Man in a cheap suit

It’s the village cricket ‘do’ tonight, where the great and good of Stoke Gifford eat, drink and generally talk bollocks.

It’s fair to say that we all look forward to it. But for me there’s one thing I hate: the dressing up bit.

I am not known for being a master of sartorial elegance. Looking smart to me is wearing a clean pair of jeans, a new T shirt and some decent trainers. I am not sure what this dressing up malarkey is all about.

I am told that it’s nice to look ‘smart’ in the wearing a suit smart type department. Men, apparently, are so much better looking wearing a collar and tie. I somehow doubt that looking in the mirror and seeing the remnants of someone who used to be much younger. I am not sure drastic plastic surgery could reverse the decline on that front.

I do own a suit, purchased, I think, in that most of stylish of stores, Matalan. I am pretty sure my son’s new shoes cost considerably more than my suit.

It all feels so impractical to me. Shiny black shoes, pressed trousers, a buttoned up shirt (god, I hate buttons) and jacket (at least there is somewhere to put my reading glasses and mobile phone) and a tie. A tie? What the hell’s that for? It’s a long bit of fabric, you put it round your neck and it serves absolutely no purpose whatsoever. But it’s smart, I am told. Well, I don’t think it looks anything other than superfluous. Waste of time.

So that’s a lovely evening dealt a massive blow right at the start. Lots of laughs, for sure, but throughout I shall feel very self-conscious.

If I had my way, I’d make the affair very informal, with the instructions to people to wear anything they like, but preferably something old and denim. After all, those are my funeral instructions: no god, no crying (as if) and above all no smart clothes.

I am not going to read the news or get married tonight. I am going out for something to eat, that’s all.

Dressing up, as anyone who knows me will confirm, is an anathema and I really don’t see the point!