Warming Up

The ice was still there. And there were a few more bits that I hadn't seen yesterday. They might not have been the same bits. I mean they couldn’t have been if they were ice. It can’t be ice right? Or someone is putting dirty ice out every day at the same time in the morning. I did look at one piece quite intently and it looked like ice, but I didn’t want to touch it in case it was alien excreta or maybe some kind of poisonous compound that looked like ice but burned you instead. I may be braver tomorrow. But I may not.

I suppose I could take a photo.

WHAT IS THAT STUFF?

I decided to incentivise my weight loss and reward myself for losing weight and spend the £500+ I have saved by not drinking this year (might be more than that to be honest)  by getting a suit made. I have done this once before for my wedding (it was Al Murray’s very kind wedding gift to me), but that suit has seen better days and has been too small for me for a while (but is now a little too big). I shouldn’t be allowed nice things because I always ruin them, but I am hoping I can become a little more grown up and not just leave all my clothes scrunched up in a ball on the floor. I have bought a few new clothes in recent weeks and it is a huge confidence boost to be wearing nice stuff and a just reward for the self control I have exhibited to get this far.

It’s a laborious process though (I may have written about it before in the run up to the wedding), involving choosing materials and then three or so fittings to make sure the fit is right. This is mildly complicated by the fact that I am losing weight during the process. I had the first fitting last week and the trousers (based on measurement a month before) were gratifyingly loose. But even just one more week on, with the size adjusted there was still room round the waist. That’s a much clearer and healthier test of health benefits than relying on weight.

I walked around London for a bit before heading home and found myself in the opulent environs of New Bond Street, filled with designer clothes shops and jewellers. The people there were well dressed but all looked pretty unhappy. Or at least not happy. Or maybe if you’re rich you have to affect being bored by everything, even when surrounded by the most beautiful and expensive trinkets in the world. And I know that by having a suit made I am spending a lot of money on clothing, but the prospect if thrilling and terrifying and feels like a big spend for me. But it makes me happy. Everyone here looked like they were searching for happiness in yet more material goods, but every purchase weighed them down like Jacob Marley’s chains. 

I may have been projecting. I am certainly a lot happier having some money than I was when I had none. 

But the rich can afford to be eccentric. Not only are many of the clothes on display insane, but the people are crazy too. I saw a man who looked quite a lot like Tiny Tim (confusingly the sixties entertainer, not the Christmas Carol guy despite my previous allusion), to the extent that I just googled him to check that it wasn’t. And it wasn’t, because he died in the 1990s and would have been a good deal older than this guy had he not.

But he was wearing what essentially looked like a three piece coat, with long layers over the top of each other. He had a Rolls Royce following him up the road and a Melania Trump lookalike on his arm. For some reason I fancied he was part of some European Royal family, but I don’t know why. He certainly had some cash to spare. Anywhere else in the world people would have been staring and probably laughing at this guy, but here in Mayfair he was normal enough for nobody but me to even look at.

I don’t know how many future generations there will be, nor what exactly they will look back at us with a mixture of anger and laughter about (you know the way it feels insane that the Victorian rich happily sent kids up chimneys and under looms to us), but the divide between rich and poor seems more mad and pronounced nowadays in some ways. The pendulum swings back and forth.

I hope I am never anything but excited and grateful to be able to spend money on something nice, but if in twenty years time you see me in Mayfair, covered in jewels and looking annoyed about my next unnecessary purchase do feel free to punch me in the face. And then show me the link to this blog to remind me how I used to feel.

RHLSTP with London Hughes is up here in audio 

Or here on video

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