NEW COAT

A couple of weeks ago, while holidaying on the luxury island resort of Arran on the Costa del Clyde, me and the woman I call my wife dared to think the unthinkable.

I don’t even think we’d taken alcohol.  There was no excuse, except perhaps an uncharacteristic fit of joie de vivre brought on by some unseasonably clement weather.  We decided we were going to buy coats with North Face written on them.  Coats with three-figure price tags, boasting as much technology as the International Space Station, but far more desirable to get into to.  Because it suddenly occurred to us that it’s what people like us do; save thirty quid a week by shopping at Aldi then blow two month’s savings on a coat that keeps us warm at -30ºC.

We knew exactly what kind of coats we wanted.  We’d seen lots of them on the car ferry to Brodick, dotted like luscious jellybeans against the rusty bowel of the car deck.  Not big and puffy as such garments once were.  But thin and tailored, and coming in an array of exotic colours that caught the eye as surely as a Muslim in the site of Chris Kyle’s sniper rifle.

The woman in the Range Rover in front of us was wearing a particularly attractive purple one.  Waiting in line there was little else to do but regard her covetously as she tended the equally attractive Spaniel that languished in the boot.  The car was never going to happen.  And the dog was not a practical option.  But the coat…

Our eyes devoured her garment like a delicious fruit from the tree of designer knowledge.  And sure enough, we did look down upon our unremarkable Mountain Warehouse anoraks and realised, for the first time, that we were … cheap looking.

“There’s an outdoor shop on Arran,” said my wife, looking up from her iPhone.  And our fate was sealed.

Of course with this kind of money at stake, and Yorkshire blood flowing resolutely through our veins, we weren’t going to rush into it.  Our first visit to the serious outdoor gear shop at the foot of Goat Fell showed us that North Face was not the only game in town.  We wondered through the garments like gold-struck dwarfs through Smaug’s treasure: Lowe Alpine, Rab, Craghoppers, Berghaus, Montaine, Jack Wolfskin, Arcteryx, Bergans, Norrona, Haglofs – all within our grasp. 

In monetary terms we could afford it (thanks to Aldi) but neither of us paused even for a moment to consider the true cost of what we were about to do.  How the age of innocence was coming to an end.  How the lady with the Spaniel had rendered us label junkies, who would never again judge a man by his actions, but by the emblem stitched on his breast.

Unperturbed, and in a drunken rush of avarice, we submerged ourselves in the garments, leafing through the small volumes of labels hanging from each specimen, peering with wonder at the strange, transparent pods of stuffing that granted a precious glimpse of the garments’ inner secrets.

Alas, it wasn’t long before the strain of rapture began to show, and we withdrew to consider our findings and plan our next move over tea and a scone in the café next door.  Soon we would be called upon to make the biggest purchase decision since our cars (which seemed much more straight forward – fewer labels anyway).  But it was clear that to do that we would need to serve our time.  We would need to learn a brand new vocabulary.  We would need to master the language of coat engineering and the science of being warm.

A few weeks later, following an intensive course of evening classes, we felt ready to take that step.  We filled the car with money, gave the child who is too young to be left behind a fully charged handheld device to keep it quiet, and headed for Tiso.

At first I favoured the basic lightweight micro stitch through baffled hoodie with Pertex outer, but couldn't help being taken by that cheeky little newcomer the Featherlite micro baffle HyperDRY down jacket - ultra light and ultra packable as it was.  Although, on reflection, I couldn't help thinking that the wired peak and YKK front zip with insulated baffle offered by the former may come in handy on those trickier summits.  Not to mention the integrated chin guard and adjustable hem draw chord.  But then the latter also boasted anatomical construction with articulated arms for high reach movement and I felt sure I'd be wanting to do that kind of thing at least occasionally.  I was of course impressed that both incorporated 750fp Hydrophobic Down to retain warmth through a higher loft, (even though we don’t actually have a loft of any height).

Eventually the youngest emerged from the café with an almost exhausted iPhone and the decision had to be made: mine was a Montane. Silver / grey.  Expensive looking. Hers was a Rab. Dark blue with pink / purple interior.  Also expensive looking.

Within moments they were in bags and we were carrying them out of the shop and into our lives.  Lives no longer tarnished by the cost-effectiveness of Trespass, Mountain Warehouse and Karrimor.  Warm lives, soft lives.  Expensive looking lives. And that wasn’t all.  As we left I was informed I'd be able to track where my down came from, and off which particular bird, though trackmydown.com.   Add to that – guilt free lives.

Back at the car we considered for a moment whether to put the coats on and decided against it.  Although late October it was still dangerously warm for performance clothing like this.  Even with all the windows down heat exhaustion was a real possibility.  So into the boot they went, hovering almost weightlessly in the cavernous space left by the bags of cash exchanged for them.

And so into November, and still the coats floated inert in the porch.  Bonfire night came and went, but the central heating remained off.  The radio talked about it being the warmest ever recorded.  No one could account for it.  But I began to think that perhaps I could. 

Across Fife whole communities were forced to evacuate their homes as sea levels rose, and parts of Perthshire were plunged into famine as crops failed.  And still the coats remained unworn, their baffled hoodies unchallenged, their wired peaks bone dry. 

And so it went on, until one sweltering, sleepless night towards December I could take it no more.  Pulling back the mosquito net around the bed I strode purposefully downstairs towards the porch.  My wife followed, pleading with me: “For God’s sake, they’re only coats!  Spare them!” But I knew what I had to do, and headed for the top drawer.

But as I raised the breadknife above the defenceless micro baffle a sudden calm descended on the house.  I paused for a moment and turned to the window.  Outside a solitary snowflake drifted down, and I knew that somehow we were forgiven.  And so I put down the knife, put on my coat and stepped outside, into the future.

@jesoverthinksit