Friday was National Christmas Jumper Day. This is one of those days which has become a thing in the past decade.

I’m going to be honest, I’m not a fan. Way too much acrylic around (potentially lethal if you hug a child with a Christingle candle or get too close to a 21st century Victorian carol singer) and it’s time critical.

Personally I don’t buy clothes you can only wear for a week in December, but apparently lots of us do. This year the volume of ‘crazy’ Christmas jumpers has increased by 22%.

Even the queen is sporting one.

Ok, it’s the waxwork model of the queen at Madame Tussaud’s. The real Her Majesty wouldn’t give an Xmas jumper wardrobe space.

In the montage at the museum the waxen royals are all sporting Christmas jumpers, so you can see exactly how sexy Prince Harry would look bearing a chirpy seasonal penguin across his chest.

It’s not very.

In fact, men in Christmas jumpers are as sexy as men in onesies.

i.e. Not. At. All.

Colin Firth is, I’d argue, one of the most attractive, charismatic and sexually desirable men on the planet.

As he strode purposefully out of the lake as Mr Darcy in that scene from Pride and Prejudice, millions of women across the country made a mental note to take themselves to bed early to imagine towelling him off.

Little more than five years later, he appears in a Christmas jumper in Bridget Jones’ Diary and the towels are all returned to the airing cupboard. It really does take that fight scene with Hugh Grant to restore his sexual credentials.

I realise I’m in full Scrooge mode here, so I’ll redeem myself by saying that:

  1. Christmas Jumper Day raised £4.4 Million for Save the Children last year, and
  2. Any man can look, or at least feel, like Colin Firth by putting on a cheap sweater from Asda.

(NB partners may need more than one glass of eggnog to join them in this fantasy.)



Oh dear. And there I was thinking Meghan Markle would be the popping candy on the royal trifle, a new broom to sweep away old customs.

I was hoping her ingrained feminism would leak out at regular intervals. I had hoped she’d set about challenging protocol and hijacking her HRH status to campaign for women’s equitable spoonful of the trifle.

But it turns out political incontinence is as unfashionable at the Palace as fake bow ties (apparently the queen can spot one at twenty paces).

Actually, before we go any further, pre-tied bow ties are a big no-no in my book too. In that sense I am JUST LIKE HER MAJESTY! When I was a teacher, I made sure nobody left my class at the end of the academic year without being able to tie a bow tie.

“This is going to make you a legend in your hall of residence at university,” I promised them. At least two relationships I know of started with my bow tie trick.

And so Meghan is being made over.

Gone is the feminist activist; gone are the tweets expressing solidarity with minority groups and gone too is her popular blog. You know, the one where she had actual, independent thoughts.

In their place is an aristo-in-training. She’s having ‘duchess lessons.’

I imagine this entails a lot of Dubonnet drinking and working out where to place her legs in a given situation, but I’d like to think she’ll take as a role model the wild and transgressive Margaret Campbell, Duchess of Argyle. Where would she put her legs? Apparently on the nearest gentleman’s shoulders…

I’m guessing that’s the Advanced Course.

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1 comment

  1. Nowadays, it would be nice to have Jeeves in attendance whenever purchases of unfortunate clothing are contemplated. A discreet cough followed by “I couldn’t recommend the garment, sir”. Sage advice, indeed . . .

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