Lady Bracknell's views on polyester
Returning from a much-needed visit to the osteopathic gentleman, Lady Bracknell found herself at one of Liverpool's minor rail termini just before six yesterday evening. The rush hour was all but over by this time, although there were still one or two office workers heading for home.
Lady Bracknell's esteemed mother has long been of the opinion not only that the arrival of warm, sunny weather in this country is automatically greeted by a universal decline in sartorial standards, but also that the average person of over twenty five looks a very great deal better covered up at all times other than those which she once memorably described as "sportif occasions". (Lady Bracknell's esteemed mother bows to no-one in her fondness for euphemisms.)
Averting her eyes from the acres of mottled flesh on display, Lady Bracknell's attention was caught by a commuter who, whilst admittedly being much more modestly attired than the majority of her fellow passengers, could not have been said to have dressed appropriately for the weather.
The lady in question (who is very probably a kind and decent individual and greatly loved by all with whom she comes into contact) was wearing a tartan fleece jacket over a particularly grim two-piece polyester suit, in an unpleasant shade approximating buttermilk, consisting of a permanently pleated skirt and a blouse with a self-tie neckline. To wear either of these items would lead to raised eyebrows: to combine the two is the act of an individual entirely devoid of any concept of what best becomes her.
Lady Bracknell is by no means an advocate of following the dictates of "fashion" slavishly.
However, despite its "easy care" properties, she is firmly of the belief that polyester is an abomination and that outer garments fashioned from its harsh, slippery fibres should be avoided at all costs.
In other news, the white-haired gentleman with the harp was on the same omnibus as Lady Bracknell again this afternoon. Regrettably, she was deep in conversation with a rather charming lady about local opportunities for adopting cats, and thus missed the opportunity she has so long looked for to ask him where he goes and what he does with the harp.
Lady Bracknell's esteemed mother has long been of the opinion not only that the arrival of warm, sunny weather in this country is automatically greeted by a universal decline in sartorial standards, but also that the average person of over twenty five looks a very great deal better covered up at all times other than those which she once memorably described as "sportif occasions". (Lady Bracknell's esteemed mother bows to no-one in her fondness for euphemisms.)
Averting her eyes from the acres of mottled flesh on display, Lady Bracknell's attention was caught by a commuter who, whilst admittedly being much more modestly attired than the majority of her fellow passengers, could not have been said to have dressed appropriately for the weather.
The lady in question (who is very probably a kind and decent individual and greatly loved by all with whom she comes into contact) was wearing a tartan fleece jacket over a particularly grim two-piece polyester suit, in an unpleasant shade approximating buttermilk, consisting of a permanently pleated skirt and a blouse with a self-tie neckline. To wear either of these items would lead to raised eyebrows: to combine the two is the act of an individual entirely devoid of any concept of what best becomes her.
Lady Bracknell is by no means an advocate of following the dictates of "fashion" slavishly.
However, despite its "easy care" properties, she is firmly of the belief that polyester is an abomination and that outer garments fashioned from its harsh, slippery fibres should be avoided at all costs.
In other news, the white-haired gentleman with the harp was on the same omnibus as Lady Bracknell again this afternoon. Regrettably, she was deep in conversation with a rather charming lady about local opportunities for adopting cats, and thus missed the opportunity she has so long looked for to ask him where he goes and what he does with the harp.
posted by
Lady Bracknell | Tuesday, May 09, 2006
5 Comments:
The Gorse Fox is equally curious regarding the white haired gentleman with the harp. He wonders, idly, whether the ominbus stops at "Pearly Gates" during the progression of its route?
Madam
May I remind your Ladyship that, since the beginning of the decline in British agriculture some 80 or so years ago, our once proud nation now imports ever-greater amounts of what we once provided for ourselves? However, in global terms, the positive spin-off from this sorry state of affairs is that third world farmers have a ready and wealthy overseas market for their produce, particularly when production exceeds consumption in their own countries.
Knowing how influential your perforations can be on the thoughts and actions of so many readers, particularly in matters of elegance and decorum, might I advise a word of caution lest your words affect the fate of nations?
Polyester is renowned for its durability and resistance in most environments. Should western tastes or fashions change too dramatically and in an uncontrolled manner, away from the “harsh, slippery fibres” of polyester and towards some other more tactile and undoubtedly more expensive fabric, global economies will not be ready, or able, to respond overnight. Therefore it is highly likely that dependant subsistence farmers, particularly in the more arid and barren areas of the Southern hemisphere, will be unable to replace the polyester crop (the vigour and climatic tolerance of which is almost unparalleled) with anything remotely as lucrative – apart from, that most versatile of crops, marijuana.
And believe me, hemp shirts are even less attractive and comfortable than polyester.
Regards
Professor Dude
Lime Street offers many opportunities to admire attire. We had Marmiteboy working here in 'the smoke' for a while and he proved time and time again to be the real dedicated follower of fashion.
Where fashion is concerned, Oscar Wilde's quote is never far from my mind: Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.
Maybe more often than every six months now...
I would love to hear Lady Bracknell's views on the adult British male's propensity to burst out in shorts at the first gleam of sun.
I don't recall these visions of loveliness from my own youth; is it due to the popularity of foreigh holidays (it can't be due to the beauty of the limbs.)
Post a Comment
<< Home