It’s official. My blogging licence will soon be revoked: I forgot to take a picture of the relevant outfit for this post. Sorry about that. In my defence I was at a festival (Wilderness – early bird tickets for 2015 now available!) and having far too much fun dancing at a mock wedding disco (Whitney! Cher! Take That!) to think about recording my clothes for posterity and your entertainment. To be honest, it was your standard issue festival fare – cut off jeans, stripey top, crazy sunglasses and the inevitable wellies. Please accept a picture of the wellington aftermath in lieu (note that they had been cleaned by time of taking).
The festival itself almost appeared to be sponsored by Hunter, so numerous were its rubber sub-knee logos. Having owned a pair in the past, I think Kate Moss and her 2006 Glasto endorsement have a lot to answer for. They gave me horrendous shin splints after walking a few feet, such is their rigidity, so dancing in them must be like trying to bust some moves wearing calipers. My trusty Primark versions (less than ten of your English pounds) offered far superior manoeuvrability for throwing YMCA shapes and slow dancing to Eternal Flame. Result.
There was a dark horse contender for the Hunter crown though – Dunlop. Yes, purveyor of 1980s squash shoes actually do a nice line in cheapy boots which are squidgy enough to dance like a loon in. The Bloke bought his at 9.53pm the previous evening on a last gasp mission to Westfield (do men ever shop any other way?) and was in good company as many other Wildernessites – boys and girls alike – had clearly also been to Deichmann (can I still laugh at that name at 38?) to get theirs for a solid tenner. I’m not sure it’s possible to fight a class war from an RV in the Oxfordshire countryside surrounded by lawyers, children called Hermione and overpriced food trucks, but I like to think we were in some way sticking it to the Hunter man. Maybe. And we didn’t have hurty legs, which is obviously the most important thing.