Fashionably unfashionable

I had the pleasure of attending my brother’s wedding recently.

Impressively, I managed to look like a tramp, even though I was trying to look cool.

You may remember that I recently obtained a new pair of glasses, after agonising so long over which pair to purchase that the staff at the opticians came close to offering me a bed for the night. Armed with my trendy new specs, I foolishly fell into the trap of thinking I’m now some sort of hipster.

Having attended many previous weddings, christenings, funerals and other important family events (with varying degrees of joy and misery, but not necessarily in the order you might think), I’ve done my fair share of suit, plain shirt and tie outfits. I’ve seen other chaps at events wearing a nice shirt and without a tie, and started thinking “Could I?” or occasionally “Won’t I look like a man who has forgotten his tie?”

Having concluded that this wedding was a great opportunity to go neck-naked, I selected a less loud than usual patterned shirt from my collection that even the visually-impaired could hear coming, and headed off to the happy event.

And jolly lovely it was too. The long-suffering Mrs G looked a million dollars, and both of the brothers (in their starring roles as Groom and Best Man) had the full three-piece ensemble going on, which was perfect for a day so hot, ice cubes falling from a drink had vapourised before they hit the floor.

I spent the afternoon feeling slightly smug, and enjoying myself as the trendy rebel – the only one brave enough to go slightly casual (except for the usual nutter who showed up in jeans and trainers of course – there’s always one). Even a moderate, but steady, intake of wine failed to remove the gentle glow caused by my brilliant Fashionista hipness (with a hint of sunburn).

By the time the evening was over, I was happily content that my look of suave, dashing cool, mixed with a hint of rugged edginess, had been a huge success, with me standing out from the crowd of clones as a shining example of middle-aged elegance - the sort of style that causes other men to think “Damn. I wish I was brave enough to pull off that look”.

The next morning, I looked on our camera. Instead of the me I was expecting, all the photos (especially those with my two immaculately presented brethren) showed a hobo-like character who looked like he’d just got out of bed, wearing a crumpled linen suit, loud shirt, daft pointy shoes and a scruffy beard for good measure.

I’d aimed to look like a well dressed intellectual star. I sort of got there, if you imagine Einstein without the hair, intellect, or theories of relativity. Or an iron.

Suit, plain shirt and tie next time, then.

(Should you wish to make me feel better and say “I bet you looked great, really”, you can find me gently sobbing on twitter as @grumpyf1)

This is the bit where I normally put that "this column first appeared in the North West Evening Mail, on the 2nd of August 2013", but unfortunately I can't, as it hasn't yet appeared on their website, nor have I received the print copy in the post yet. I'm reliably informed by the paper's rather smashing Amy Fenton that their web person is poorly, hence no updates in over a week. Keep an eye out for it here, where you can also read my fellow columnists, who include noted MPs, people with actual opinions, and my far-better-at-local-stories Big Blogger friend, Darren.

On the bright side, it does mean my column from the preceding week is still showing as the most recent one. My twitter plug has so far gained me one whole follower! Whoo! It also neatly took me up to the word count required, when I realised I'd already dragged the sorry tale of my wedding scruffiness out enormously, and was still under the recommended amount.

Exciting news! I've purchased 80p's worth of new notebook, for storing my somewhat random, incomplete and vague collection of ideas, thoughts, and mostly unfunny things in, for future use in newspaper columns. Expect considerable improvement from here (although, it theoretically couldn't get any worse, could it?).

(Mmmmm... bit of the Blues this afternoon, courtesy of T-Bone Walker, and his Stormy Monday Blues.)