Part Two: Dressing the Man
In which we try to make Samuel Johnson look like a twenty-first century man.
It was a struggle getting Samuel Johnson out of his wig. Even with his rational intellect, he could not conceive that wearing a wig might make him stick out.
“I wish to remain wearing it, thank you very much.”
“Come on Samuel, you’ll look silly.”
“Come over by the stairs, I want to see you in the light.”
We manoeuvred him to the stairs and while Gwyddien. chatted with him, I snuck up the stairs and pulled the wig from his head. I thought he was going to punch me, which would have been particularly nasty because he has some meaty fists and some pretty hefty guns on him..
There’s a Peacocks just around the corner and my mum was sent to fetch clothes in his size that would look appropriate for his age and physical condition.
“I feel wrong with a bald head,” he said, slowly.
“Fetch him a hat as well,” I said.
Mum did us proud, bought a load of bright polo t-shirts, pairs of black jeans and a beany hat. Although it was not his usual brown, Samuel was entranced by the scarlet t-shirt, and with beany on head, started to strut and preen a little like a cockerel.
We also calmed him down with tea. Lots of tea. He warned us that he was an inveterate tea-drinker but I was shocked by the gallons of the stuff he poured down his throat, at each point praising the large size of the cups and the invention of handles. Now, in his modern clothes and with plenty of the murky brown stuff guzzled down his gullet, Samuel seemed a little more prepared to cope with the world he’d been plonked in.
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