Clothes!

Giving into our narrow minded Judeo-christian codes I went to buy some clothes as going "sky clad" is apparently wrong. Buying clothes always gets me in a bad mood, everything about seems designed to wind you up. Here's why it's rubbish:

Men's clothes are boring: I had in mind a look in the way off Regency Dandy meets member of the Memphis Horns going to a wedding. What do I get loads of rather dull casual t-shirt and jeans.

Size matters: I know I should do something about my waste size but yesterday I could get things to fit that way but the legs were too short. Why can't they stock clothes that fit.

Grovelling on the floor: why are the socks for tall people on the bottom shelf and yet stuff for short arses are at the top.

15 minute Classic: Why do so called "classic"chinos (for instance)change style every season?

Oxymoron: I saw a pair of trews refereed to as "luxury" yesterday they cost £9.98!

No Logo: I don't want a t-shirt with "Kansas state athletics union 1973" on it , honestly I saw one pre-distressed retro hoody thing which said "back street rodeo" on it which is just filth.

Anyway after an hour I came away with one pair of trousers and a death wish for the whole rag trade. Luckily a chat to the guy in Gosh and browse round the new Oxfam book shop near the British museum improved my mood that and some falafel.

My restored good mood was almost wrecked by opening

"Observer fashion Supplement by Tank"
now none of what follows is new but this magazine was the most crass worthless piece of tat I've read in a long while.
After a brief introduction that paid lip service to the downturn in the economy the glib self obsessed vacuous fashion world got back to encouraging an orgy of spending.

First up a Chanel watch for "£12,625" or as the last census would put it half a years wages for the average Briton. This sort of stuff goes past obscene into new levels of depravity. Most people would have to work 910 hours to earn enough to buy this watch.

But of course the rest of the mag is full of 1,000 pound hand bags, dresses that also cost a grand , motorcycle jackets that don't keep your kidneys warm (or safe!) that cost more than a motorcycle.
This in a magazine produced by a newspaper that had a comment piece slagging of plutocrats for having 150 million pounds yachts!

Plus all the models look ill they have that bruised eye make up druggy look that's been popular for a while. I can never see how this sells clothes; I know the look of these mags is aimed at women and isn't about sexual attractiveness to men but how is looking sickly anything to aspire to?

Do women look at these pictures and think that could be me I could look great if only I had my face done up to look like I'm victim of domestic abuse who's spent the evening sobbing in the doorway of Dixons, that would be just the thing for Libby's wedding?

Satire Proof:The design team have obviously never watched Zoolander as one spread of an Asian model made me laugh out loud ,as the model has her plait sticking upright in all the shots (like a surprised small mammal), I was half expecting a shot of her clashing together a tiny pair of cymbals.

The whole thing was a piece of utter trash a catalogue of hollow venial crud. Looking good, having fun with clothes is one thing but this sort of consumerist fashion is pathetic amoral tat and the fact that so called intelligent creative people spend any time producing it should make them shamed to their £755 Louis Vittuon calf length porn star heeled boots.

Meanwhile on Oxford street Primark was heaving and Top Shop store security were chasing an incredibly fast running girl down towards Centre point.

The New Black's

Just been to get a new rucksack for work (I’m in the SAS so I need a good one honest!) my preferred old one is too knackered and my other too big so I headed across to Blacks. Now I will try not to make this” it were grand in d’ olden days” schtick but blimey Blacks has changed. Times gone camping shops were strangely utilitarian places that smelt of wax, leather and nylon (nurse the screens!). They had enamel cups and Tilly lamps, cagoules only in orange, green or blue, leather walking boots and wellies. The only embellishment may have been a 3d map of the Cairngorms or one of those slowly opening closing Swiss army knife models.

Blacks as you can see now looks like a Gap or a little Miss Selfridge the upstairs is full of cottony performance outdoor wear in pastel shades.
Take the ubiquitous fleece when they first appeared they were a weird form “performance” clothing that you had to wear next to your skin. There were only three types a “tog 24” in green which was sort of lumpy and the pride of Norwegian fishing fleet Helly Hansens daringly in either blue or red (I had red one because our A had Blue one!).

Of course New Blacks et al aren’t aimed at campers or walkers anymore, no they want to attract “independent travellers” who are going “Trekking in Patagonia”. You’ll have seen them a blonde toothy couple in some advert crossing some unblemished wilderness having flown all the way there in diesel guzzling jumbo.... (ahh eco tourism so much to answer for).

Everything is complicated in New Blacks they sell energy bars in all flavours except Kendal mint cake. You can have a titanium cup for £30 quid which will still be red hot when you put tea in it.

The staff were nice though and friendly and my new rucksack is ace. I’m a dyed in the wool Karrimor fan nothing against Berghaus just settled on karrimor young and have never changed. My teenage flirtation with Fjall Raven dwindled (yep the only kids in school to have Norwegian climbing gear instead of Puma, I’m not sure why we weren’t beaten up more often).
Resisted buying a complicated knife or a compass and nothing in world would make buy a “camel back” “look at me I drink a lot of water I do”.

And I already have a stupid beany hat! So a new sac and a tin of boot wax.

Anyway I shall be dubbing me boots this evening and dreaming of having a back packer's breakfast, if only I could head out to Bleaklow this afternoon and go peat hagging and watch the sun go down over Jodrell bank, has any one seen my gaiters.