Bristol Fashion

I am not what one would call a fashionable gentleman. I struggle to translate what I see on other people into what I wear. I lack fashion sense, as Iain Duncan Smith lacks a sense of empathy.

But I think I know what I want. I see other people wearing clothes I like and I think, “That looks nice. I’m far too reserved to ask where that came from." Hastily assembled plans to relieve that person of their clothes are rejected, due to the likelihood of embarrassing nudity for one or both parties.

Perhaps the problem is linked to my self-confidence. My milkshake fails to bring anyone to the yard. They feign lactose intolerance and back away. I'm left wondering why I even bothered bring dairy products to a yard. Someone should tell Kelis that there are better media for wholesale milkshake distribution. Supermarkets, for instance.

"I don't want to be completely dependent," My brain told itself, displaying an increasingly alarming proclivity toward insanity, "I'll go shopping on my own and prove I can return with material products."

I found myself wandering around Cabot Circus at five to eleven on Sunday morning. Nothing was open. Loose huddles of ovine, would-be retailees congregated by metallic shutters, waiting to be shepherded inside. I wandered aimlessly, affecting the purposeful walk of a man that knows exactly where he wishes to be.

As the shops opened, I pushed shirts and their coat hangers along clothing rails and searched through neat stacks of trousers, but without conviction. Usually, ruining the neat stacks of clothing is one of the only true pleasures that exist, which is why Primark looks like it should be a place of fun, despite the reality.

I phoned my girlfriend. She hesitantly, but politely agreed with me that the selection on offer was probably very poor; that I should use the opportunity to gather ideas for when we could shop together. By noon, I had purchased two blu-ray box sets. Sat, with a coffee in hand, I contemplated my utter uselessness and hopeless dependence.

Perhaps being dependent on someone isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Iain Duncan Smith might think that about welfare recipients, if he could feel empathy.