Victoria Hawkins collars the old man

Now there's no need to get shirty but don't you think a professional chap ought to have some kind of sartorial standards when he's at work? I mean you don't expect to rock up and see your doctor to find him wearing a boiler suit or a pair of running shorts yet nor would you expect a brickie to turn up on your doorstep clad in a pinstripe suit, tie and hod in hand.

Now there's no need to get shirty but don't you think a professional chap ought to have some kind of sartorial standards when he's at work? I mean you don't expect to rock up and see your doctor to find him wearing a boiler suit or a pair of running shorts yet nor would you expect a brickie to turn up on your doorstep clad in a pinstripe suit, tie and hod in hand.

It comes down to fit for purpose really but when you deal with people on any kind of a business footing you expect a certain level of smartness. In this respect, sometimes my old man is woefully hopeless and I had to tell him so the other day.

Now Mr H is of the school, old school that is, where appearances are v. v. important. For him ties and jackets are generally de rigeur and forward planning what he's going to wear is part of his mental make up, more so than with me in fact. Going out for supper two weeks hence and he'll already have planned his gear, while get me post shower of a morning and I still haven't got a clue about what I'm going to wear that day. Evening gigs for me are much, much worse - like a woman demented, get me ten minutes before departure and I'll still be wading through a tottering pile of discards on my bedroom chair. Then even as the husband is reversing out of the garage, I'll probably have just started on the second half the wardrobe.

It's just that what fits and feels fine one day, feels so ghastly that I think I look like a pig in it the next. It makes no sense but it must run in the genes; I know this because the Dreaded Daughter does it too.


You may also want to watch:


But while Mr H errs on the side of smart rather than casual his stumbling block is his 'comfy' clothes. By these I mean the clothes he loves so much that he's simply worn them half to death… viz his old threadbare friends. Worse, he will insist on wearing them to work and taking them on holiday too.

When tackled, he says I mustn't throw any of them out and promises he'll only wear them as “work” (as in manual labour, not office) clothes in future. But I've had to insist that a man such as himself simply CAN NO LONGER wear shirts with frayed collars to work (as in office) so in future he's got to have a daily collar inspection. And if he tries to sneak one through though it will end up in the bin.

Most Read

Become a Supporter

This newspaper has been a central part of community life for many years. Our industry faces testing times, which is why we're asking for your support. Every contribution will help us continue to produce local journalism that makes a measurable difference to our community.

Become a Supporter