Painting The Town Red Sensibly

Look at these nice girls. They’re having a cracking time, aren’t they?

But are they? I don’t think so. I think that it’s just occurred to them that they’ve forgotten something very important.

I have noticed in recent times that ladies out on the town rarely remember their coats. This baffles me, as I never forget mine, especially when it’s chilly.

I wonder perhaps if there’s some sort of chemical in lipstick which makes young women forget this sort of basic stuff. Actually, there might be something in this. When was the last time you saw a transvestite in a duffel coat?

Anyway, I’m digressing. The point is young women, particularly in northern towns and cities, rarely wear nice big coats when they’re out at night, even when they’re wearing skimpy little numbers. Admittedly their hands are often warmed by bags of chips and/or kebabs, but that must be small comfort to a shivering young miss who’s forgotten her coat.

I know what you’re thinking: there’s a top-notch business opportunity here. And you’re right.

What I’m proposing is PRS – the Parka Rental Scheme. For an annual subscription and a 10p deposit, members, when leaving a club for another establishment, could pick up a coat from the cloakroom. Not just any coat, that would cause a fair bit of trouble I imagine.

No, these would be special dayglo parkas, with lovely furry hoods, probably with some sort of anti-binge drinking message printed on them. The young popsies would put them on and walk to the next drinking den/copping off palace all toasty warm.

Then, when they arrived, they’d whip it off and hand it in to the cloakroom in the new club.

I know what you’re thinking now: what about going home? Well, there would be special parkas with lots of pockets for the hometime journey. Chip shops, instead of filling paper or cartons, would shovel the lovely hot salty chips straight into the pockets of the parkas, keeping the whole body warm, not just the hands.

Members would have to return the coats next time they went out, on pain of losing their 10p PRS deposit. But this would ensure that they didn’t forget to wear a coat the next time they were off out.

I’d make woolly balaclavas available for men with shaven heads as well.

This will definitely work.

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Not Nina Persson’s band

Look here! Look! Look! Then come back here.

Cardigans have made a comeback (not the Swedish band, the garment).

And apparently, it’s all thanks to David Beckham.

No balaclava yet, but we can only live in hope.

Keep the faith for the the sake of lovely toasty ears.

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Lovely Toasty Ears

I was surprised to see Kate O’Mara on my television last night. But not as surprised as she looked. My goodness, that’s quite a facelift she’s had.

It will have to stop soon lest she find herself in possession of a lustrous and curly beard. Or a little goatee if she’s fastidious in the appropriate area.

Anyway, it was rather chilly when I ventured out this lunchtime and my hands soon developed a peculiar numbness, as if they had somehow grown to the proportions of those owned by the Kenny Everett character Brother Lee Love, making it impossible to grip small items like coins, thimbles or Tic Tacs. “Dang!” I thought, “If only I had remembered my gloves.”

My ears, too, were cold as a Hitchcock blonde sitting in a freezer in the middle of the Antarctic. In the nip.

Of course, this was not a problem in my younger years, when my gloves were attached to each other by a long string which ran along one arm of my coat, across my shoulders and back down the other arm, and my ears were kept toasty warm by a balaclava. But I’m an adult now, I can’t get away with that sort of fashion statement, no matter how sensible.

But maybe I can. Maybe we all can. All we need is one sacrifice. If Kate Moss or David Beckham would just pop a nice woolly balaclava and pair of elasticated mittens on, we’d all be able to wear them without fear of being picked on by bullies.

Perhaps if we all club together we could employ one of them to do the honours for a couple of minutes. Just long enough for them to be papped, and we’d all have nice warm ears.

And Kate O’Mara could pin her skin back with a bulldog clip, and mask it with her own balaclava, saving a fortune on plastic surgery and that.

Everyone’s a winner. Send your money to me now.

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