Skins

I was walking through Manchester with a friend the other week when we were passed by what looked like a genuine skinhead. 18 hole DMs, bleached jeans, braces to hold them up, Ben Sherman shirt and No1 crop. My friend commented that you don't see many of them about these days, which prompted me to enquire whether he meant in real life or in fantasy.

Naturally my fantasy skin wears a cardigan. He puts in only the rarest of appearances because I'm old enough to remember the original skins who did little to endear themselves to polite society even before they were hijacked by the far right. That the look, if not the ethos, has subsequently been taken up by a part of the gay world is a source of ironic amusement. That that segment has failed to pick up on the cardigan aspect is, however, a disappointment.

Growing up in the seventies we were exposed to a series of books from New English Library with titles like Skinhead, Suedehead, Skinhead Escapes, written by an old drunk called Richard Allen (who died more than twenty years ago, which is why I'm brave enough to describe him so). They were passed around at school and I found them faintly disgusting for their violence and celebration of all things plebeian. I'm a tad less snobbish these days.

An exception was Suedehead, which, if I remember rightly, had a character who while ostensibly violent, obnoxious and heterosexual was actually violent, obnoxious and inclined to be a bit homosexual. This, back then, was a rare thrill; a gay character who wasn't a victim. No cardigan action though. I seem to remember a chapter ending by pointing out an ear ring bouncing about in a gay encounter which identified the character and was probably meant to shock us to find out that our hero was capable of such things.

Regular readers (I'll never tire of using that expression) will not be surprised to learn that I have a couple of skinhead style cardigans. How nice it would be to have a couple of skins to put in them.

He'd do very nicely.

Finally, I'd like to thank spagnak whose encouraging comments I've only just spotted; you're too kind! I was under the impression I'd get emails telling me about pending comments. It seems I do, within minutes of finding them myself and including them on the blog. Sorry for the delay.

Drawers

I am reminded of the time I had a new kitchen fitted and my downstairs neighbour asked if she could come and see it. Having endured all the drilling and hammering over a couple of days without complaint, it would have been churlish to deny her.

She was suitably appreciative and fortunately not very observant. Mostly obscured in the washing up bowl in the sink was an enormous dildo. She didn't spot it, much to my relief, but the incident led me to speculate as to how I might have explained it if she had.

I eventually settled on, "I've no idea what it is, I've been using it to unblock the drains. What do you use yours for?"

Which leads me with my usual clumsy inelegance to talking about the contents of my drawers (Ooh, er, missus...). There is a rumour hereabouts that I am fond of cardigans. It will come as no surprise that the drawers in and about my bedroom are used to store them. Pretty much all the drawers. The pair of pants and pair of socks that I'm not wearing is either out drying or lying on a chair; no drawers for them. The cardigans get to live in the drawers and also in the wardrobe, but the latter doesn't offer much to photograph.

Storing the cards this way means I can open a drawer and get a nice view when it suits me. This puts opening drawers up there with

   "Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
      Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens"

as among my favourite things. In fact there's fuck all in that song that does anything for me. So it's cardigans as usual.

That about covers it for drawers, except perhaps to ask, what do you use yours for?

Lambswool and its care

Being of little imagination, generating new posts can be a struggle. The following will be an example of such a struggle.

I'm not really a texture person and when I first got on the internet I discovered that many people who share my fetish (or something like it) are in it for texture. I have never been much concerned about smooth, fuzzy, whatever.

There is one exception to this. I do really rather like lambswool. Even this covers a range of textures and as the years have gone on seems to have got thinner and thinner, presumably as technology has enabled less and less wool, or perhaps more and more reclaimed or re textured wool to be formed into a cardigan-like garment. They're getting like tinned ham, they have a passing relationship to the animal of origin but stuff that is contiguous in the garment was never so in the animal. Uniqlo, Woolovers, I'm looking at you; your cardigans have gone down the pan.

Despite this being the case I find myself owning a few. I must have made a conscious decision to buy because I make a point of never going on ebay (or anywhere else that money might be spent) with even a trace of drink on board. So it's my own fault I own some rubbish cards that I particularly like the texture of.

That few always have the wrong buttons, so substitutes are made. Two hole and if at all aesthetically possible, white. This gives some specimens the look of being rescued and refurbished and never works with saturated colours. An example where I think it works well is presented below. I like it, perhaps you do too.

 

It's from Uniqlo and bought in the last couple of years, so it's a bit thin. Quite inappropriate for this time of year so it's on my mannequin and not me.

A note before I close to those who might find accidental deposits of gentleman's relish getting into their favourite cardigans. I'm told the stuff stains appallingly and washing this poor quality lambswool turns it into felt. Just thought I'd pass that on. Anyone wishing to see the terrible consequences of mixing lambswool and gentleman's relish can email me. For some reason I seem to be in possession of a picture of just such a mess. Probably best not post it here.

Long Time, No Post.

I could call all my contributions long time, no post but that would get monotonous. This one I'll call obsession and it describes cardigan related events in the early nineties.

Where I lived in Sarf Landan there was a gentleman's outfitters which I used to pass occasionally while out shopping and pass daily on the bus as I travelled to and from work. It vanished some years back and is now a sandwich shop.

At this particular time it never really drew my attention until one day a cardigan appeared in the window. It was from the Tootal Manatease range and of a style which had never really appealed before. Five button, elaborate, chunky four hole buttons designed to be manipulated by the arthritic and constitutionally clumsy.

It was displayed buttoned up with one of the sleeves pinned up such that the top button was not visible, very provocative. It was a pale blue colour, acrylic, patterned, ribbed and spectacularly naff. It was also £25 which I considered outrageous back then.

It is all the more surprising therefore that I became utterly obsessed with this specific cardigan. I used to make detours to walk past the shop to see it, I used to tempt myself to buy it. I even had fantasies about owning it and wearing it.

When I passed the shop on the bus I used to look out to see if I could catch a glimpse of "my cardigan" and even when I couldn't, I got a frisson of excitement from being near it. All most weird and almost incomprehensible now. I put it down to my working spectacularly long hours at the time and imbibing a little too freely of the alcohol to make it tolerable.

On one occasion I actually went to the shop with money in  my pocket to buy the thing but failed even to enter the establishment through sheer fear that I would have been found out. Perhaps I would have been made to try it on and given myself away through obvious arousal or syncope at the sheer excitement of having the thing on.

After a few weeks it disappeared from the window but I always remembered it.

Some months later I took a look round the sale in a department store not too far from where I lived and shock, horror they had that variety of cardigan on sale. Not in my size and not the colour of the special one, but near enough. I bought one and very nice it was too.

Fast forward some years and someone invented the Internets and Ebay. All that was then required was for me to check every day for eight years and suddenly, there was my card. And so, dear reader, I bought it. Here it is.

I have others in beige, almost like it but this will always be the one that I became obsessed with for a few weeks, really obsessed, all those years ago.