Shirts a go-go

Biblical Nonsense

Now, some of you may know, but certainly not in the Biblical sense (is there any sense in the Bible - King James or anything prior? - atheism ed), that I tend to wear loud shirts on a Friday.  Not loud, in the sense of MP3 player (mobile phone these days - ed) turned up beyond the maximum, but loud as in colourful, or if not colourful at least, and I use it with some trepidation, "interesting", could be collarless, could have interesting buttons, could be cut differently to your bog standard daily shirt.

(Apologies to my Alaskan reader or Data Center as I like to call him, for the spelling of colourful in the correct English was - cultural sensitivity ed) 

(BTW Why oh why are you still wearing shirts at all, we are in the 21st Century teenies, you can wear what you like, when you like. whenever you like? - ed)

"Why", I hear you say... and it would seriously help me if only one of you spoke at once, as otherwise it is a cacophony (+1 - literary ed) in here! ("Move over in there, is there room for a small one?" - sanity ed)

Short (not shirt) history lesson (or lesion as the spell checker prompted)

Many moons ago, in the early 1980's I was accused ("Yes, Mr C - j'accuse" - history ed) of being, "The Grey Man", this is even before John Major (for those who simply are not old enough to remember, or maybe are relatively new to this country - history ed), became a well-known politician let alone Prime Minister.

I was called this, vaguely insulting remark one might think, because I dressed somewhat fashionably at the time (you, fashionable, pull the other one - I Don't Believe It - ed), in grey and pink.

The list went like:

• Grey shoes (thin and pointy, but with no turn up or bells, I was not a jester - ed)
• Grey jacket (like a suit jacket - but less formal, more of a Crocket & Stubbs jacket - ed)
• Grey trousers (clung to my thin, muscle devoid legs, like drainpipes - for they were - ed)
• Grey ties (but made of wool and ever-so, ever-so thin - like me at the time - sigh ed)
• Grey underwear (not due to the lack of washing, perhaps due to too much washing - ed),
• Grey shoelaces (in my defence they came with the shoes - ed)
• Grey spectacle frames (harder to get than you might think - ed)
• Pink shirts (they looked soo pretty - ed)
• Pink socks (though only when I ran out of grey ones - ed)
• ...and everything else grey, grey, grey and some extra grey (luckily my hair still covered all of my head and was a glorious curly mouse like brown colour - no grey in it, none whatsoever - ed)

So, as you can see, there may have been some truth about me being, "The Grey Man".

Psyche a Muse by any other name?

However, this comment sunk deep into my psyche

(Is Psyche a muse?

"Caller please hold whilst I check - thank you",...

a few moments pass..

"Thank you for holding caller, but I can tell you with full certainty that no, psyche is not a muse"

"Is there anything else you want today caller?"

"Excuse me, but which sources did you check the name against?"

"Well Sir, we searched using the latest Breitbart search engine which covers , Fox News, All the Murdoch Papers, Alt-Right sites and naturally not forgetting, his most gracious Majesty, President-Elect Trump's twitter feed, is that sufficient?"

"Were you looking for a real answer, or were you just following your pre-programmed telephone script?"

"I always follow the script Sir, otherwise I will lose this most tedious minimum wage job"

"Remember Sir, we are now rushing into a Total Post Truth World (tm)!"

"The real-truth is so last year, good night Sir"

)

...and bobbed any festered in the front, back and sides of my mind(s) for decades

(I am never one to rush into anything half-cocked, let only fully cocked - [last time I did something fully cocked it all went horribly wrong; but that is yet another sad tale for another day - sub ed])

The Shirt Link

What follows is the: Shirt Link

There are more words that could follow (you know me, it is like opening the flood gates, and finding the wheel to close the gates has rather unfortunately come off in your hands - ed), but for once I shall simply stop.

....

Time passed, and then I thought, time for another episode of NCIS or more wittering, you can thank your lucky stars that it was an NCIS moment.

...

But, but what about the why's, the wherefores? The internet isn't wanting to play and so the pain of writing this evening is just not much fun. Remember if it not fun, don't do it.