Of all the things to find triggering, T-shirts are a funny one. I mean the T-shirts bearing daft or clever – clever-dick? – slogans, maxims, aphorisms, puns and so on. You know the kind of thing: I might be wrong (but it’s highly unlikely); Football is my second favourite F word; Right wing. Left wing. Chicken wing. Etc. You see, I had a beautiful, troubled friend, my age, from Birmingham, who died too young. He had countless T-shirts of this kind, but his were always really good – annoyingly so. I said they made him look a smartarse. He said he didn’t mind because he was a bit of a smartarse. Now, whenever I see a T-shirt like that, I ask myself if it’s good enough for Guy to have worn. I’ve heard it said that people can have trouble recalling the faces of loved ones they have lost. I don’t have that problem with Guy; I see his face most days. But for some reason I can’t remember what was on any of his T-shirts. Odd that.
Today, I find myself doubly triggered by a T-shirt, an ad for which popped up on my social media. This one brings another loved one into the picture – my dad. It reads: “It’s weird being the same age as old people.” Ain’t that the truth? This garment would have made it to Guy’s wardrobe, no question.
It took me back to a shocking moment in my life in 1994. A close friend of mine got married and my whole family were invited. At the reception, I was talking to the relatively new girlfriend of another guest. When I asked her where the boyfriend had got to, she said: “Oh, he’s talking to that old guy over there.” She was pointing at my dad. Old guy? Yes, incredibly, he was. I’d never noticed before. I was appalled.
Here’s the thing: I’m even more appalled now because it has dawned on me that I’m now the same age as he was then. Ergo, I’m old. He is 85 now. I daresay that in the blink of an eye I’ll be 85, if I get that far, remembering him at 85. I wonder if my kids have heard me described as an old guy. Mind you, as I have worked in the public eye throughout their lives, I suppose they will have heard me called a lot worse.
Interestingly, it was about 10 years after that wedding before Dad realised that he was old. There must be a moment for all of us. His was at an airfield in Gloucestershire. He and a friend had come to see me being filmed in a stunt biplane for a TV series I was making. For added surrealism, the aircraft was painted yellow, with Utterly Butterly writ large on the fuselage. When the programme was broadcast, my dad’s viewing was ruined by the sight of himself on the footage. “I got such a shock,” he said. “I thought, who’s that old fart?” Yes, it’s weird being the same age as old people, but better that than the alternative.
My friend who died lived in Canada. When I was over there helping his family clear out his house, I searched for the stash of clever-dick T-shirts. He must have owned hundreds of them. I couldn’t shake the idea of making a giant blanket out of them and wrapping myself in it. But they weren’t there. Apparently, a girlfriend had made him throw them all out. Now, for the life of me, I can’t remember what any of them said. They were all good, though. I promise you that.
Adrian Chiles is a broadcaster, writer and Guardian columnist
