So we’re having some lovely time back in SW London enjoying the incredible summertime in the beautiful open spaces around here with our very lovable youngest grandson. Today it was Marble Hill gardens, home to one of George III’s many mistresses, though she’s long gone of course. There’s the House Festival happening there tomorrow , which is incredibly trendy, headlined by The Pet Shop Boys and Chaka Khan (we know how to get down with the kids in the borough of Richmond you know) and we watched all the trucks and stuff moving in – the little fellah’s big into lorries and diggers – from the comfort of the fenced children’s garden. We had 3 hours of blissful grandparents/kids stuff. Our little lad was as good as gold.
But this posting isn’t about my family; it’s more to do with the things that I’ve observed and discovered these last few sunny summery days. First off appearances. Now I reckon women, all women, just look great at this time of year. Lots of skirts, boho styles, great colours, super legs, tanned skin and very white skin etc. Oh I know you see a couple of extra rolls and curves that get covered up the rest of the year but I like that women feel free to expose their figures a bit more and take in the sun. It’s sexy. But what the frig happens to the dress sense of British men when the sun comes out? Especially those fellahs of a certain age and carrying some extra timber around the middle. I’m talking about My Generation of course. It’s like watching a North Korean fashion catwalk show. Hideous long length cut-off shorts with too many pockets crammed full of stuff or shorts so short they should come with a siren warning. And they are always in a vibrant shade of pea-green matched with a Charlton Athletic team shirt or red polo shirt sized L when the best fit would be XXXL. Oh the joy of seeing a fat blerk’s moobs and extended belly button though his tightly-fitting T-shirt emblazoned with the thought-provoking caption….’With my watch it’s always beer o’clock’ or the greying one detailing the dates of the Fairport Convention tour from 1973. It’s over 40 years old; chuck the frigging thing out or stick it on your wall. Just don’t wear it. And then there are the lurid orange trainers or crap sandals with shin-high grey socks which don’t match with anything. He’s a sample of some of Teddingtons finest… and my personal favourite from a large selection of blerks in shorts… You know who you are.
Look I wouldn’t claim to be a style criminologist but I do know how to colour co-ordinate some shorts and a t-shirt and how to use darker colours or looser tops to disguise, not emphasise, the paunch. It’s not rocket science is it? And if any rednecks are checking by (and I do have history with the Confederate section of The Kinks’ fan club), I’m not gay.
And speaking of redness has anybody else observed the latest trendy colour of new vehicles? Until this summer I’d never noticed it but everywhere you go I keep seeing these brand new cars in a kind of copper colour… Where did that come from? I’ve no idea but it’s everywhere. Since when did the colour copper become hot/cool? Disturbing.
Next up a nice surprise. We came across a new beer in our local Sainsbo’s called Desperados. The packaging implies that it contains a shot of tequila; ignore it. It’s some frothy beer with a dash of lime but when the temperature’s chasing 35C and I’m chasing my grandson around the Green, this stuff really, really hits the spot when you walk in and see what Senor Fridge has by way of relief. Ay caramba pp