Despite living
an increasingly frugal and spendthrift existence I must be doing something
drastically wrong in the fiscal stakes.
Looking round
the office even the temporary staff, who are probably not getting paid a great
deal more than the statutory minimum wage, are substantially better dressed
than me. I discarded the shoes I am wearing and abandoned them under my desk a
few years ago after they developed a leak – I am now back to wearing them as
they are in a better condition than the ones that were hitherto donning my
feet. My trousers have long since
reached their expiry date and are at least a size too big after I shifted
excess timber after breaking my ankle February last.
All of my work
shirts bear immovable stains to one degree or another (nothing sordid if you
are wondering – mostly coffee) and a £5 digital watch that I bought for
exercise purposes has now become my work and all purpose time piece after my
other, smarter one, broke (one cheeky impertinent young work colleague said, in
all seriousness, “I like your retro watch”).
My work glasses, which cost a few quid 10 odd years ago, still look the
part, or leastways I still think so, but they tend to fall off if I look down
as they are now a little loose on my head.
By the way, how is it possible to get a stain out of a shirt? Women
generally tend to have the magical, unfathomable gift of stain removal but even
with the aid of the most up to date and expensive associated products it is
still a skill that eludes me.
I still just
about retain a thin veneer of office attire respectability and if I needed to
up my game for a one off occasion I could embellish myself in a respectable
suit and Crombie style overcoat, with
decent cufflinks and tie (matching) and with a brief case as an accessory
(purely an accessory as there would be nothing important or of use in it);
currently shoes would pose a problem.
However, since my old housemate the Phantom moved on to bigger and
better things, as he was right to do, (deciding to share the responsibility of
household bills and rent with his lovely girlfriend) my ability to purchase the
luxury of clothes has been severely diminished.
My financial
projections show that the urgent need for new work trousers and shoes is
unlikely to be remedied before August and that could be put back until October
if I have to incur the expense of me and my 8 year old son, the Cannonball,
going to the League Cup Final at Wembley next month – a trip that is highly
unlikely now, given my beloved Aston Villa lost 3-1 away at Bradford in the
first leg of the semi-final last night.
I do not look at the loss to Bradford
as a silver lining in the new work trousers stakes, as my glass tends to be
half empty. I would not want silver lined work trousers anyway, as they sound
too uncomfortable. Comfort is my first priority with work attire (after cost of
course) given that I have to spend an inordinate amount of time in such attire,
mostly chained to a desk. The comfort-over-style
preference is also probably symptomatic of me now being in my 40’s.
I am afraid
that the same fate most probably awaits my work trousers as demise of the
Little German’s trousers a few years ago (Nb. the Little German is not German
but he is little.) The Little German
never took to the practice of wearing underpants and this proved to be a source
of embarrassment as he walked up the office after his threadbare work trousers
finally developed a flesh-revealing hole in the seat of the trouser, much to
the amusement of his tittering work colleagues.
It could all
culminate in a visit to the many charity shops in my homely little Black Country , provincial home town in order to find
suitable cheap trousers that are in better condition than my own. This will not transform me into a dead man
walking but I will thereafter be walking in a dead man’s trousers.
© Dominic
Horton, 9th January, 2013.
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