New Suit

For a long time I've been a one-suit man. We met across a crowded charity shop (a fact that I've denied vehemently to my friends on numerous occasions, its like saying you vote BNP, or like Wales.) Someone, presumably deceased, had been cursed with the exact same measurements as me. The pigeon chest, the slightly awkward 31 inch inside leg and the 31 inch waist made the suit fit like a glove. I paid ten pounds for it back in 2005, it was an M&S charcoal suit, I felt like the luckiest man alive.
The suit and I were inseperable, we went to the Symonds Leaver's Ball in 2006. I had work the next day in Winchester and decided to be clever and pack an overnight bag and stay with one of my workmates who was also in for the morning shift. I forgot, after the combined effects of several tequilas, sambucas and pints of lager, to pick up my rucksack containing all my regular clothes from the cloakroom. The suit and I went to work in the morning, still reeking of booze. The manager didnt care, mainly because for the duration of my shift I was presumed to be the manager by various hormonal women screeching at me:
"I tried this size 18 on and its too fackin' small!"
"Thats because you have a fat arse, madam." I felt like saying. The closest I got to eloquence however, was being sick behind the till. It was a bad day for the suit.
What I hadnt noticed, being blinded by the bargain of it all, was that the suit was made out of very comfortable wool. Wool, being what it is, was hardly the choice for a hot July afternoon, especially as my hangover was taking on epic proportions while in a shop with no air conditioning.
Still, in the winter months, I reigned supreme if there was a formal situation. I, sadly, went to two funerals in as many years for people I knew well. I also went to three very joyous weddings.
Another grim day for the suit was my Rugby Xmas piss up where I got slated, nay, crucified for wearing something that was charcoal and woolen.
"Excuse me sir? What time does Geography start?" Was one of the various and hilarious comments slung my way. Olly preferred to keep it simple with: "Oi Riley, wheres your leather elbow patches? Ya cunt! Hyuk hyuk hyuk!" I, predictably, got fined and had to down a pint of Bailey's with lime cordial, I didnt go to the loo for days.
The days loomed where I knew the suit and I might have to part ways; neccesity for a dark suit at graduation and my expanding gut being the first harbingers of doom. And, naturally, I found a replacement in Debenhams today. The cut is good, it makes me look like someone from The Apprentice, and I can finally wear it without worrying about how much I'm going to perspire in the warmer months.
Still, all that being said, there will only ever be the one suit for me. I'll keep it in the wardrobe for emergencies, or give it to charity.