Adventure Rocket Ship

Some number of years ago... Ok, it was the Phoenix festival with the Stuffies, Poppies & Neds on the same bill. And Stereolab, Shellac, The Grid, Iggy Pop, Carter, The Fall, Gary Clail, Killing Joke, Buzzcocks, the Inspirals, Renegade Soundwave, Swervedriver, Skunk Anansie and, er, the Ozrics. I could, if I were a bigger tosser than you might expect, lay claim to having seen the lot. However, all I can remember is watching the Stuffies and thinking 'Bloody hell this is good' and, er, the Ozrics, where I was mostly thinking 'Shutup you bastards I have a hangover.'

Anyway. On day one I got myself massively sunburned and since I didn't have anything long-sleeved, I had to wander through the markets stalls that clustered together for protection against the startling prices of the 'workers' 'beer' 'company', who's thing was a jolly right-on spiel about collectivism, but who supplied grim ale at 'ye gods how much?' prices.

(I see from the wikipeejah that they do seem to have sensible credentials. Perhaps things have changed in nearly two decades. Who can say?)

So, um, I found the nearest long-sleeved garment that was both cheap and black and wore it for the rest of the festival. And indeed for the next yea-many years because it was just one of those good garments that fitted with what passed for my lifestyle, had pockets that were sensible and was both warm enough in the winter and cool enough in the other bit to just be a happy thing to have.

Obviously I lost it in one or other move, and because the balance of my mind was disturbed I forgot to care about it for a decade or so. It's shit when that happens.

Because I started to care about that sort of thing again in the last few months, I have been vaguely poking at the internets. However, since all the remembrance I could manage was 'Dyed back, probably Dutch mil surplus going by holding the label up to the light and squinting' progress was basically bollocks.

However, yesterday I discover that it was indeed Dutch. Issued from 1960 to 1980 and the key bit was the herringbone weave. There aren't any on the internet.

Since I was going for a potter into Bristol with a handful of films for the posh chemist (Photographique, who appear to be doing well and who now carry a Nathan-leaning selection of films and cameras. Including the tiny Japanese efforts that are rubbish on purpose and I was not tempted by one of those, no not even slightly), I decided to keep going as far as Hotwells to see what the estimable Messrs. Marcruss had lying about.

All the good camo in the world, as it turns out. Also a street filled with surly footer fans and an awful lot of riot vans.

If I had come by car, I would have been able to fill it with Danish M84, Marpat, Belgian jigsaw pattern, knockoff German splinter-pattern, a splendidly Futurist Italian design and some 'iconic' American jackets that looked like they'd been shat out the back of a frightened tank. No herringbone-weave Dutch field shirts, though.

I would also have been caught up in a massive post-riot-van tailback, so probably a lucky escape for all concerned.

Which should either be a football team in the same vein as Berner Sport Club Young Boys or a Chaucerian tale...

Five wommen wenten to Top Shoppe, etc.


Anyway.

Dear, etc. Please do let me know what miraculous technical fibre your shiny leggings are constructed from, because it's clearly better at keeping y'all warm than my several layers of It's Trad, Dad TNF and/or Mountain Hardware. I was also entirely unaware of the remarkable traction afforded by staggering heels over and above that provided by Berghaus mountain boots.

Clearly I inhabit some terrible netherworld of sad old person's clothing.

Mind, this continual cold is reminding me of the fun that was Humblebee.

... So this would be comedy gastric 'flu malarkey.

Ho, and indeed hum.

On the other hand, I have remarkably clean insides. Hardly a mark on 'em.