This week Big George navigates his way through the
many disasters approaching us, to scale hitherto
uncharted heights of fashion!
Downturns in the market, Northern Rock costing each
one of us £6 every single day, mounting personal
debts, mortgages set to dip “a bit” of a percentage
before they rocket into the ‘recessionsphere’ and no
pension to rely on. It seems the perfect time to be
measured up for an inappropriate suit, that I can’t
afford and will never wear. Clothes these days, chaps!
We've never had it so good. Many of the finest tailors
situated along Jermyn Street are flogging off tip top
suits at four for less than a grand (and four quality
shirts for a ton) undercutting Marks & Sparks, John
Lewis and the like, by more than half (on their upper
range). Then there's Asda and Tescos, offering suits
in the finest cloth known to mankind on a budget of a
tenner. Everywhere you look Bargains Galore! Although,
be warned, the shops down Jermyn Street that DON'T
have the word SALE splashed everywhere, and in fact
have no indication of pricing whatsoever, can give you
a nasty turn. You see a pair of socks you like, only
to find they’re £85 a pair! Whatever you do, don’t ask
the price of a pair of smart casual khaki corduroy
hipsters, your health might not take the shock.
Talking of shocking fiscal extremes within the
clothing industry, I’ve watched Dispatches and
Panorama, so I know the conditions Asian children are
working under to provide labeled garments for the
West. As someone who finds the entire concept of
slavery abhorrent, I am unwilling to be in anyway
complicit in human exploitation (I don’t wear
jewellery either). The only problem with that
sickeningly do gooder tree hugging peacenik attitude
is, I buy cheap market stall T-shirts and jeans, which
are no doubt made in the sweat shops even the most
mercenary multinational would run a mile from.
But don’t think I’m a fashion-dead Luddite who'd ever
be seen in red and green without a colour in between.
I once strutted my stuff up a Calvin Klein cat walk,
as a model! Cool eh? Me, a fashion model! Okay the
reality was, I'd provided aspects of the soundtrack to
the collection and had made my way backstage where all
the models were busy switching one outfit for another.
I can’t for the life of me think why I’d want to be
there, instead of sitting in the 20th row next to
Christian O’Connell in search of his personality.
Anyway, there I was, just standing quietly taking in
the view, when a rather excitable chap, as thin as a
broom handle flapped by screaming something in a
register only dogs could hear. It became apparent,
after floods of tears and much stamping of feet, that
the end of the world was nigh, due to the father of
the bride model for the wedding collection being
double booked in traffic at the airport with a sick
child raging with fever sporting a black eye. Disaster
was averted when I was spotted and press ganged into
super modelling. The nerves I had, were calmed by a
drop dead gorgeous bride on my arm, betrothed to a
very upstanding young man. I couldn’t have been
prouder. One slight problem, I may be known as Big
George, but the geezer I was replacing was a real big
old unit. You know the type that looks like he eats
Sumo wrestlers for breakfast. It’s amazing what a few
safety pins and clip board clips can do. Now about
that new suit I want for my birthday, something all
together like a King might wear...
Be part of the most lively and open phone in show anywhere on radio by joining Big George every weekday morning between the ungodly hours of 0200 and 0600 on BBC London 94.9FM, DAB and online www.bbc.co.uk/london
* for our foreign readers, when Big George says a “Grand” he means one thousand pounds sterling, a “Ton”
is one hundred pound coins and a “Tenner” is two fivers, as opposed to a fat bloke belting one out!
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