From the albums

Recent delving into an ancient cache of Kodak slides (if you're under 40, ask an old) has produced reminders of one's distant self.

From left to right, the images originate from 1965, 1967 and 1970.

Help! Looking about twelve, I'm in fact fifteen. If only the 'preppy geek' look had been on trend that summer. It wasn't. Hence the sock-and-sandal look, teamed with tweed jacket (pen in top pocket, naturellement, simply produces an impression of, er, a preppy geek. The air of juvenile melancholy may be connected to my knowledge of the dismal set of 'O' Level results heading my way in about two weeks' time.
Sergeant Pepper The tweedy caterpillar has pupated into the fashionista butterfly posing centre right. Note Cuban-heeled boots and pale yellow (Dylon) jeans, inexpertly 'narrowed' on the family Singer. The brown M&S sweater doesn't contribute much to the ensemble, ditto choice of school scarf on bright spring day. On left is MB, schoolfriend, fashion guru and role model. I'm gazing with undisguised envy at the 'modded-up' scooter and the uber-cool retro-chic military jacket. Standing centre is my older brother, the only one not trying too hard with his 'look' - and, consequently, 45 years on, the one who doesn't look ridiculous.
Let it Be At the end of my second year at the University of Essex, I'm attempting (without noticeable success) to base my look on that of John Lennon. A close-up would reveal the circular specs. Major loss of fashion points for the M&S purple pullover, being worn that year by 75% of the male population. The mane of hair was, I recall, 'high-maintenance' in the extreme: a distraction from which one has been free for many years. The air of angst-ridden melancholy may be connected to my knowledge of the dismal set of Part 1 results heading my way in about two weeks' time.

Cool?

How to define a term as slippery as 'cool'? I've a feeling that any attempt in that direction would be, well, more than a little un-cool.

I'll content myself with a modest certainty that I recognize it when I see it.

Take last Sunday afternoon.

A gentleman, en route to a 'do', has had the misfortune of his car breaking down.

The members' rescue service comes to his aid.

To have the AA arrive promptly may be regarded as good fortune.

But to have its red, yellow and black livery blend exactly with your clan's tartan?

That's cool.

Crochety

Occasional fashion maven Mr Gnome offers his advice to stars of stage and screen, particularly when a looming date with a red carpet propels them into a state of semi-paralysed 'frock shock'.

Such was the sad condition of the dazzling Cate Blanchett when she called up Mr G a few days ago from her home in the Antipodes.

It was a matter of moments for Mr Gnome to point CB in the direction of fashion's 'next big thing' - the retro-licious 'crocheted by my mum' look.

Think 1970s, think ponchos, think shirts with rounded collars, think big patterns - and then go bigger.

To be frank, a close look at Ms Blanchett's fabulous frock prompted moments of semi-spooky deja vu. My late mother, an enemy to idle hands, created umpteen cosy blankets from woollen squares, dispatching then on completion to one or other of the world's trouble spots.

Could one have found its way down under?

Towelling inferno

Mr Gnome, inconspicuous when it pleases him to be so, takes a breezily insouciant attitude to a topic that causes considerable consternation to many of his human chums - the tricky business of changing on the beach.

Make that his friends from the UK.

His continental copins and copines seem non-plussed by the British 'thing' with making the transition, sur le plage, from streetwear to beachwear - that whole shuffling, hopping, wriggling towel-clenching ballet, which, in the end, often farcically reveals more than it so desperately wishes to conceal.

But, should any of his readers be losing sleep at the prospect of beach-related changing 'issues' on their upcoming hols, Mr G is delighted to offer a solution that is as stylish as it is simple - and, given the colour combos displayed above, sizzlingly sassy.

Posing cheerily on Cornwall's uber-cool Praa beach, fashionista KW effortlessly proves the truth that more is more as he models this red-hot personal mini tent-ette.

Engulfed in this towelling triumph, one is able to don one's boardies with style, confidence and, let's admit it, more than a little chutzpah.

Envious? Deal with it.

This is a one-off 'vintage' item, created in the 1960s by K's grandfather, who, had he given his design skills free rein, would by now be a name to rival, if not eclipse, those of Armani and Klein.

(Note the stylish elan with which K's orange-framed shades echo the zingy tones of the fabric. Retro-tastic, huh?)

Want the pattern? Mr G will be happy to link inquirers with the couturier in question.

Picture credit: Fi B

The joy of tweed

Mr Gnome celebrates durability.

The HB's sturdy winter coat recently 'came of age', having given twenty-one years of warm and quietly stylish service.

Peacefully and without fuss, one of the buttons departed for Button Heaven, during the Christmas holiday. Sadly mourned.

The HB is already in touch with Crombie, and is certain that a replacement fastener will arrive shortly.

By the way, the HB bought the coat (autumn 1986) from the memorably named gents' outfitters, The Famous, in Cheltenham.

Still trading, The Famous is a retail outlet after Mr Gnome's heart. Transactions are completed by means of a vacuum tube that whisks one's payment to an out-of-sight cashier. Seconds later, the receipt is whooshed back to the waiting customer.

Hurrah!

Mr G says: 'Hurrah for Oxfam!'

Mr G's resident HB (Human Being) lives in a trendy block of flats with a communal area for garbage dumping.

The HB popped down to the rubbish store recently to deposit some, er, rubbish.

A glance into one of the bins revealed this treasure trove of nearly-new belts, bags and shoes.

They are now on sale at the nearby Oxfam Shop.

How smug did the HB feel to receive the gratitude of the assembled Oxfam shop ladies?

Very.

'Hurrah for re-cycling,' says Mr G.

Adding a crisp 'Tsk!' in the general direction of a shoe-shedding fashionista with more money than sense.