Readers, I have to report to you that since my return home, I have been placed by two women of my acquaintance - one of these being WotN, and the other a person who shares fashion interests in common with WotN that are a closed book to me - into a category to which I have never had any interest in belonging. The story is this. Because there is a code for some parts of the Test match grounds of Australia requiring people of the male persuasion to wear what are called 'dress shorts' if they don't want to swelter in trousers that reach right down to their ankles, and because what I brought with me in my luggage were, instead, only two pairs of cut-off jeans and a pair of sports shorts I wasn't sure would meet that absurd requirement, I went into a shop in George Street in Brisbane and bought myself a pair of shorts that would meet it. I did this according to the simple method I follow in such matters. I found something I thought looked OK, I tried them on and, satisfied more or less that they would do, I paid and left the shop. Did I examine the label? Would I have been any the wiser had I done so? No and no.
I am now informed that I am the owner of an item of clothing by Ralph Lauren. This is the cause of great amusement to the two parties concerned.
Still trying to accustom myself to the wintry conditions I have flown back to and still getting over the jet-lag, I go to sleep and I dream I went to The Gabba in my Ralph Lauren shorts.
