HIGH FASHION NOTES - THE CRIMPOLENE YEARS

The other day, your Uncle Harry was enjoying an early evening pint of HSB in front of the warming but obviously fake log fire at the Bell Inn, in the company of a smattering of like-minded gentlemen of leisure.Suddenly, the door burst open, flooding the room with the bitter winter air. A number of persons of late middle to retirement age entered and comandeered a large circular table adjacent to the one occupied by my good self.The were adorned in the trappings of the Outdoor Type and were in fact identified by one of my fellow drinkers as the local ramblers association.Now, I myself enjoy a bit of a ramble now and again, but do not deem it necessary to dress myself in waterproof trousers covered in zipped flaps and boots which are more suitable for a hike up the slopes of the Mattahorn, especially when I'm only popping out for a pint.Traditionally it has been the youth of the nation who wear their cultural affilliations on their collective sleeve so to speak - One can easily separate the punk from the goth from the nouveau hippy by their chosen mode of leisurewear.Now it would appear that the older generation have got in on the act. Instead of aligning themselves with musical cultural movements, we are presented, in the bars and tap rooms of the nation with The Business Cult (Sharp suit, briefcase, that "just dashed in off the train for a quick pint" look.) The Sporting Man (track suit bottoms, polo shirt.) And now the Elderly Rambler look (all-weather proof jacket and trousers, hiking boots, retractable metal walking cane.)Where has the "individual" gone? Must we nail our colours to the mast so readily? I remember well the days when the elderly ladies of England proundly sported pairs of no-need-to iron crimpolene slacks and their husbands sported a sports jacket and a trilby.No wonder the Youth Of Today are embarassed by their parents generation.I drained the final dregs of my pint, buttoned my second hand wax jacket and strode out into the bitter wind and sleet.