So, earlier today I found myself lacing up my mossy green coloured trail shoes, before standing up and zipping my bright green insulated jacket over my, well, what my dear old dad would have described as, British racing green, mid layer. Beneath that, next to skin, was a muted green base layer. The brands are irrelevant; I’m not trying to sell you anything here folks. My green and yellow woollen hat lay waiting for me on the arm of the sofa.
Where had all these shades of green come from? I certainly hadn’t intentionally set out to clad myself in clover. Like the grey hair on my head and the lines on my face they’d just kind of got there I suppose. The grey hair and lines being the price I’m paying for the life I’ve lived. The cost of the clothing? Well that's another matter altogether.
So, going green certainly wasn’t premeditated, unlike my decision five years earlier when I had more blue than Joni Mitchell. On that occasion I’d purposely set out to buy some of my favourite garments from some of my favourite brands in blue. The blue being an antidote to my outdoor wardrobe gathered over the previous decade. You see as a novice buyer many years earlier I’d fallen into that sort of Trail Magazine trap of following recommendations and reviews and I found myself dressed from neck to naval in that red with grey panel combination. I’m sure you all know the one I mean. Incidentally other trap magazines are available. So a big yellow taxi was ordered and the red and grey had had their day.
It seems now though as I check my look in the mirror, to be; all over now baby blue …