Back in a simpler age, clothing was pretty straightforward. Any old animal hide that was kicking about could be fashioned into some primitive tunic or loin cloth and would be fit for a variety of social purposes, whether it was slaying a woolly mammoth or popping into the cave next door for an evening of convivial grunting.

There was no edition of Trinny and Susannah’s ‘What Not To Wear’ then. It’s the clothes that maketh the man. By that measure, the diarist resembles Worzel Gummidge after a night in a ploughed field.

Up the catwalk of the A9, meanwhile, it’s been a case of anything you can do, I can do better on the sartorial front.

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Remember that old Knorr stock cube advert when a bloke called Hamish naively said to his pal that “Elspeth’s gone to Inverness for a hen night”, and the camera cut to a fella getting his kit off in front of auld Elspy and a gaggle of her excited cronies?

Well, forget that because there’s been a far more titillating strip tease in the Highlands as El Kessocko rivalry intensifies.

Ross County’s players posed in their new rig oots against the sombre, majestic beauty of Loch Ness but Inverness Caley Thistle upped the ante by boarding the Jacobite Warrior and sailing to Urquhart Castle to launch their fresh uniform.

Upon hearing all of this, Rangers officials wanted to parade some big name signings with the fabled Loch Ness Monster peering on but abandoned that particular photo shoot on the basis that the big name signings were just a figment of a wild imagination.

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Talking of dedicated followers of fashion, the golf writers at the BMW PGA Championship have always had an enthusiasm for attending the Hugo Boss media reception with its associated bung.

“Please take a shirt on your way out as a token of our thanks,” said the Boss bossman to the poised masses. Cue the kind of boggled-eyed, bubbling frenzy that resembles a shoal of piranha fish viciously stripping a stricken gazelle down to its bare bones … only much less civilised.

To the Far East. And by that we mean China, not Tranent. Families in this vast nation may soon be allowed to have as many children as they want after the high heid yins in Beijing unveiled plans to scrap all of the country’s strict, controversial and well-documented limits on offspring production by 2019.

Apparently, it will be known as the Leigh Griffiths Amendment.

Gentlemen, start your engines. Oh, and ladies too.

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It’s the annual birl around the Brickyard tomorrow as the Indy 500 roars off. It will be the last, though, for the pioneering Danica Patrick who calls time on a successful racing career in a male-dominated industry.

Asked how it would feel to do well again – she was third in 2009 – or even win, she replied with softly spoken, female finesse. “It would be f***in’ awesome.”

Liverpool fans heading to Kiev for tonight’s Champions League final have embarked on the kind of arduous trek that would’ve had Hannibal turning to his legions and saying “sod this boys, we’ll just head back.”

Buses, trains, boats, planes, camels, horse and cart, husky sleds, piggy-backs . . . you name it, the intrepid Scousers are going to any lengths to get to the Ukraine.

The Scottish football writers can empathise.

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Now that Livingston are back in the top flight of the domestic scene, the scribblers will have to employ similar travel arrangements to negotiate their way through the roonaboots en route to the Tony Macaroni Arena.

It’s nice to have a passionate hobby isn’t it? Gianni Bellini spends some £3500 a year on bolstering a football sticker collection which is the largest in the world.

“Stickers are not just about sport, the stickers are culture,” said the Italian, who owns a coveted Panini album from the 1970 World Cup in Mexico which itself is worth around £9000.

“I have the passion of a school boy because it makes me feel alive and young,” added Bellini as he cooed at the ability of a mug-shot of Luigi Riva to stir the senses.

Strangely enough, the diarist didn’t get quite the same sense of nostalgic arousal when gazing at a sticker of Davie Dodds in the Panini ‘84 album.