Went to the pub, delighted I'd done some carpentry and fixed those almost Bauhaus handles to our sliding bathroom door. There was a 'onesie' party about to kick off in the Star, and those who weren't in onesies were far too friendly, the kind of friendly when they love your jacket, and then doze off or they just love your beard, awesome, and then slump to one side, that sort of friendly. My favourite observation was Onesied Girls (various) leaving on an errand, pressing on each other the notion that they might 'keep it together'. I wonder is the onesie something we should consider alongside the sixties mini skirt of the eighties pirate outfit, a genuine illustration of period? Is the onesie the fashion equivalent of texting; quick, lazy, invisible, abbreviated fun, does it, in its assumption of the warm and the dry fit perfectly with a generation whose recreation of choice appears to be lying on the sofa with an iphone? Is it the sartorial equivalent of 'whatever'?
In the George I found Scot with a couple of his younger intellectual pals. The intellectual pals are intense. Under interrogation, they suggest I yearn for a onesie. I assure you I do not want a onesie.
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