Dressing stylishly for the great outdoors is a subtle art
A couple of weeks ago I went to a big agricultural show. For some reason, despite my fishing background and knowing about these things, I went dressed completely inappropriately and had to borrow wellingtons, which irked me, as I had my own Rolls-Royce of wellies back home - Neoprene-lined and with a three-figure price tag - which would have kept my feet warm and dry. I was also wearing baggy, flared cords, which weren't right at all. I would have looked fine for a Toast catalogue (the lifestyle catalogue where everyone wears big slouchy socks and eats breakfast off photogenic trays), but I couldn't tuck my trousers into my wellingtons, so I had to either get them caught in the mud or roll them up and look like a clown.
An indecent proportion of the people there were magnificently dressed. Sure, there was the odd person who looked like the Sandman, in a huge waterproof cloak (ridiculous: you're not going to be swabbing down decks in the Drake Passage). But most of the women were wearing tight trousers tucked into wellingtons, fitted tweedy jackets and oilskin hats. A good half-dozen of them looked like they'd stepped off the catwalk. I stared for a good ten minutes at one while pretending to admire the bullocks; she looked amazing, all shiny skin and hair, and really slim despite having four obviously biological children coming halfway up her six-foot-long legs. Gosh, I thought, this country air is turning me into a lesbian. But actually it was sheer admiration; it's a great talent to be able to dress for comfort and warmth yet still look slim and stylish. Sadly, not one I've ever possessed.
There were, however, two men in a particular shade of red chinos. I only ever see these trousers worn by men in the country and the red is distinct. Not bright, bright red, but a slightly rusty red - but not with enough rust to disguise the fact that these people are wearing what amount to Andy Pandy-red trousers. I have no idea what these trousers mean, where they come from, or why these men think it's a good idea to wear them. In theory, I think people should wear what they want, but in practice this goodwill dissipates if they're wearing something that physically startles me.
Invariably, the men who wear such trews are a particular sort - think City man who has left the rat race and spent his insanely large bonus on setting up his own bijou company in the country selling olives, smart-casual "going out to get the milk" clothes, quaint signs, doorstops or anything that pushes the "country living" idea to other people who used to live in cities and now live amid grass. The original point of outdoor wear was that it was practical, warm and partly camouflaging (which is why you get tweeds that differ according to the diverse landscapes up and down the country). Red makes no sense at all.
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