Whenever I put on my navy mac
I feel as though I am obeying Orders.Once I have done up all those buttons and pulled the belt tight I expect the door to burst open and the Captain to stride in for inspection. I am always terribly careful to get all the bits and pieces straight, or who knows what trouble I might get into?
No-one can say that they are necessary, all those bits and pieces - the wriststraps for example, or the epaulettes, or the big flaps that fall so nicely across the front. They are not there to keep you dry, or to protect you from the stock of your rifle as you pull it back into your shoulder. What these insignia do rather is claim you for discipline, for the Officers. They put you in line.
I like it best when I have on just a light cotton top, ideally with no sleeves. The mac sits on my body so lightly then, even though I like to draw the belt tight. The inside strikes a delicious chill as my bare arms slip into the sleeves, but then, after a moment or two, it's warm as I am. It's part of my body, picking up the slightest movement, whispering its rapport. It tells the world I'm on Parade.
