Kitchen floors and tiny jumpers

I first met her at 5am in the office, and fell in love instantly. I didn’t mind that she wouldn’t go out for a drink with me until I’d cut off my pony tail (I said it made me look like Beckham - well it did at the time - she said it made me look like the lead singer from Status Quo). So the chop came. Done by my own hand in front of the bathroom mirror. Spool forward a few months and you find said girl doing my washing. Not that I can’t do my own washing, I generally do, but on this occasion, the girl was pulling my shirts, pants and jumpers from my rather old washing machine. And you can mark that moment - that scene of domestic normality - as the start of my true relationship with John Smedley.

Let me spool back again - further this time - back a couple of years. I’d flirted with John during those years, but had never been loyal. A powder pool cashmere and wool mix jumper had been the first, but others hadn’t followed regularly, and my eye frequently wandered. A piece here, a piece there, no commitments. But that was all about to change in that kitchen. Out of the washing machine, onto the vinyl floor fell a jumper. V neck. Made from wool and in a nice shade of dark red. I know what you’re thinking - “Their heads bumped as they bent down to pick up the luxurious garment, they laughed and looking into each others eyes…” Nope. Didn’t happen. The jumper was made by someone else, and it had shrunk in the wash to a size that even my childhood teddy would find uncomfortably tight around the armpits.

We laughed. Hard and loud. There was something extraordinarily funny about seeing something I wore, that was now so very tiny. Without me saying anything, the next day the girl presented me with another beautiful v neck red jumper. In it was the label “John Smedley, Made in England”. No turning back. From that day our relationship flourished; me committed and loyal to John. As for the girl, well she became my wife.