It had to happen. The jacket was looking a little too smug for my liking, but now it has nowhere to hide its trickery (if it has any, that is). The result is as yet inconclusive. When worn it feels a bit as though a fledgling Skinpunk has tried to turn his old man’s suede jacket into a rebellious garment worthy of the gang he wants to join, only to fail on a number of levels. I’m thinking of using the sleeves to turn it into a quasi-Withnail & I tailcoat.
On a slightly related note, full marks go to the Grade A dickhead who just managed to speed through the one giant water-filled pothole on
Archway Road, thoroughly soaking me and
the jacket in the process. Next time I see you and your jumped-up silver Ford
Fiesta festooned with spoiler, misogynist bumper stickers and fluffy seat
covers, your nuts are mine.