Just because my administrative world has come crashing down around my ears, it doesn't mean there's not fun to be had. Never seen the point of wearing a hair shirt and birching myself into repentance. Maybe that's why I never fitted into the Catholic mold.
Dan, Jo & I went out for a jolly about Bangkok on Saturday afternoon and part of the jolly involved picking up Dan's freshly tailored dinner suit (for the British Ambassador's party, don't ya know) from a tailors - Boss Apparel (...not to be confused with Hugo Boss apparel) in Ratchadamri.
Well, Dan's trying the old whistle on in the shop and something seems to have gone seriously wrong: the trousers fit a treat, the body is perfectly figure hugging...but wait a minute, should the arms only be three-quarter length and give the Don Johnson impression? I don't think so!
The tailor is noticeably silent, perhaps thinking if he doesn't say anything, no-one will notice. But we do; it's bloody obvious. With a quizzical look he even gives the arms a small tug as if somehow he's going to miraculously expand them down the exposed five inches or so to Dan's wrists.
I suggest he could get away with it if he has a shirt made with incredibly lacy and flouncy cuffs a la Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen, but that suggestion is dismissed.
Gutted neither Jo nor I took a snap (I'm sure the Boss man wouldn't have been too chuffed but hey!). Instead here's a digital photo fit body double that took me about three hours to reconstruct:
