Getting the blues on the greens, getting togged out for the big occasion
‘BLUE, I feel. Navy blue with white trim.’ Blue? I feel like telling the man that I haven’t worn navy blue since 1987 – but then that could hardly be true. I probably wore navy blue last week or almost certainly last year. The thing is I cannot be sure, for two reasons. First, I always get navy blue and royal blue mixed up in my mind. One is darker than the other. That much is sure, but which is which? Without having served on a frigate or seen a monarch up close, it has never seemed important to make the distinction. It matters to this guy though.
Second, I can scarcely recall what clothes I wore yesterday as the selection of colour scheme is almost always random because I am an early riser. Choice of apparel for the day is often made in the dark, while Hermione sleeps on peacefully as I rifle through drawers groping for a clean shirt.
The motto is – if it fits, then it’s fine.
Such a slapdash approach simply will not wash with this fellow who is all of a sudden directing my appearance as the big occasion approaches. He and dear Hermione have established a two person committee on which I have no voting rights and next to no speaking rights.
I tell them that the last time I noticed what colour shirt a man wore was when Tiger Woods won The Masters in 2006. My observation only serves to reinforce their conviction that they are dealing with an idiot who requires careful oversight: ‘I think you will find it was 2005 actually and, of course, everyone knows Woods wore red on the final day,’ says my mentor dismissively.
I suppose I should feel privileged. It is not every man who has a dresser. Having a dresser is a luxury normally accorded to those who are more in the public eye. Presumably Crown Prince Franz Ferdinand had a dresser advising him on the best way to display the medals on his chest before setting out through Sarajevo on his fatal date with an assassin’s bullet in 1914. Perhaps Europe would have been spared World War One if the dresser had dithered a little longer over the choice of jacket.
Freddie Mercury must have had a dresser and ever y newsreader in RTE since Charles Mitchel has enjoyed the services of someone deciding how he presents himself in front of the camera. Now I find that I have joined the elite, thanks to the support and direction of this MMS committee – Making Medders Smart.
I understand that such expertise is only available in the short term and that I will be left to my own devices once more after this special assignment.
Though time is running out, my man from MMS reckons it would be far too easy to follow the Tiger example and opt for red on top. Instead a shiny green shirt is the must-wear choice. I am not sure whether the shade may be correctly described as navy green or royal green but it is a damnably bright shade of green.
I am reminded of the one piece of sartorial advice that has ever stuck in the fashion free zone which is my brain – blue with green must never be seen. So I blurt it out: ‘Blue with green must never be seen.’
My naïve intervention prompts howls of derisive laughter: ‘How sublimely sixties!’ hoots the dresser. ‘How desperately out of touch!’ chortles Hermione. They assure me that everyone from George Clooney to Roger Federer is perfectly happy these days to blend green with blue. As we are close to deadline, the committee order that I keep any further such thoughts to myself as they move on to kit me out with accessories and footwear…
MMS was established in response to last year’s debacle when I showed up for the occasion in a get-up which, apparently, was cringeworthy in the extreme. My idea of sporty casual was their idea of ready for the Barnardo’s bin.
Our Eldrick decided then and there that he would never allow himself to be seen in the presence of such a ragamuffin. So he has appointed himself my dresser and worked with Hermione to ensure I will be the quite the smartest parent on the course when we tee it up in the annual father and son golf tournament – a vision in blue and green, with white trim.