Posh

I am inclined, when the weather permits, to take the occasional constitutional through the medium of a long walk. Where I live there is a posh bit of town and it's in that direction I often head. The ostentation and vulgarity on display there are breathtaking. A conversation I had with a stranger on one such outing included his observing that they can't all be footballers and drug dealers. Whatever they are, they are bereft of taste.

A recent story in the Mail online confirms that one at least is a footballer, who can't sell his gaudy property for what he paid for it a year ago and has taken it off the market. It's back on now at half a million (give or take a bit) less than he paid for it. That's nearly two week's wages down the pan; I cry myself to sleep some nights, I really do.

What's this got to do with cardigans? Well, my walk takes me down Cardigan Road and pathetic as it is, that gives me a slight thrill. When I moved house a couple of years back, I did look to see if there was a way I could live in a Cardigan Street/Road/Avenue or whatever. There were many other considerations that shaped my final choice and I had quite forgotten that I'm within a couple of miles of a Cardigan Road.

This got me thinking about how many Cardigan denominated thoroughfares there might be in England and Wales (the first online gazetteer I stumbled across didn't include Scotland). There are upwards of ninety. Most are visible on google earth, some have the street signs obscured by google. Here's the one I walk down.

Cardigan Road

This month's cardigans I don't actually own. There's a few left at this rather posh retailer for eighty quid a pop, reduced from a hundred and seventy. I won't be buying any. Not because of the price, you understand, but because they don't have any left in my size. Any regular reader would know by now that I would happily sell the house for a good cardigan. Unfortunately, living so close to footballers hasn't done much for prices locally.

If only they had them in my size