Whenever I think of Rod Stewart I think of women's underwear.
Blame my dad. Some time in the seventies, Jamieson Sr read an interview with Rod the Mod in which the singer revealed that he liked to wear his girlfriend's frilly undies (probably Britt Ekland's). My dad found the idea hilarious. I'm guessing he'd never tried on my mum's at any time (actually, no, let's leave that image right there). Despite all the girls, all the football playing, all the laddishness, Rod, to my dad, was a nine-bob note (1).
Times have moved on. I'd like to think we have a more enlightened view of sexuality these days. And of the viability of wearing your partner's knickers. But my vision of masculinity has even now, to some degree, been shaped by my dad's example. Part of me still wistfully wishes I could grow a Zapata moustache like the one he sported for most of the seventies. Part of me wishes I could change a plug.
My dad was a soldier then a bricklayer. I was cut out for neither (in truth I'm still trying to figure out what I am cut out for). He was conservative with a big and a small C. I'm liberal, with a small L (2). We agreed on very little, but he was still as good a father as you'd want. And as good a model of what a man should be.
He could surprise you too. In his later years he returned to one of his former loves: painting. He gave me some of his work and it triggered a memory that when he was laughing at Rod Stewart he was also painting vibrant, expressionist portraits in the sitting room.
I keep reading and hearing about men in the media, but I don't really recognise the descriptions. Yes, of course, there are damaged examples of manliness out there, "men" more than capable of damaging others. And yes, there are men out there (many of them writing newspaper columns, now that I come to think of it), who love the sound of their own voice, who think being anti-PC is hilarious and dismiss as ridiculous anyone with any interest in anything other than alcohol, football, cars and/or gadgets. There's a technical description for this kind of person. What is the word again? Oh yes – arsehole.
These are not men. They're caricatures of men. Real men – loving, fundamentally decent men – do exist but we don't talk about them. My dad was one. He died six years ago this month. I still miss him. I still hope I'm as good a man as he was. Whether I'm wearing my wife's knickers or not (3).
Twitter: @Teddy Jamieson
FOOTNOTES
[1] A pre-decimal and pre-PC term for homosexuality. Clearly my dad was wrong about this (just in case Rod's lawyers are reading).
[2] © Billy Bragg.
[3] Not actually, but if there's no clean underwear in the drawer who knows?
Whenever I think of Rod Stewart I think of women's underwear. Blame my dad. Some time in the seventies, Jamieson Sr read an interview with Rod the Mod in which the singer revealed that he liked to wear his girlfriend's frilly undies (probably Britt Ekland's). My dad found the idea hilarious. I'm guessing he'd never tried on my mum's at any time (actually, no, let's leave that image right there). Despite all the girls, all the football playing, all the laddishness, Rod, to my dad, was a nine-bob note (1).
Times have moved on. I'd like to think we have a more enlightened view of sexuality these days. And of the viability of wearing your partner's knickers. But my vision of masculinity has even now, to some degree, been shaped by my dad's example. Part of me still wistfully wishes I could grow a Zapata moustache like the one he sported for most of the seventies. Part of me wishes I could change a plug.
My dad was a soldier then a bricklayer. I was cut out for neither (in truth I'm still trying to figure out what I am cut out for). He was conservative with a big and a small C. I'm liberal, with a small L (2). We agreed on very little, but he was still as good a father as you'd want. And as good a model of what a man should be.
He could surprise you too. In his later years he returned to one of his former loves: painting. He gave me some of his work and it triggered a memory that when he was laughing at Rod Stewart he was also painting vibrant, expressionist portraits in the sitting room.
I keep reading and hearing about men in the media, but I don't really recognise the descriptions. Yes, of course, there are damaged examples of manliness out there, "men" more than capable of damaging others. And yes, there are men out there (many of them writing newspaper columns, now that I come to think of it), who love the sound of their own voice, who think being anti-PC is hilarious and dismiss as ridiculous anyone with any interest in anything other than alcohol, football, cars and/or gadgets. There's a technical description for this kind of person. What is the word again? Oh yes – arsehole.
These are not men. They're caricatures of men. Real men – loving, fundamentally decent men – do exist but we don't talk about them. My dad was one. He died six years ago this month. I still miss him. I still hope I'm as good a man as he was. Whether I'm wearing my wife's knickers or not (3).
FOOTNOTES
[1] A pre-decimal and pre-PC term for homosexuality. Clearly my dad was wrong about this (just in case Rod's lawyers are reading).
[2] © Billy Bragg.
[3] Not actually, but if there's no clean underwear in the drawer who knows?
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