Andy Wears A Dress

And then I was born, not in a hospital, but in a bungalow in Somerset. My Dad was managing an oil terminal near Bridgwater, and my Mum was a schoolteacher in the village of Pawlett. We lived in Puriton where, in 6 Newlyn Crescent, little Andy arrived. I quickly set about changing the fashion rules of contemporary society, and here – aged around three – I’m wearing the iconic first ‘hoodie’:

Big brother Mark – a year older – sports a rather gay cardigan, and I’m glad to report that currently, at the age of 46, he is beginning to favour cardigans once again. I, on the other hand, have a 9-year old boy whom, I’m very much afraid, will wear hoodies throughout the next ten years merely to cover his face in the act of committing crimes. It’s my own fault for starting the hoodie craze in the first place.

Below, a flash back even further. I’m about eight months here, wearing a woolly cardie (as is Mark), and definitely also wearing a dress. In my defence, I was young, I was trying new things, and it was the weekend. Mark is showing the curl of hair that has plagued his forehead throughout his life – it’s there to this day. Get it cut short Mark, use a bit of my American Crew fibre, spike it up a bit. Here he shows his Mexican bandit hat, probably because he was having another bad hair day:

Who would have known that those legs of mine, twenty five years later, would have become two of the most prized assets of not one, but two pub football teams in the Jewsons East Kent Sunday League, Division Five.