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I won’t ever be accused of sartorial splendour — not when my wardrobe has consisted of mainly jeans and white or blue shirts for more than four decades. My inability to follow the fluxes in fashion is, of course, not helped by being hopelessly colour-blind. On the few occasions I did get slightly adventurous I would return home with a stylish grey jumper, only to be told it was a hideous bottle green.
But lately, I have found myself on the cutting edge of fashion — something that has heightened my status considerably in the household. A few years ago my son started sifting through my cupboard for T-shirts, then sweatshirts and, most recently, collared shirts. The turning point came last week when I drove my "hipper than thou" teenage daughter to her physics exam. She looked as if she was wearing an oversized hessian sack. Then I realised it was my sleeveless Pringle pullover, acquired three years ago at the famous AP Jones winter sale...
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