Stay golden

Just when you thought 2016 couldn't get any worse, out comes the US electorate, or rather approximately 47.4% of eligible voters, and quite literally Trumps all other stupendous (Brexit, Theresa May's unelected ascent, all things UKIP) and unfortunate (Bowie, Prince, Pete Burns and all other icons passing) incidents occurring so far this year. 2016 is officially the shit. Not in a youth lingo shit-means-good way either. Just shit. A big pile of schisse.

I'd be the first to admit that I don't know much about US elections, nor history, biology, a science book or the French I took for that matter, but it speaks volumes that voters would rather elect a billionaire businessman with zero political experience, non-existent policies, terrible views of anyone not white and male and questionable choice of fake tan, than a woman with substantial political weight and a track record of successful diplomacy on the global stage. It's like comparing the Milk Cup with the Nobel Prize and people going 'I'd rather have the Milk Cup because it's easier to pronounce'.

It's been one of the most divisive elections in history. White men and rural folk versus women, people from a BME background and city dwellers. Trump and his mantra of Make America Great Again by deporting Mexicans, pissing off China and banning muslims resonated with sufficient numbers. Because you know, nothing says Great like racism, xenophobia, misogynism and tax evasion.

I found myself in a road side motel room in San Simeon in the golden state of California as the election results started coming in and watched in disbelief as the ominous signs of a Trump victory grew stronger. The despair. We ended up watching Brewster's Millions instead. Brewster for president! He's only a millionaire and doesn't seem entirely self serving.

At least I could don my new t-shirt that I'd stumbled upon in Target in downtown San Francisco, whilst on the prowl for cheap sweets.

How can one fail to feel at least a tad more joyous in the company of the Golden Girls themselves?? There's some comfort in knowing that whatever twattish nonsense is happening, there's still a whole lotta good shit in the world. And these are clearly scary times for anyone on both sides of the Atlantic who cares about equality of opportunities, rights and treatment but I'm hopeful there will be positive effects of Brexit and Trump. The young vote seems to be favouring inclusivity, and we all know that children are our future, so I say engage more young people in decision making and influencing. That way we can all stay golden.

I'm disaster and I know it

According to The Guardian's TV reviewer, I'm a disaster as I buy t-shirts by the truckload. I disagree. A quick wardrobe count reveals that I've broken the centenary landmark which I don't think ranks as Towering Inferno levels of disaster, although capsule collection it definitely ain't.

The humble t-shirt is by far my favourite item of clothing, in the menswear stakes it's second only to footwear. We can all thank the US Navy for creating an undergarment for their uniforms during the Spanish-American war. Or maybe Marlon Brando for tearing up the screen in the iconic white t-shirt in A Streetcar Named Desire. Whilst the shape and fabric choices haven't altered much since the original garments, its place in fashion certainly has. And thank god for that, I can't imagine anything worse than having to don the Sunday suit for going down to t'club for pints and billiards on a Friday night. A t-shirt is altogether easier to wear and feel at ease wearing.

A good few years back I discovered the joys of screen printing using fabric paint. I churned out a substantial amount of t shirts, very few people avoided receiving a printed garment for birthday or christmas, as opposed to a proper present. I even sold one, a design hailing the stylings of the moustache featuring Burt Reynolds caught someone's eye in the pub. 20 quid easily made.

I say easily, in reality it was nothing but. The printing technique I used involved cutting out stencils (time consuming) for the print design and carefully placing these on to the fabric. I then utilised a mesh screen and a squeegee to apply the paint. Often the print would smudge so I'd either have to rectify using paintbrushes (time consuming) or start over with a new t shirt and stencil (effing time consuming). So I fell out with screen printing altogether.

Recently I made a (for me) revolutionary discovery. You can create your own t-shirts and have them printed for a relatively cheap cost. I'll be damned! Print companies have obviously been doing this for donkeys but somehow I didn't make the connection, I figured they only sell to hen and stag dos. So once I realised I could rediscover my t-shirt mojo, I've unsurprisingly gone to town. I'm disaster and I know it. I've got 5 of them so far, I used Vistaprint and Streetshirts, another batch is at the printers, and I've got at least another 2 designs that are yet to be realised.

I came across the phrase on Facebook and immediately thought I need to 'borrow' that one. Such an apt statement. The world would be a better place if it was just a font and not some minimally talented pop starlet.

I love Madonna. Love, love, love. The first album of hers I bought was True Blue on cassette in Seoul in 1987 so as a homage I figured I'd create a replica of the t-shirt she wears in the Papa Don't Preach video when she first locks eyes with the mulleted hunk whose baby she's keeping. Stone cold classic, song, video, the lot.

I recently went to the excellent Daydreaming with Stanley Kubrick exhibition at Somerset House, combining works in a range of media, inspired by Kubrick and his movies. This painting by Paul Insect which riffs on A Clockwork Orange caught my eye and channelling my inner Julian Opie, I set about recreating the design in Photoshop. The copyright infringing end result is one I'm particularly chuffed with,

Sam Fox featured prominently in my adolescence. In my case it was obviously not for her sizeable bosoms, rather for her musical output. Say what?!?!?! Yes siree, I had her first 3 albums, as well as the remix version of her first album. Her singles were all corkers, album tracks more quality diverse, more often than not referencing her page 3 past with titles such as Touch Me (I Want To Feel Your Body), Naughty Girls (Need Love Too), Hurt Me, Hurt Me (But The Pants Stay On), Love House, and Do Ya, Do Ya (Wanna Please Me). The Sam Fox appreciation society starts here. 

Another pop music reference. This time riffing the often used way of printing the members of classic bands. What better way to chart the most ridiculous band (in terms of fall outs and line up changes) in pop history, the Sugababes. I might sell the design concept to Mutya to add to her Sugababes stationery range. 

This is essentially why I love t-shirts, using the blank canvas you can go create whatever you want. A funny t-shirt, a poignant t-shirt, a celebratory t-shirt, a promotional t-shirt. And Sam Fox. People have the power

Happy feet

A few years ago I made a pledge to myself to never again wear plain old boring socks. My feet had spent a lifetime walking round in the distinctly limited palette of black, brown and grey. And white tube socks of course. Socks of a jazzier hue was a concept so alien that HR Geiger himself would've been more likely to start churning out pop art or twee water lillies.

Buoyed by the sudden upturn in the stylistic offerings from Primark, they definitely do the best cheapo socks, I set about amassing a vast collection of patterns, colours and motifs. Nothing's off limits. Orange zebra rubbing shoulders with purple camouflage. My feet are eternally grateful. Life in technicolour is infinitely more exciting. 

Menswear, as most of us know it, is fairly void of options, particularly on the lower half. Jeans, chinos, trousers. Trousers, chinos, jeans. I refuse to acknowledge the existence of the 'dressy jogger'. What's more, unless you're of a flamboyant ilk your bottoms are all plain coloured. A pair of jaunty socks adds a better balance and makes your feet more jolly. They'll practically skip down the street.

Unless I stick to Primark, I buy all my socks in the sale. Why pay full price when you can get them for a quid, or less? I tend to buy a pair or two a month. I'm fully committed to keeping my feet happy. The Topman sale is a particularly great source of cheap and positively random socks. 'Toucan play that game' in turquoise was a recent purchase. It doesn't get much better than that. Below are some others, including a set of three fast food themed socks. A foot long wiener. Say no more.

Maintaining happy feet also means investing in appropriate footwear. As befits the summer months, I've acquired some casual varieties over the last month or so. 

Pink and orange trainers from Nike
Grey and red trainers from Adidas
Red plimsolls from River Island

So whether it be socks or shoes, think colour, think bright, think fun, think It's My Life by Dr Alban. Happy feet makeths the man.