Cravats And Bedroom Telly

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There’s a man in the office at the Daily Mail, where I work, who, some years ago, started wearing one of those straps around his neck that holds reading glasses.

Poor fellow. Old beyond his years. I would never do that. And I still wouldn’t wear a spectacles necklace in the office – for fear that it would propel me towards the departures lounge when the powersthat-be are looking to pension offa few old-timers.

But what a joy it is to wear my little black necklace with two bits of plastic at each end as soon as I get home.

Forget the pipe and slippers; this is true luxury. No longer do I pace up and down spluttering, ‘Now, where on earth did I put my f****** glasses?’ Or, worse, accuse my wife of hiding them somewhere so safe that we need a pair of sniffer dogs to find them.

They just dangle from my neck, occasionally picking up breadcrumbs. But they’re always a reassuring presence. Not pretty, I grant you, but utterly reliable.

I call these late-life indulgences Parting Pleasures. Another one is the glass of red wine I take to bed with me, as a perfect companion to lovely Evan Davis and his gang on Newsnight.