Uniform Days..

On the hottest day of the year, our grandchildren are fitted up for their new uniforms in  readiness for September.  I felt for them and their mother. As the pictures came in of them, pink-faced, sweaty fringed and blazers that swamped them, it seemed not that very long ago that I was kitted up for my own secondary school.
A navy woollen blazer similarly enveloped me, as my mother nearly passed out from the expenditure of such an item. Her dismay obviously made an impression on me, as I vowed I would never require a new one. I was true to my word. The sleeves were let down, in the fullness of time, but as the burgeoning bosom developed, pushing the halves of the jacket to each side, I carried my overlarge satchel in front of me, defiantly, camouflaging my excesses.
If only excesses could be so easily camouflaged these days.
Apparently, I looked bit glum at the breakfast table this morning. Dearest asked why I looked so sad. What was I thinking of?
(Dear Diary moment this..)
I said I was thinking about my holiday wardrobe. Which I was. Really. I haven't updated my summer clothes because A. the weather has been lousy and B. I have been waiting for the weight to fall off me.
Now I have missed the boat because everything is sold out in size 16.
"You've got to be bloody joking!" came the reply. "If that's all you've got to worry about then you are very very lucky!"
I know he's right. But I still have this problem.
Life is sartorially simpler if you wear a uniform.