Monday, 16 July 2012

In every man lurks a rebel

I have reached a stage in my life where I dress as I please rather more than as I think is necessarily conventional.  It used to be the other way round.  In my younger days I worked in a bank and my working clothes consisted of a two-piece suit,shirt and tie, and polished shoes.  Just the same as every other male bank clerk.  But there were subtle differences.  OK, most of us wore grey or dark blue suits but just occasionally somebody would wear a brown one.  I even worked with one ultra-conventional man who wore a palish green tweedy-type suit, but that was so rare as to be almost unique.  Shirts were generally white (cream was "out" by then) or pale blue, socks and shoes were black, and ties were sober, toning with the suit or in club stripes.  But this was where the rebel in me burst out of his chains.  My ties were most definitely not sober, they did not tone with my suit and they were rarely in club stripes.  They were in floral patterns or bright paisleys - nothing that would seem outrageous today.  Indeed, they were probably pretty tame by today's standards.  Nonetheless, I was rebelling by wearing those ties. 

Which leads me to the rather dapper gentleman whose name I don't know.  I don't see him every day but quite frequently we pass on opposite sides of the road as I walk either to of back from the park with the dog after breakfast.  This smartly dressed gentleman is either on his was to or back home from the local convenience store cum post office.  At least, that is what I have always assumed as he is always carrying a shopping bag.  He has never told me that is where he goes; he has never told me anything.  We merely call "good morning" as we pass.  He always seems to me to be the sort who would carry his carefully folded raincoat over his left arm, just so.  His shoes are always polished and he wears a trilby which he raises slightly as he greets me.

This morning, as he turned the corner and walked up the hill away from me, I noticed he was wearing bright red socks.  I had spotted his hidden rebel.


So much for St Swithun (or Swithin - whichever you prefer).  Yesterday might have been fine but it's wet today.  Let's go for a picture to remind us of what summer should be like.  This is the Domaine Faverot in the Luberon (AYear in Provence country) where we bouht some terrific wine a couple of years back.

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