1) Watching chickens better than yoga. Chickens don't tie you in knots. But they do take up more space.
2) Males are perverse. Husband no 2 wore jeans once described by legal friend as 'tub-shy." (A comment that says as much about legal friend as jeans.) He wouldn't be seen dead in a t-shirt - or a short-sleeved shirt come to that, even walking up the Himalayas. Beloved on the other hand won't wear anything except t-shirts. (Clean one = smart informal; new one = formal. Really.) But he won't be seen dead in jeans. Weird. Especially as what he mostly wears are calf-length pants - or trousers if you insist. Long ones are too hot, he says. Even in winter.
Last night G and B discovered a view of island not defined by dour locals or tattooed tourists. More like going to any art opening anywhere. Flowing caftans and men with beards, etc, etc. And little bits of pretty food on trays. They met a trendy Scottish estate agent (beardless, in black) with trophy Belgian wife who said property boom was over, and the remaining small coastal village are likely to remain that way. Good. (On the other hand what happens when G and P want to sell their house? Oh let's not worry about that.) All this through people met via the internet via the USA - weird. (But thanks, Lin.) Beloved - wait for it - wore clean calf-length pants and clean t-shirt - when Granny said 'why not a shirt just for once?' - he said; 'But it comes from the Guggenheim!' It did too. Granny went so far as to iron it for him.
Granny can see him at her funeral in black versions of the above. Why not? So long as they're clean. (And maybe - she won't have had to do it - ironed?) She doubts if her ex will wear jeans. Not to a funeral - he's a doctor, come on. He doesn't even own a leather jacket. It's only psychiatrists do that.