Then my outer-garment of choice (thanks, Mum) was a tasty Gannex coat. As worn by One Greater than I:
You can see where this is going. And, yes, I do still have (I hope, somewhere in the attic) the 45 rpm of Ray Davies’s appropriate commentary on such matters:
After the Sixties, when Lambretta Ld, Li and TV featured in my transportational need, all with frontal protection — and that could be a reet booger in cross-winds — I acquired a Honda Superdream … yes, one of these:
I resurrected my Dad’s old Barbour. After his years of Franny-Barnetts — and worse — it was so well oiled and greased, there was no further need for re-proofing.
For decency’s sake (and because I was not allowed to hang the antique with other coats in the school staff-room), I had to embark on the social-democratic phase of my life (note: but never the SDP), and graduated to my own new Barbours. I discarded my first of these, cuffs and pockets well-frayed, at the time of the 2013 house-move, but its sibling (from circa 1991-2) still serves well, but does need a re-proofing.
All of which is tangentially relevant to the political schlock-horror of the day:
That, ladeez an’ gennelmen, is the state to which the British press has devolved.
And one final thing …
One might conceive that “news” is not fully-exhausted by page 17 of Murdoch’s tabloid London Times. Instead, there we find this salacious and even defamatory “hidden message”, smuggled into an addition to a “colour” piece by Magnus Linklater:
Nicola Sturgeon holding secret talks with President Hollande to resurrect Auld Alliance. Sneaked in via back entrance Elysée Palace last Tuesday guards assumed she was President’s new lady friend