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Bru na Boinne: Boo-hoo me

I keep getting up too early. This nouveau lockdown is twisting me. These four walls are everything; work, family, relaxation, sustenance, joy, despair; it’s one shifting morass.  When does a cocoon become a tomb? I nap in the afternoon. I stay up too late. I can’t lie in. I’m up at 7am on a Saturday, gawping at my Mac writing this. My candle has been burning at both ends for so long I can no longer see the middle.

I’m sure it’s the same for many. But as the murk of winter descends, as the rain sheets against my windows, you’ll excuse me if take a moment of mournful introspection.

What are you doing? Are you working through this? I mean, I know we’ve got a love of menswear in common, but what else do you do? I smoke; outside, in the drizzle, with my hood up — a pathetically idiotic vision if there ever was one. I watch obscure 60s and 70s films — they seem to bring me a more profound sense of escapism than modern cinema. I eat a lot of sandwiches for lunch. Always accessorised with plain Walkers; I find their inherent blandness works with everything.

Electronica; walk round the block; Deliveroo; Citalopram; Netflix; Google Slides; Amazon Prime; Slack message; Slack message; Slack message… Boo-hoo me. Boo-fucking-hoo.

There’s always, looking at menswear I’m never going to buy, to break the monotony. I like this Bru na Boinne top, looks very cosy. Just the sort of thing to keep you warm as you type a load of self-indulgent trollop of a stormy morning.

Apparently it’s “quilted without sewing.” It uses something I can’t be bothered to Google called “ultrasonic pinsonic technology.” Arguably 50% too many ‘sonics’ there, but what do I know. It comes in a purple too, but I’m digging on this sandy colour. There’s a bit of cricket sweater in there, what with the broad colour bands around the neckline. Which at least reminds me I’m fortunate to have less than zero interest in cricket.

I do admire the way the dude in the pictures is pulling it off. I like a bro in a cowboy hat. This bro at least. Not so much your stetsoned middle-American Ye-Ha! with with his tongue so far up Trump’s tail pipe he can taste his last cheeseburger. Those guys can choke on their grits for all I care. Woo… look how angry I am. Doubtless another symptom of long-lockdown.

Anyway… Anyway…

I dare say, like me, you won’t be buying this sweater. Whose got 36,000 yen to throw around during a plague? It rather makes this whole exercise rather pointless. So what now? What indeed? I might have another grotty instant coffee. Maybe I’ll have another fag in the rain. Hang on. I think I hear my girl waking up. Thank god for that. In a minute or two all will be right in my world.

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