no purpose. Idiots.

Anyway, if it wasn’t for this I would not have a suit. I have trousers, left over from when I bought some for £4 because they were £4. I have a suit jacket from Primark that cost, I believe, £12. It doesn’t match, but that didn’t stop me cobbling it together in some fashion. But it’s not a suit.

So with me not ever really having one and not ever really wanting or needing to wear one, I still find it odd that I can peruse eBay for ages looking at suits, being tempted to buy them and hovering over the bid button for ages. There is no good reason I should buy one, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting.

Suppose that’s less the suit’s fault, more the fault of my insanity.

I still want a zoot suit.

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Airports are fun, aren’t they?

I’m sat waiting for a slight to Stockholm in Heathrow’s terminal 5. It’s like being in the future, except an awful future full of horrible people with faces like they’ve just been twocked on the back of the head with a sock full of coins. And the suits! Ohhh, the suits. They’re everywhere. Pinstriped prannocks, one has to say.

There’s probably a point to this rushed entry (rushed not because I don’t want to say things, more because I’ve only got a few minutes left on my £2.99 for 30 minutes of internet). Here goes something trying to resemble a point:

I still have that childlike wonder about me when it comes to airports. They were quite the fixture of my youth, as jet-setting a family as we were. We went everywhere; Tenerife, Greece, Tenerife – you name it! So obviously airport lounges, duty free shops selling shit no one would buy, Boots with its tiny shampoo – they should all still fill me with joy, right?

Well, they do. A tiny bit, so nowhere near as much as when I was wee. But – call me pathetic – they really do. I find them exciting, as you’re always going to go on a plane, which is always ace (though I’m more scared of flying now than I ever was as a kid) and you’re always going to end up somewhere new. It’s clearly how the explorers in the 15th century felt, in their seaport lounges, or whatever it is they had.

I do wonder if they had to go through the rigmarole of having their hair gel taken from them, however. Or their shampoo. It’s not my fault I didn’t actually check how many ml of Head & Shoulders I had. Alright, so it is my fault, but still – I’m annoyed.

Where was that point again? Oh yeah, it buggered off a long time ago. Sorry kids, no image today. Can’t be bothered. And with that, I get on a plane to Sweden.

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