For one fleeting moment, probably only half a second, I shared a knowing nod with another late thirty something male. Under normal social circumstances, we would never acknowledge each other, & from experience, this guy would want to cave my feather cut head in. Probably just after the five Jägerbombs he had downed in 10 minutes at The Dog & Pond as a dare from his mates. This brief bond was fuelled by a gaunt hollow cheeked locking of eyes through the rails of dangerously combustible dresses in a generic shopping mall . The last time he saw lapels & trouser bottoms as wide as mine, was possibly on his Mum & Dad's 1973 wedding photo. The last time I saw trousers & espadrilles like his, was when Crockett slid across the bonnet of his Porsche in a 'rolled up sleeve' trouser suit. But we both knew outside the boundaries of the ladies section at Primark & New Look, back in the jungle they call The Slug & Lettuce, it was going to be every man for himself.
