Like most folk, I think there’s nothing better than getting home at night, kicking off the shoes and changing from workwear into something more suitable to doing housework in or if I’m really honest, for putting my feet up.
Weekends see me leaving the suits and dresses that I wear to the office in the wardrobe and putting on jeans or leggings and comfortable tops. Unfortunately, with the poor summer we’re having the shorts and t-shirts are also remaining packed away. But at least all the rain has been an excuse to forget about the outdoor chores and instead sees me trying to convince visitors that I’m nurturing a wildlife garden, but somehow I don’t think they believe me.
However, if I’m going out then I always take time to consider if what I’ve got on is appropriate. Wouldn’t want to impose some of my older, well-worn garments – I’m a terrible hoarder and you never know when something might come back into fashion – on the unsuspecting public.
But on a recent visit to the supermarket I began to feel that not many others have the same dress code.
Pyjamas, I ask you, who wears pyjamas in public? Quite a few people it would seem.
There I was, minding my own business, trying to decide what bag of salad leaves to buy when she appeared from around the corner of the fruit aisle.
For a moment I thought that I was having a nightmare, but then I realised that no, I really was in a Falkirk supermarket on a Saturday morning.
The woman in question was about my age, not some slip of a teenager, and was wearing checked pyjama bottoms, an almost see-through top and those furry slipper boots. She also had a loose cotton cardigan on but it didn’t do much to cover her up.
She seemed oblivious to the fact that her garb was more suited to under the duvet than beside the fruit and veg!
It’s not that long ago that I remember reading one supermarket chain had banned people from shopping in their pjs, well this one obviously hadn’t. Although perhaps those in charge were as half asleep as the woman in question.
However, if that wasn’t bad enough, I walked further along the aisle to be met by a chap who had obviously just come straight from the gym or stopped off from his run. He was wearing those really tight shorts and a very sweaty t-shirt.
Now I know that I upset a few folk some weeks ago, by initially saying that I was fed up with all the TV coverage of the Olympics, but by the end of the fortnight-long sporting extravaganza I had really got quite into it and was enjoying my evenings spent cheering on Sir Chris Hoy et al ... but I still wouldn’t expect to see them picking up milk and bread wearing their dirty training gear.
Yes, as my old mother says, standards are certainly slipping nowadays.