One criticism that could justifiably be levelled at this blog is that sometimes it errs on the side of frivolity. Inane I hope is too cruel a word, but at its most superficial it is perhaps not so very far from the truth.
Today however, more pressing matters occupy the old grey matter; things that could have a serious bearing on all we hold dear. It has recently come to my attention that some brainy science chaps think that the globe is warming up at an alarming rate, an idea they’ve christened “Global Warming”, which although very complicated, has something to do with the fact that burning fossils is bad. Why anyone should want to burn a fossil I can’t imagine – perhaps it’s religious thing, trying to hide the evidence for evolution and the like, I’m not sure. Either way, it sounds very spurious.
But whatever lies behind this Global Warming wheeze is of grave concern to me. I spend a good deal of my adult life in the pursuit of fine and exotic tweeds – some new, some vintage – all created to fend off the British climate at its tempestuous worst. Has my time been wasted due to the actions of a few people – well the populous at large actually – who want to spoil it for everyone? Am I to be condemned to a life of perspiration as my garments of choice become too stifling for our new climate? Will well dressed gents the length and breadth of Britain be forced to wear linen in the winter months? Will duelling become impossible as gloves face redundancy?
This is all too much contemplate.
What we need is a plan to sort this mess out, something to restore the balance in favour of chilly autumns, bitter winters and dank, showery summers. I’m not the best person for the job because my chemistry A-level didn’t cover the subject, but I implore the Government to put their top man on it immediately.
If not the consequences will be dire for us all. All England will become a vulgar Spanish-style resort where well dressed men are mocked by obese, sunburnt Neanderthals. Foreigners will come here for a holiday, in droves, and mock well dressed Englishmen as they struggle to retain sartorial standards under a brutal and relentless sun.
Well dressed Englishmen will mock each other until new codes of dress have been agreed that suit the climate in which we find ourselves operating.
Mocking will grow to epidemic levels that could overspill into violence.
But worse than all of these, tweed will fade from British life altogether.
It is an apocalyptic vision.
And this is why I’ve decided to act now, before it is too late. I will shortly be organising the inaugural meeting of my new pressure group Tweed Wearers Against Temperature Swells, or TWATS for short.
Our first objective will be to raise awareness of this global warming among politicians and similar persons, who don’t seem to have picked up on it, and then lobby sheep farmers and weavers for the funding we need to save their industry.
If you would like to get involved in this most crucial of organisations, meet up with other TWATS, and conserve one of Britain’s greatest creations, then watch this space, for it is only by acting together that we can prevent Britain’s decline into a super-sized Playa Paraiso where Messer’s Harris and Donegal have no place at all.
