One minute it’s summer, then it’s not, then it’s so summer there’s a reservoir of warm brine in your pants and your feet grow to twice their normal size. Do you feel like microwaved croissant? Is your forehead a fountain of sudoric discharge? Well, happy hotness people. Everyone says they want it until they get it, then they moan about it. And with every whiny flap of their trap, little ropes of glossy human dew fly from their upper lip straight into my glass of squash. Fuck this boiling life.

Thing is I never want it to be hot. Ever. I’d be happy if all year it was just okay. 365 days of ‘jacket weather’. Or ‘cardie weather’. Then I could wear this thing from Monitaly.

If it is hot where you are, you can be forgiven for not wanting to read about an acrylic, nylon and wool ‘shaggy knit’. But if not tomorrow, they’ll come a time soon when you’ll be craving the embrace of a piece like this. As hairy as a baboon, as warming as an Amazon forest fire, this cardie will see you through the most aggressive of winters (climate change fuelled by aforementioned forest fires notwithstanding.)

A pair of regular hand pockets and a mini ticket pocket mean this will double as a jacket on the right days. While the button-up round neck elevates with a touch of eastern style; just enough to disconcert traditionalists and give you the look of an off-duty Vegas conjuror.

I’m all about this lifestyle. It’s the furriness, which depending on your sensibilities might or might not be the tiniest bit camp. I’d like to wear this to a Hartlepool pub and strike-up a conversation with a couple of blokey-blokes. I’d like to explain that no, I don’t follow ‘the football’, no I don’t drive and no I don’t watch Love Island with the missus, followed by a stealth wank in the toilet. I’d enjoy seeing them uncomfortably eying my furry cardie, trying to figure out what manner of man I am. Then I’d casually say, “and of course, anyone who voted to leave the EU is a fucking moron”. Then I’d leg it.