Benny Hill treats himself to Judge Dredd’s onesie

This is the story of a ridiculous garment that matters so much. I bought a onesie. If you don’t know what that is, you’ve never lived. It’s the ultimate guilty pleasure, a tasteless garment that turns me into a nightmarish Tellytubby. Think of a scaled-up version of a baby’s all-over bodysuit, with a hood and well-placed zips. Yes, there’s a flap at the back. It is the most undignified piece of apparel I have ever owned, and I love it. I have never experienced anything so comfortable.

My onesie is a lurid red, with a white repeating pattern around the top that’s designed to make it look like a Christmas jumper. It doesn’t look like a Christmas jumper. It looks like a gigantic, heat-warped sausage. In it, I resemble an escapee from a circus, if it was a circus styled on a description provided by a Martian watching through a space telescope.

One aggravating factor is my body. Sadly, I am not a perfectly-chiselled sculpture of manhood. Imagine placing three men to boil in a pot, then allowing the resulting fatty mixture to solidify in the impression Benny Hill left in a lumpy mattress. Add a large beard and you have me.

To make my onesie even worse, I have added incongruous embroidery. This is because a postchristmas sale reduced its price below a minimum required for free postage, and I could raise the cost just enough by having a single word of not more than 10 characters added in black to the left breast. I chose “Dredd” because I like comics and the situation wasn’t getting any less silly, anyway.

Now I wear my onesie, a lot. When it arrived, I wore it for four days straight and only changed out of it because of the food stains, the smell, and the look on the face of a man who delivered a pizza.

But I am not ashamed. In these days of strife and misery, little pleasures matter. It might be a bacon sandwich or a nice walk on a sunny day but we should all do what it takes to enjoy the moment.

Treat yourself.

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In it, I resemble an escapee from a circus