dark beige

By your fleece

Listen, we've always been mates, and I don't want that to change mate, but the thing is I just feel I've got to raise something. It's a little awkward, but the thing is - I've been noticing how you've not been wearing me as much as you used to.

When you first bought me in September 1998 it was a giddy age for the fleece; indeed what many have since wistfully called the golden age (you don't know a good thing until it's gone).

In that palpable period of pre-milennial angst, as we worried about computer bugs and the like, many were comforted by the simple country casualness of a good old fashioned fleece.





For a stroll in the park on a winter's day or a pint down the pub and a perusal of the Sunday papers, you knew where you were with a fleece. And it was somewhere quite good. Just like mum's home cooking, but different. That magic combination of rolled fibres and poly-cotton tantalising the spirit, like an old dog warmly nuzzling at your ankles by the fire.




But slowly things changed. I knew when those two twin towers fell in September 2001, the third anniversary of our relationship, (when if I'm being honest the cracks were already showing, as you casually wore me round the flat on a Sunday, but never took me out for dinner or a drink very often), I knew then that fleece wearing would never be the same.

The world needed something else now - I don't know what but I reckon it could be a rollneck of some sort.

Anyway, over the years you've slowly been wearing me less and less and now I'm actually forced to suffer the indignity of lying in that pile of unwashed odds and ends in a bag in the bedroom.

What happened? Did you get brainwashed or something? Is that it? Or did you fall in with some "cool crowd" who filled your head with a load of lies about "polo shirts" and "cardigans". Load of gay London wankers! You don't want them, you want a fleece. You want me.




Say it! Please!