Day 16 and we’ll touch briefly on the subject of clothes.
Jeans. All-year jeans, to be specific.
I spent much of my childhood in elasticated waists. God, the eighties were amazing. But I remember the profound sense of maturity I felt when I was finally allowed jeans, elastic-free and bootcut. Jeans that either fitted, hung loose, or dug into my skin: these were the items to prove my entry into the adult world.
Apart from a brief spell in my teens when I wore nothing but camouflage and, in so doing, found that even close friends were convinced I’d joined the Army cadets – despite my only having had the fitness for active jogging for about twelve minutes during that time – I have lived most of my life in denim.
Of course, I hope, someday, to have a truly stunning jacket. A proper designer-labelled, silly, overpriced thing, to be worn at the premiere of the film – obviously. We’ll whack it on my list of ambitions. But I fancy I’ll team it with a pair of jeans. Fancy jacket, tatty jeans. It’s a look, and one I aspire to.
So, there you have it – day sixteen – all-year denim, baby.