Pensioner fashion

I managed to find some golf gear in the sales that I'm quite pleased with. You know, the kind of stuff I wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen in public in outside of the golf club. It's harder than you might expect. Dress codes usually specify “tops must have collars” and “shorts must be tailored” but the subtext is “must be golf brands” and “clothes I personally approve of” where 'I' is some loony old battleaxe committee member.

How often do you ask clothes advice from someone drawing a pension? Would you be caught dead shopping in the same shop as your granny? God bless grannies everywhere but they generally tend to wear things that are appropriate for women of their age, and you especially don't want to take the advice of anyone who doesn't.

So today I was wearing my new Stella McCartney for Adidas top (pictured) and a pair of Golfino slim capris. I did dither about the Stella top for ages, because although it's a golf top and has a collar, it's not a polo shirt and god knows these people don't like their boundaries challenged. Eventually I decided to go with it, because it is a golf top and it has a collar, and if no-one pushed the envelope a bit women would still be wearing corsets and fainting all over the place.

Predictably, my outfit didn't pass without comment, when I heard a very audible “she's not wearing golf wear” in my direction from an ex-Lady Captain, 'she' not being the cat's mother but in fact yours truly. Fortunately I had predicted the possibility of having to defend my choice of attire and so wasn't entirely unprepared for this onslaught. Still, it's extremely galling having to defend what I wear to anyone at all, let alone some old girl who thinks green-and-navy checked elasticated-waist trousers are appropriate ever, anywhere. Thinking about it now, my irritation is only added to when the argument ended at the fact that my top and trousers were 'golf' brands.

On the other hand, the argument did end in my favour (although who knows about the locker room gossip?) so I'm thinking I'll wear the offending articles as much as possible before trying to decide whether there's something else that falls within the letter of the law but as much as possible outside the spirit of it.

Time moves slowly at Marylebone Cricket Club

I've just found out that there is corruption in the Pavillion at the MCC, that proud bastion of upright Englishness, tradition, handlebar moustches, club ties and cricket – and the rot is in the very highest echelons of that august organisation. It has become obvious that the President, Mike Brearley, is actually a dangerous pinko leftie liberal reactionary who has suggested that the dress code for the Pavillion at Lords be 'relaxed'.

I have to admit that although this has only recently come to my attention this isn't new news (The Telegraph, 10^th December 2007) Still, in the context of a club that only allowed women to join less than 10 years ago it would be almost perverse to be up-to-date with its goings-on. With an 18 year waiting list, a young man will be middle-aged by the time he gets in, so seditious revolutionaries had better be playing the long game when they put their names down.

Before you get over-excited, note that this is just a suggestion by the ex-England Captain Brearley, whose reputation for scruffiness appears to nearly overshadow his cricketing career. Apparently one member of his team wore a t-shirt with a rude slogan on! What a damned poor show! Anyway, he's put the idea out for consultation, and I'm amused by how hilariously controversial the whole thing is. On Middlesex internet message boards (didn't know you could type on a computer with a quill pen) there is serious discussion about the implications of people not wearing their club ties. Like Chicken Licken, some people seem to think the sky might fall down.

The reason this cricket thing caught my eye is that there's an analogy to be drawn with golf, which also insists on 'appropriate attire'. The analogy falls down on examination, however, because how many of us are ever going to get invited to Lords by a member of the MCC? It's never going to affect more than a handful of people in an elite circle at an exclusive private members club, and if they choose to wear that disgusting egg-and-bacon tie that's entirely up to them. Your average cricket fan can buy a ticket and wear what he wants, even to Lords: gorilla costumes, Viking helmets; my husband once sat in the stands in his pants.

The golf dress code, on the other hand, is inflicted on every golfer in England who wants to occasionally get his sticks out and have a sunny round. No option, no opt out. The MCC dress code keeps the riff-raff out of the Pavillion at Lords, but the golf dress code keeps 'the wrong sort' out of the sport entirely. A very poor show indeed.

Photo of the Pavillion at Lords from mailliw on Flickr, and check you aren't infringing the Pavillion dress code here.

Pink Hair

Lots of people have it in for Poulter – if only he'd put as much effort into his game as he does into his clothes, yadda yadda. Me? I like him. He wears his collared shirt and tailored trousers as rudely as possible. Like a schoolboy, he has an air of rebellion without breaking a letter of the rules - practically daring the teachers to tell him off. Hootie is famously rumoured to have done just that, of course, with a warning not to dye his hair for his Masters appearance in 2004. The result was that Hootie looked blustering and impotent and not unlike Basil Fawlty. Its not a big leap to see the similarity between Hootie and the oldies who reminisce about how back in their day there was respect and you could leave your front door unlocked.

Every generation thinks the next one is up to no good, and there's always some mythical golden age when golf was played by gentlemen, and gentlemen didn't go round dyeing their hair or wearing jeans. I don't think the world of golf needs to be turned upside down (put those pitchforks down) but a dash of modern thinking can be no bad thing, surely?

Anyway, the reason for this unseasonal mention of Ian Poulter is that, in a mini-tribute to him, I have dyed my hair pink and purple. I'll report back on whether the Lady Captain has anything to say about it.

(Photo from ericskiff on Flickr, and no that is not me. It's pink but it's not that pink)

A well-turned ankle what what?

Given ten minutes to think about it I can draw an analogy between golf and pretty much anything. Tennis is an obvious one, especially with the Artois about to start, strawberries in the shops and the smell of Wimbledon in the air). Both sports, with their almost terminally elitist aspects, are based around facilites provided by private members clubs (or occasionally by generous local council provision). Both enjoy a strong sense of history and tradition, which they like to upkeep by enforcing old-fashioned dress requirements rooted in their perceived hey-day in the last century. In tennis, it's the whites (at Queens Club I see that non-white tracksuits are only allowed between October and April, so if it's an unseasonably cold morning in May you're stuffed). In golf it's collars and tailoring.

I went to a 1920s club night last night and while at the time I was too busy drinking cocktails from teacups and doing the Charleston to think about anything very clearly, in the clear hungover light of day I note that the glittering classes, as well as pursuing louche evenings of sartorial elegance also spent decadent days of leisure at tennis, golf and sunbathing. It was a time when sportswear meant tweed suits and flannel shirts for chaps, and gels in skirts allowing their well-turned ankles to be admired.

Some golfing members of my family have been known to turn up at society days in plus fours, tank top and cap et al, although as far as I'm aware, neither managed 18 holes as tweed is famously itchy, especialy in balmy weather. I've even played at an old but not at all exclusive Surrey course just off the A3, where several of the more senior gentlemen were out in plus fours and long socks with not a hint of irony. Personally I think I'll stick with my flapper dress and fingerwaved hair as my homage to the past, as I think those skirts would do my putting stroke no favours in a brisk breeze.

(Photo from striatic's Flickrstream)

Clubhouse Rules

There are some strange rules in some clubhouses. Some I can kind of understand. Some I really don't get at all. And some just make me cross.

No spikes. That makes sense. They'd make a mess and ruin the carpet, and no-one would like that.

No mobile phones. Hmm, not so sure about that one. I went to a club recently where they have that rule. Quite a snooty club, incidentally. I assume it's because they want to create an oasis of calm, a haven from the pressures of the outside world. Maybe. My club has no rules on this, and it's not a deafening cacophony of mobile ringtones and Dom Joly-esque bellowing. Let's face it, it is quite handy, being able to ring your hapless family member to come and pick you up because you decided to get stuck into the cider three hours ago and now the bar has run out so you want to go home. It's also quite handy being able to ring your golfing partner to ask why, when they tee'd off at 9.28 and the round was probably over by 2pm, they're still not back by 6pm and why are they slurring?

And another thing. Jackets and ties. What is that all about??? How is it that I can go to a £50-a-head restaurant in Mayfair in jeans, but I can't have some prawns marie-rose and chicken-in-sauce without dressing up like it's some kind of interview? Who goes anywhere in a jacket and tie, except work? Some people don't even go to work in a jacket and tie. You tell me how that's not pointless wankiness.

Golf clubs are good at pointless wankiness.

(Photo courtesy of by absoblogginlutely on Flickr)