Style Nazis are genetic

Yes I said genetic, not generic.



My Beloved has always been a snappy dresser, buying most of her clothes from Jaeger, Country Casuals, Vyella etc. (Note to unmarried blokes and married blokes lucky enough never to have been dragged gone shopping with their partners.  The above shops obviously have lovely clothes; because their prices are f*cking extortionate.)

I, on the other hand have been primarily concerned with comfort. 

I don't take things to the extremes.

When I go to Nuova Lazio High School, I always wear a jacket, dress shirt and tie (trousers too, and socks, shoes and nether garment coverings, for all you pedants out there), but at home I generally wear either shorts and T-shirt in the summer.  If I go out with my beloved, it has been my practice to wear my favourite casual trousers.
These were bought via mail order from a company in the UK called Craghoppers.  I always buy my outdoor gear from them, but wait for the sales, because they're quite pricey. The quality is excellent.  I bought two pairs of their Kiwi trousers.

They are tough, very comfortable, with a multitude of pockets to keep the essential bloke's requirements; wallet, humbugs, string, folding knife, hip flask of Scotch, spare change, USB Pen Drives, tins of beer, plastic bags and these days, a mobile phone.

My Beloved was never keen on them, saying they were too scruffy to be seen accompanying her (she was probably right, but most time I'm too scruffy to be seen accompanying her, let alone my apparel)

But the situation is worse than I feared.

On Monday I went to see the Eddie Izzard show in Wellington. (show wasn't bad, the second half being much funnier than the first half)

It was partly a birthday treat (I had my birthday on Saturday) and partly a bonding seesion with my son.

It was quite late when I got home from NLHS (another Head of bloody Faculty Meeting, which Ringo missed I'm glad to say) and I kept on my short-sleeved white shirt I wore to work, took off my tie, changed my dress trousers for my trusty Kiwis by Craghopper, and thought I was ready to go, with maybe a light jacket once we went outside.

My son told me he wasn't going out with me dressed like that.

At the time, he was wearing what I would describe as a mix of grunge and metrosexual crap.  His T-shirt had layers, holes, zips and a scoop neck.  His jeans had holes, tears and looked decidedly Oxfamish. His hair was shaved up the sides of his head, but flopped down over his eyes, yet this absolute paragon of haute-couture said I was scruffy.

My Beloved just glared, so I went and changed.

Now look, Kiwis are some of the most casual dressers you could ever meet.  There were blokes in that theatre last night in shorts and jandals; shorts, dress shirt and hiking boots.  There were ladies in dress varying from dungarees to cocktail dresses (always wondered about the term cocktail dress. Does it get you pissed? or are they waiting for a cock to chase their tail?)

Nobody would have cared if I had been wearing what I originally intended, but my son, backed up by my Beloved had insisted, so I went with a checked shirt, khaki cords and a lightweight tweed jacket.  I admit I did feel smarter, quite the bee's knees in fact, but I was being forced to wear somebody else's selection, and it makes me grumpy.

Just as an aside, where on Earth do some of these expressions we use every day (at least in the UK and NZ) come from?

The Bee's Knees (looking smartly dressed, UK & NZ)

Box of Birds (Feeling happy, NZ)

Pissed Off (angry, grumpy, murderous, UK & NZ)

The Cat's Pyjamas (Just the best, UK & NZ)  This last one is I think the weirdest.  As is the actual word "pyjamas".  I think it derives from Persia, but not completely sure, but it certainly feels different from other English words.


Oh well, must head off to NLHS, for another day of stimulating teaching.
Wait.
Oh, I almost forgot.

Our seniors left after the prize giving last night, and only the juniors are left.  I only have one junior class on my timetable, which means, by an incredibly fortuitous circumstance (and absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I was on the Timetable Committee last year) that

I DON'T HAVE A CLASS TODAY,

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
He chortled in his joy. 

(The Jabberwocky; Lewis Caroll.)  (See, just because I'm a techno-nerd, and even on a bad day, an übergeek, it doesn't mean I'm a literary ignoramus)