Howard Croft column: Suited and booted for a magical family occasion
About ten years ago, when I retired, I threw out all my suits except one, declaring it to be my funeral suit. Mrs Croft mistook my intention, which was to dress respectfully on solemn occasions, and believed that it was my wish to be dressed in this outfit when my turn came to be boxed up. Neither of us has viewed this suit in quite the same light since. The result was that I was taken into York to buy, under close supervision, a suit for the wedding of our nephew Michael, whom I tried with a dismal want of success to train how to blow his nose. Luckily, he had mastered this complicated task in time for his interviews for a place at medical school, but it was close. His new wife, Chloe, is also now a doctor. How will that work, I wonder – a household in which no diagnosis goes undisputed?