Never mind the quality ...

'Get rid of the bloody jacket', said Geoff.

'What?', I said, stopped in mid-flow. We were out for a drink at my
London local in Archway when he interrupted me.

'Get rid of that bloody black jacket', he said, more forcefully this
time. 'Can't you see that that's the reason nobody wants to know
you?'

'My jacket?', I spluttered, looking down at the deep night shade of my
sleeve. 'What's my jacket got to do with anything?'

The offending item was a newish black moleskin, still less than two
years old. I was not yet completely comfortable in it, but it had the
advantage of being slightly oversized so that I could wear anything
underneath. And it was black, so, I thought, would blend in anywhere.
This one resided in my London flat.

He raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. 'It's the colour', he
said. 'It makes people think of unpleasant things, of graveyards, of
dark street corners, of all the nasties in the world that they'd rather
not think about.'

I had occasionally noticed one or two sidelong glances on the street,
but it wasn't something I could pin down. So I'd dismissed it as my
imagining.

'But it's just a jacket!', I expostulated. 'And .. and it's a good,
strong one. It's got this leather collar that I rather like. And what's
wrong with black anyway?', I demanded.

He glared at me. 'Look', he said, 'don't ask me to explain it'. 'All I
know is that whenever you appear in that jacket it spells death to the
occasion. People start feeling uncomfortable, they make excuses to
leave early, and before you know it we're in a party of two. And it's
all because of that jacket.'

I re-examined the garment in this new light. 'I can't see anything
wrong with it', I protested. 'It's a bit too big for me maybe, but it's
good material, nicely stitched too, and just look at those buttons
&;#8230;'. But he'd gone, exasperated by my wooden-headedness.

I went home that night wondering. Could my financial problems and the
state of my social life really all be down to the colour of a jacket?
Impossible, I thought, dismissing it as the drink talking.

I had two jackets at the time. My number two was an old favourite, dark
green in colour and bought years ago in the Lake District. It had been
repaired a couple of times, the cuffs were worn and it was starting to
get a bit shabby. But there were bits of my life in all the pockets and
I felt at home in it, and it stayed at my rented room in
Brussels.

This was my established pattern. In London I wore the black moleskin.
In Brussels the comfy old green one.

A short time later I accidentally left the green jacket in London and
took the black one with me to Brussels. I didn't notice anything
immediately, but little by little my life began to improve. A couple of
old Brussels clients rang me up to offer me some work, I managed to get
a small contract in London, and my social life began to rise too.

I put it down to the fact that, finally, people were beginning to
recognise my ability. At last I was starting to earn the rewards that I
was due. Maybe it was because spring was in the air, after the long
winter. I began to enjoy myself, to relax more, to feel comfortable in
my own skin.

A week later I was in the Grande Place with Pascal, an old colleague
from my employed days. Towards the end of a bottle of red wine I
brought out Geoff's comment about the jacket.

'Ridiculous', laughed Pascal. 'Oh you English', he said, 'you're always
so afraid of clothes'.

'How could anyone react like that to a black jacket?', he chuckled.
'It's absolute nonsense.' I felt reassured.

Then he sobered suddenly. 'But then', he said, 'I could understand it
if you were wearing that old green one you used to have.'

I stared at him. I was wearing the black jacket that night. 'What about
my green jacket?', I asked.

He looked at me as if I was being particularly obtuse. 'Well you know!
That terrible old green thing you used to wear. It always made people
think about stomach problems, and nausea and things like that. It made
people start to feel sick. Didn't you see the way the waiters in a
restaurant would rush up to take it away and hang it out of
sight?'

' I .. well .. I .. I ...', I stammered, not knowing what to say. I had
noticed nothing.

'Well of course!', he said, triumphantly. 'It was the green jacket!
Nobody would say anything. We knew you probably only wore it because
you couldn't afford anything better.'

He laughed. 'It's funny now. But I must say I'm relieved you replaced
that old thing with this new black one.'

'You're obviously doing much better these days', he confided, pouring
me the last glass of wine. 'I have to say', he said musingly, 'I do
like the buttons &;#8230;'.