THE disturbing scenes featuring Michael Gove in an Aberdeen nightclub have understandably given rise to fears that democracy has been put at risk once more as respect for our statesmen is further undermined.

The Gove that keeps on Goving holds one of the highest posts in England, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, roughly equivalent to President of the United States. Yet here he was, wearing an open-necked shirt and waving his arms about in a marked manner as he gyrated suggestively to the accompaniment of “jungle” music.

I have no idea what this is, but suspect it involves naught for your comfort. Indeed, a drunken colleague has just suggested to me that it is throbbing and repetitive. If so, it is disgraceful.

Meanwhile, my sources in Whitehall suggest that, following the incident, Prime Minister Boris Johnson convened a meeting of crisis response committee Cobra, where a phased withdrawal from Aberdeen was discussed.

Now, it is fair to say that Mr Gove’s bizarre behaviour has been put down to the fact that he had inadvertently imbibed “a good few shandies”. But, while no one objects to a chap cutting loose from time to time, Mr Gove must remember that he has a responsibility to decent taxpayers to disport himself in a wholesome and hygienic manner. If he must trip over the light fantastic, then let him do so in the privacy of his own home, preferably to music that subdues the inner beast, such as Brahms or Mantovani.

The Herald: Roger Sterling (John Slattery) and Don Draper (Jon Hamm)Roger Sterling (John Slattery) and Don Draper (Jon Hamm)

Doesn't suit you, sir

MORE things are on the way out. It is indeed the way of all things, including ourselves. Limited lifespan, d’you see? It’s tremendously irritating when you think about it, so most of us prefer not to, carrying on as if we and everything else go on for ever.

A finite lifespan is not just the way of all flesh, but of all cloth. That includes men’s suits, the demise of which has been heralded by lockdown. Although I no longer own one, regular readers may recall a recent moving and authoritative column in which I revealed exclusively that I’d recently had an irrational yearning to buy a suit again.

In particular, I searched for a flowing, soft, silky one, but they don’t seem to make them any more. I think Cary Grant wore the last one.

I wore suits to work, weddings and funerals, and affected to despise them at the time. But, as in the debate about school uniforms, they took the choice out of wearing and left one free from the ever-changing dictates of fashion.

Now they themselves are going out of fashion, as a result of folks not having to go into the office. Believing this trend likely to continue, Covid or no Covid, Marks and Spencers has revealed that it now stocks suits in only 110 of its 245 clothing stores.

Last year, analysts found that spending on suits was down 89 per cent. Suit specialists Moss Bros reported pre-tax losses of £7.4 million. Most people bought their first suit at Markies: quality at a reasonable price. Now they’re more likely to buy a hoodie and slim-fit jeans that taper regrettably at the ankle.

That includes proper toffs who, these days, like to go about in disguise. Soon, the only people wearing suits will be politicians and their soulmates, comedians. Such a shame. Look how dapper and tasteful the late Rolling Stones drummer Charlie Watts looked at 80 in his Huntsman – terrible name; wouldn’t buy from them on account of it – suits. It’s been pointed out that the decline of the suit was already happening before Covid, with a shift to more informal wear inspired by big tech bosses such as Mark Zuckerburg. Suits, it was said, would go the way of hats, which once were compulsory for the cranium.

Ties, too, could be doomed, despite evidence that their lack leads to moral turpitude and inappropriate behaviour among executives, clerks and duchy chancellors (see Gove, M. below).

Folks ain’t thinking this through. Without a suit replete with pockets, where do you put your hip flask or, dare I say it, portable telephone? At the time of going to press, the latter aren’t on the way out. But their ringtones are. The latest intelligence suggests that letting your phone ring out is a “faux pas” restricted to older people. Young persons, dubbed “generation mute”, don’t need the tones because they’re always staring at their phones anyway and, unlike your correspondent, don’t have to look down the back of the couch or behind the hatstand when alerted by the ringtone once every four or five weeks.

Generation mute also prefer discreet messaging to actual talking. I must say, as someone who has loudly proclaimed his longing for a more silent world, I have some sympathy with them in the matter of ringtones at least.

Then I remember that this is also the generation that deplores buying pants from Markies. Where do they get theirs? Carphone Warehouse? Perhaps they forget that, like suits and ringtones, they too shall grow old. And younger persons then shall mock their trousers and their pants.

Cookie cutter

THANK goodness for Brexit. The arguably controversial move has had at least one good outcome: soon we need no longer click these irritating “Accept all cookies” or “Manage options” buttons before getting to read something online.

When this tomfoolery started several years ago, I found myself thinking: ‘Am I the only creature on this ridiculous planet irritated by this?’ Turns out everyone was, but nobody said anything. It was just “one of those things”.

Like the lunacy over light bulbs, it was one of those things devised by the EU. Supposedly protecting our privacy, it quickly became a meaningless pain in the posterior. Everybody just clicked “Accept” as it was too much hassle managing opaque options about “cookies”.

Apparently, the noisome requirement can be abolished without risk of cyber fraud or identity theft. If we were just ticking “Accept”, what difference did it make? Next thing to get rid of is the legalistic folderol of accepting “terms and conditions”. No one reads these, so the procedure is again meaningless. It should be replaced with a tick box that says: “I micturate upon your terms and conditions.”

Sandal scandal

DEBATE rages again about the barbaric wearing of socks with sandals. Acceptable when sensible and chaste long trousers are also worn, it only becomes upsetting when the wearer cuts about in shorts.

Claims have been advanced that the ancient Romans wore socks with sandals, as if that made it all right. But there’s little evidence for this anyway. Statues are adduced, but in the few examples I’ve seen the “socks” look more like gaiters or high sandals laced up the shin.

An archaeological discovery in North Yorkshire supposedly provided evidence of Roman sandal-wearing but, on closer inspection, the find consisted of some fibres on a rusty nail. You could as well conclude that, rather than socks, these came from a woolly hat with the words “Hamilton Accies” written on it.

The only valid reason advanced for socks and sandals this week came from a letter in the Daily Telegraph, which suggested the combination made “a cheap and effective form of contraception”. But who knows? Female sexuality is complicated. Studies show, for example, that they do not like men to wear an anorak in bed. Weird.

Our columns are a platform for writers to express their opinions. They do not necessarily represent the views of The Herald.