LEITH, home of my soul, leads the way once again, with a pub there banning men from wearing “jobby catchers”.

I apologise for introducing a poopiferous note to this lecture or article so early in proceedings. I admit, too, that I’d never heard of the term “jobby catchers” until I read it in a learned journal or newspaper earlier this week.

The controversial terminology refers to these distressing grey athletic trousers that are so unaccountably popular with the nation’s neds. Let us be clear (obfuscation alert): I am not doing these individuals a disservice.

When they go into John Lewis or Marks & Spencer and say, “I’d like to see your selection of jobby catchers, please”, they are making clear that they are proud to be neds. It’s how they identify themselves, just as a toff might go into Asda and say: “I’d like to see the latest waxed jackets in your George range, please.”

Regular readers will know that I’ve fulminated frequently in the past against both grey athletic trousers and waxed jackets. It’s the campaigning journalist in me that forces me to be so passionate and to crusade for justice.

As I’ve pointed out before, the ned and the toff have much in common, with their uniforms, rules and insouciance about the fact that the rest of society detests them.

If I had a pub, neither of these vile demographics would be welcome, though I don’t know where the Dreadnought – the Leith pub under advisement – stands on toffs. However, while clearly it deplores neds, it also takes against the trendy bourgeoisie, at least where their standards of dress aren’t good enough.

Regarding neds, it says on that Facebook: “If the first thing you see when you walk in is a group of lads wearing matching grey marl jobby catchers, we may as well have installed a beaten up bus shelter in the corner and invited folk to take a slash against it.”

That is a good point, well made, though it could give ideas to any enterprising brewery chain thinking of setting up a neds’ theme pub.

As regards the distressingly fashionable middle-classes, the doughty Dreadnought adds: “Just to prove our sartorial prejudices cross all boundaries, we’re also taking a stand against this current trend of half-mast jeans, bare ankles and shoes.”

I must confess this isn’t something that I’ve seen too often but, then again, I don’t get out to the metropolis much and, these days, live far from my Leith ancestral homeland in a place where the footwear is mainly wellies.

Still, I can understand the strictures against bare ankles. Socks have long been a leitmotif of civilisation, and no decent ratepayer leaves the house without them, preferably held up by suspenders to prevent creasing.

As for jobby catchers, it is my understanding that the horrible habiliments might facilitate this function by virtue of having elasticated bottoms. It’s not a thought that one wishes to entertain for too long.

The key to dressing properly is, as you know, to ignore all contemporary trends and take what is best from the relatively recent past. Thus, a well-cut suit will always see you right (though I confess I no longer own one), with a pair of flared trousers for leisure (though these are difficult to find now and tend to attract opprobrium).

In the meantime, we commend the actions of the Dreadnought and trust that, in future, its clientele will all be sensibly clad with neither a bare ankle nor a poopiferous pair of troosers on the premises.

We've woke up to politics ... and it's not good

WHILE happy to fulminate about trousers and socks, your correspondent rarely opines about politics in a party or partisan sense.

That said, I’ve spoken out before about the new situation whereby everybody has a political opinion, which would be fine if they kept it to themselves.

In the golden past, nobody normal had an opinion about politics. It never came up in conversations, and “politicos” would be avoided as peculiar. Now, everyone’s at it, instead of leaving it to properly qualified people such as journalists.

In the past, if proletarian or of proletarian stock, you just voted Labour and that was that. Now, they’re saying Labour has abandoned the working class for the woking class (tweet by Lost Boys Liberation).

The woke are politically correct people who snitch, shame and shut down. Their watchword is: “How very dare you!” Some say their domination is ending, which would be the cue for the most woke to claim they never were.

But it just seems to be getting worse, and conjures memories of The Lives of Others, a film about Communist East Germany. That’s why it’s best to keep shtoom. If you’ve an opinion, keep it to yourself. Don’t discuss anything. Don’t get involved.

I'll p@$$, thanks

IN the golden past, passwords only came up in spy movies or exotic foreign stories involving dodgy folk wearing peculiar millinery. Today, they’re the bane of our online lives. You can’t even order a pair of gusset-strengthened pants without having to provide a password.

Imagine going into a department store in the 1950s – high point of British civilisation – and, after trying on your pants, you take them to the stout, oak desk and say in a loud, confident voice, “I’ll take these gusset-strengthened pants, please. I’ve left the unsuitable ones crumpled up in the booth." And the assistant says: “That’ll be fine, sir. May I have your password?”

The idea would have been thought preposterous. But, today, you can’t do anything online without a password. To make things even more difficult, the Government has ordered “1234” to be banned as a password on smart devices.

Mind you, even by my standards, that’s pretty unimaginative. But what’s the point of it all anyway? Your computer saves the password and applies it automatically, so anyone nicking your laptop would instantly have access to your shopping sites.

That said, they’d need to know the “bumFuzzlement91*$” password to get into your computer in the first place. Damn. Now I’ve got to change it again.