This morning, while pondering the clothing best suited another day languishing at home, I noticed the arran sweater I’d adorned yesterday had all its buttons completely secured…… Ok, I admit it, it’s a cardigan, not a jumper.
Laid on the bedroom floor, where it’d been unceremoniously dumped the previous evening, witnessing this sweater fully fastened befuddled me a tad. After all, I pondered, with all buttons secured right to the neck it’s unlikely I’d have been able to remove the garment over my head, as one would with a conventionally styled jumper.
GJ Strachan concluding further it was as equally unlikely he’d have refastened all of the buttons following removing the item after undoing said fasteners, prior to slinging it carpet wards. Observing that my rush to watch a gripping drama on Netflix would’ve surely ruled out any such pre-bedtime sweater fastening thoroughness.
Additionally, as I’m residing in solitude within chez Strachan’s chambers, it’s inconceivable the act of fastening the buttons couldn’t have undertaken anyone else. Consequently, bearing in mind the thus far gathered evidence, although circumstantial, I couldn’t help wonder which events’d prevailed overnight leading to ‘The Mystery of Gary Strachan’s Sweater Buttons’.
This, admittedly minor, conundrum awaking the sleuth inside this random fella who, following breakfast and a cuppa, further pondered the machinations behind this apparent knitwear hocus-pocus. My notions including a possibility the spirit of my late aunt Marjorie, a stickler for clothing orderliness, could’ve visited while I slept to neurotically make good my woollen garment’s unfastened state.
Additionally, I mulled over if this sweater fastening witchcraft could’ve been undertaken by the ghost(s) of woollen millworkers past. Their tarry consequential of witnessing my sloppy approach and disrespect of a product traditionally created within the West Yorkshire sweatshops.
These generations past, possibly including my distant forebears who’d have grafted several hours a day in these mills for pitiful recompense. Hard labour impertinently not afforded appropriate appreciation by their familial genesis, such as yours truly.
Not for the first time, and no doubt the last, my mind went into overdrive with epiphanies over meaningless considerations. Overthinking the whole unimportant episode, my notions becoming more unhinged while floundering in this solitude borne boredom.
Was it the case I’d been mistaken in thinking the author’d not worn this knitwear yesterday, or indeed since I’d ironed it on Thursday? An occasion when I can be certain GJ Strachan securing the item’s buttons. However, I concluded, if that was the case the cardigan would’ve been sat on the clothes horse with the other recently ironed garments.
Anyhow, to cut short a story that’s become unnecessarily long and creatively the very thinnest of gruel, struggling to get to the bottom of this mystery, I moved onto the more important business of searching for my specs. Face furniture which I’d been unable to locate thus far today.
A search which when successful also solved ‘The Mystery of Gary Strachan’s Sweater Buttons’. Yours truly finally locating the spectacles inside the aforementioned cardigan; making it appear, impatient to watch TV I actually did remove the knitwear by pulling it over my head…… A task evidently undertaken with my gigs still perched on my visage.
