Return of the Master Suit - Tuesday, 18th August

Disappointing – and yet entirely understandable – weigh-in results today – 18st 2 pounds. Am entirely out of practice at the walking now, and my biking this week has been quixotic at best. As I said though – new week, new intent, and on we go. Weather permitting, tomorrow I walk.

Yesterday was a sobering time – as I mentioned, attended the funeral of a good friends of my childhood. Turns out she was 71 when she died a week or so ago. Somewhere along the line, I’ve entirely failed to register that I’m 43, rapidly heading to 44. This doesn’t seem entirely possible, somehow, but it’s a weird calling-card from Death and a note of one’s own mortality. Not that that’s a spur particularly – am in what seems to be a philosophical funk right now, more befitting a teenager determined to paint their bedroom black, slam doors and declare they never asked to be born. Pathetic, of course. One of those situations where the only thing that stops the world from fundamentally changing for the better is the courage to act. Notsomuch one’s own mortality then, more one’s own cowardice. 

I clothed it yesterday in an unexpected pleasure. I haven’t had occasion to wear a suit for a year or more, and while a funeral is never an especially happy occasion, it gave me a reason to try and pull on the Master Suit. The Master Suit, for those just tuning in, is a suit I bought while disappearing the first time – my first off-the-peg suit in the best part of a decade, because I’d previously always had to go to places like High & Mighty – or Big Fat Bastards as we colloquially call it in my family – to get such things. The Master Suit was a hallmark, a landmark moment of original achievement. I had no illusions it would fit me again just yet, thinking it hadn’t been bought till I was in the lower half of the 17s. But while it wasn’t perhaps the most perfect fit – I couldn’t button the jacket just yet – the trousers did at least do up on me without pain and tears, and the jacket fit me without looking too absurd. Still a mark of triumph? Not as much as it was originally, obviously, but yes, a small mark of triumph, to be assured of still fitting into the landmarks of ‘normality’ as defined by the British retailer. A good spur to return to the fray with a determination that’s been hard to locate while under this shroud of philosophical funk and disappointing self-knowledge. So let’s see, shall we, whether the flash of scarlet lining and the sliding on of a suit of clothes can inspire me to carve out time in my days to do what needs to be done. While the funk remains, the Master Suit represents a slice of hope through the greyness. I intend to follow it, and see if it can lead me back to brighter times and courage.